The instruction for Day 14 of the 30-Day writing challenge reads:
Write a story that includes: a blind man, a tent, and a train...
When presented with a brief, most times I need to put in some thought, and more frequently I need to sharpen points, modify ideas, and in many cases, discard the whole shooting match and start again from scratch.
When I read this brief, I saw the two characters in details, I saw where they were sitting and I could hear them talking, even down to their accents! One might wonder what makes some writing tasks so difficult and others the exact opposite…
* * * * * * * *
It isn’t the 4:50 from Paddington. However, for a fleeting moment, I can recollect the rows of platforms under the domed steel structure roof with trains moving in and out, as the KiwiRail Northern Explorer moves out of Wellington station early this clear autumn morning, and accelerates northwards in the direction of Auckland.
The passenger car, a comfortable 2-seat/ aisle/ 2-seat arrangement is warm inside, despite the nip in the air on platform 6 outside. I am seated next to this older fellow who is well-dressed and wearing sunglasses. He is in the window seat, I am on the aisle.
But wait! I apologise for the oversight. Introductions… My name is Adam Smith. No, really it is. Adam Steven Smith, previously known colloquially as ASS at school. Really, I was, but that isn’t material to this tale. I am currently taking a gap year which includes working at various places, companies and institutions for short stints, interspersed with many short excursions to various places of interest or tasks which are designed to make a proper “man” of me. That’s me. As for the gentleman fellow-traveller, I don’t know him from Adam… That’s an old pun, I know…
“You want to sit next to the window, lad?” The man spoke in an eloquent educated British voice.. if you can judge from nine words, that is.
I hesitate for as moment, not sure about this.
“No, really. We can change seats if you like. I have no real use for windows, you see,” and touched his spectacles lightly with the index finger of his right hand. At school I wasn’t the brightest in the biology or history class, but the dark glasses at seven in the morning makes sense.
“That’ll be awesome, sir, thanks. This trip is a learning experience for me, so, yeah… it will be great, thank you.”
I stand up and we swap places without any mishap. The gentleman moves effortlessly. Not like a blind person. But then again, how would I expect a blind person to move?
After a couple of minutes, we pass through a number of small stations, the train being an express through a number of the smaller suburban stations, then the gentleman speaks again.
“My name is Harry Rickson and I’m going to Auckland to my daughter for a week or two. That’s why I have my audiobook with me… we only get there around suppertime. You also going all the way?”
“Oh no, Mr Rickson. I’m getting off at Hamilton. From there I’m getting a coach to take me to a camp just outside Tauranga up on the coast. By the way, I’m Adam. Adam Smith.” I routinely say it the other way around like James Bond (supposedly for effect), but I thought it more appropriate in the case of a blind man to stick to the routine. You see, there I go again, pre-judging how blind people will react. Sorry, it is unfair.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Adam. And you must me Harry. You sound like a mature young man already.” He smiles as he speaks, “I suppose you’ve heard of a very learned person, also named Adam Smith. He worked in the town where I was born and lived as a kid, Edinburgh in Scotland. That was a long time ago, in fact he died 200 years before I was born… Anyway, even if we never meet again, I will always be able to remember your name, at least.”
Harry had obviously lived an eventful and interesting life, and he is prepared to recall and share with me the details of many of his life experiences. I listen with interest as the time slips by and the train slips closer to my destination. The train stops at another station and we are advised over the public address on the train that we will be stopping for a full lunch break, with catering available on the station platform, and that they will warn passengers before the leave, so we’re free to wander around in the vicinity of the train as well.
Sitting in the station tea-room with our lunches, Harry swallows a mouthful of chicken pie and washes it down with his tea, leans forward a bit and speaks in a more subdued voice, “Adam, you interest me. You haven’t treated me like many others treat a blind person. And you haven’t asked me what has caused the blindness. I’ll do you a deal, shall I? I’ll tell you about my eyes, and in return, you will walk me through this station and surrounding streets and give me a running commentary of what you see. You will be my eyes for the next ten minutes, how’s that?”
“Sounds fair to me, Harry. Deal on.”
“A while ago you told me that you will be camping for the next week, out in the bush. May I give you one tiny bit of advice? When handling gas – these cylinders you use for cooking and heating?” Harry looked up at me. What I mean is that he lifted his face towards me as he might if he could see me.
“Mmmm…” I nodded.
“That’s what took my sight. Gas.”
“Well, when I was eighteen, I joined the British military for training. The Great War had just ended, jobs were not all that plentiful, and it seemed the right thing for us younger lot to serve our country, after the older fellows had fought so hard to protect us, many even dying in their efforts… “
“When I left home for training, my parents most probably imagined that they might possibly never see their son again, killed by who knows what, who knows where… But it turned out completely differently.. something they could never have imagined…”
“Yes…?” I query.
“Instead of their son being blown up and them never seeing him again, the opposite happened… no, not death at the hand of the enemy. No, he returned home a mere two weeks after leaving home. Virtually uninjured… But instead of them never seeing me again, it was I who would never see them again… The accident at the wash tent took my sight. The tent was the last thing I ever saw. They said it was a freak gas explosion that sent the tiny fragments into both eyes, and that was that…” Harry wipes his mouth with the paper serviette, and looks up.
I look down at the floor, embarrassed at trying to avoid his eyes.
“So, don’t give a bugger about how safe they tell you gas might be. You always treat it with respect and care. You never know.”
I shift around awkwardly, “I don’t know what to say, Harry.”
“Then tell me to lift my backside and to come outside walkabout so that you can see for me what this town looks like,” he chuckles, getting up from the chair, “before we miss the train.”
* * * * * *
[ Halfway home -- The brief for Day 15 reads: Today, you have a choice of two different activities related to point of view. When I say point of view, I mean the perspective used to tell the story. Think of the location of the camera when filming a movie. You can tell a story from inside a particular character's head, showing what that character sees, thinks, and experiences.
• Option 1: Think of an argument or uncomfortable encounter you had with another person. Tell the story of this encounter from the other person's point of view. Or...
• Option 2: Rewrite a story you have written previously, but write it from the point of view of a different character. ]
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