The instruction for Day 4 of the 30-Day challenge reads:
[Brief: Think of two very different people you know. Invent a character who combines
characteristics of both of them. Then put this character in a stressful family
situation...]
The instruction makes sense. But the difficult bit is the words “very different”. Of course, the question is: how believable will the so-called stressful situation be?
I do not currently know either of the two people I have chosen, but have known each of them in my past. As many of my readers might recognise either or both of them, I choose to make some minor adjustments to their situations, characters or habits. Quite naturally, I am not using their correct names…
Thomas and Richard were two very different people.
The Rev Thomas McCuddy (known as “Tom”) was a diligent and devout Anglican priest, about 30 years of age, who served in conjunction with Father Jackson and Rev Petersen at a church in an underprivileged community in the south of Johannesburg.
Richard Smithers (known to his pals and the police as “Dick”) was the son of a wealthy mining magnate from one of the affluent northern suburbs of Johannesburg. After dropping out of high school, Tom teamed up with a group of no-gooders, who saw the possibilities of having a friend with an endless supply of ready cash on tap. One thing led to another, mostly drugs and drink, and, eventually, the police. He was not imprisoned for his misdemeanours, which were classified as “minor”, which in turn meant that he did not learn anything from his brush with the law. He got to know the police department more intimately for a fifth and sixth time, at which point he was locked in a holding cell overnight.
It was the morning after this particular night when Dick spent the small hours in the cell of the police station, that Tom just happened to visit the facility for the purpose of saving souls, as he frequently did. When he met Dick, he sensed that this young man was not your common petty criminal. He could see past the dirty veneer and past the alcohol-laden breath. As was his style, he had an arrangement with the duty officers that he would take responsibility for the welfare and behaviour of “minor” troublemakers, in the name of the church.
Tom explained the situation to Dick, and that he had a small but clean room on the property at the church, and that he would find chores which Dick could do in exchange for his food and lodgings. He made no promises of grandeur, no luxury or exotic meals, but he could guarantee a lifestyle which did not include police holding cells, for proper and lawful behaviour.
Dick had reached the point where he knew that any way forward in prison would be the start of a slippery slope towards the end. The situation as explained by the priest made perfect sense, so he shook hands and he was release within the hour into the care of Rev Thomas McCuddy of the St Mark’s Anglican Church, Diagonal Street, Rewlatch.
“Holy shit, your reverendness, you’ve got a crappy car for a top bod of the kirk,” was Dick’s first comment as they left the parking lot of the police yard in a battered Ford Anglia 1100, “How about a fag? Those buggers in the cop shop are as stingy as hell, the bastards – won’t even give a guy a smoke.”
“You can start by calling me Tom, Richard. And I do not smoke, nor do I condone the foul habit, either. Behind this collar, I’m an ordinary guy, just like anyone else, and I do not earn a large salary, as our community is of meagre means, hence my transport is not of the latest model. But it helps me to get from point A to point B in reasonable comfort. I’m not here to impress.”
“Sorry, your rev… er Tom. And my friends call me Dick. I didn’t mean to be rude, and all, you know,” Dick replied.
And so it came to pass that Tom found many odd jobs for Dick, who gradually saw the folly of his ways and the damage that his mis-spent youth had caused. Dick mowed lawns and weeded pavements, washed cars, cleaned windows, and assisted a furniture removal company. His transformation was almost a miracle, and it seemed to hinge on the fact that he no longer had contact with the petty crime rings, and, more probably, he no longer had access to liquor or drugs. Dick was rapidly being transformed back into the Richard of old once more.
The parish parsons lived in a 4-roomed cottage at the bottom of the church grounds in Diagonal Street. They shared a communal bathroom, a large dining room and a cosy little sitting room with a little fireplace for the cold winter nights and a television set donated by a member of the congregation. Richard occupied Room 4 at the back next to the bathroom during this time, and paid his own way towards food from earnings derived from all the odd jobs offered by members of the parish.
Richard had slowly become more accustomed to the daily evening prayer after the nine o’clock news, and participated when asked, if he felt able to do so. His style of talking had changed from the loose-living coarse jargon to the new revised proper English without the use of foul language.
And so it came to pass that Tom, whose elderly parents, his father also a parson, got a call from his mother inviting him to dinner in their Boksburg home the next Friday evening, to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary.
“And bring your new friend Richard along as well. Father agrees, from what you’ve told us, he sounds like a real interesting and colourful character. See the both of you at seven, darling.”
Friday evening arrived pretty smartly. Just before 7:00pm Tom and Dick arrived at Tom’s parents’ home in Boksburg in the cream and blue Ford Anglia 1100. His mother came down the steps to meet her son and his guest, and took them into the lounge for proper introduction to Tom’s dad.
As an appetiser, Tom’s mother poured out generous helpings of Sherry to open the conversation, which would naturally include tales of Richard’s reformation.
A tasty supper ensued, with idle chatter, mostly Tom’s mother questioning him about various matters regarding his parish, and the work that he had been doing. Tom’s father and Richard did not participate actively, and concentrated on their plates.
After dinner, Tom’s father rose from his chair and beckoned to the others to follow him to the lounge with the cosy fire. He poured generous helpings of Cognac, which he saved for those “special” occasions. This was apparently a special occasion.
Richard thanked Tom’s mother for the meal and complimented her on the way she had prepared the meat dish, especially.
“It is only a pleasure, lad. And it’s so good to see that there are still some young people around with manners. Don’t you agree, Bill?” This was the first time that Richard became aware of Tom’s father’s name.
Now, remember that a period of six or seven months had gone by during which Richard had been a teetotaller. That had been a condition under which Tom had been granted “custody” by the police. When the spirit beverage touched his tongue, it was like honey from heaven, countless pleasant memories flooded back, as his blood pressure rose with the juice entering his circulation. And with this change, the looseness of his tongue increased proportionately.
Richard started speaking to Tom’s parents as if they were long lost friends, as he held his glass for a refill, and then another. Tom, a bit apprehensive, put up a brave facade and did not try to intervene in the distribution of the potent red juice.
“No, I have never been in a happier phase of my lie than since old Tom here rescued me from those fascist pigs who were only intent on destroying our lives simply for their amusement, rather than being real cops and hunting down real criminals,” Richard blurted out all of a sudden, changing the subject. “I was never actually imprisoned by a judge for any crime.”
“Oh, yes Richard, that is so nice to hear,” Tom’s mother smiled at Richard, “he is generous fellow and always shares with others.”
“You’re so right, Mrs Mac, Tom shares, he has even shared his bed on some cold nights. The rooms at the rectory are pretty cold, you know.”
There ensued an awkward silence for a moment, until Tom’s mother slowly and softly uttered, “Shared his bed…?”
“Our beds are not very big, and snuggling up under two blankets instead of one each, is much more pleasant,” he explained.
Tom’s father, who had been rather silent for most of the conversation, said nothing as he stared ahead and simply grunted, almost inaudibly . He got up and looked at the face of the grandfather clock, and croaked, “Oh look at the time, I guess we better let the boys be on the way, Martha. I’m sure Tom needs the time to prepare for his sermon for tomorrow morning.”
A few minutes later, the Ford Anglia was moving southwards, back to Rewlath. Neither of the occupants spoke for quite a while.
Then Tom glanced towards his passenger, “What on earth came across you to make up that nonsense about sharing a bed? Are you crazy or what?”
Another long silence, the Richard replied quite casually, “The conversation was getting quite boring, and I though a bombshell might liven things up, but it seems I was wrong. Sorry, man.”
* * * * * *
[ 1,640 words ]
[ The brief for Day 5 of the 30-Day writing challenge is: Your character has a date but decides not to show up. Your character believes he/she has a very good reason for this decision (you decide the reason). But your character's date is furious and decides to make your character sorry… ]
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