Monday, May 26, 2008

 

TRAIN OF THOUGHT


Train of Hough
He was on his way home from Wallgreens. After his surgery the doctor prescribed 5 bottles of pills.It was in July and the day was a hot one. The sweat rolled down his back.The air was full of big city pollution. Smelling it made him curse.He waited with his white cane to cross the stree. Maybe one of those big ugly trucks would end his life. It was not in the cards today. So he crossed 47th and Western Avenue
The hood had changed. Anglos like him were in the minorityAt the gas station, Mexican music purred from the cars. At the convince store a smiling Arab was taking money for milk and cigarettes. A bike rode by him selling ice cream. The pedal pusher was an old man. Passing the reclaimed pallet place, the sound of hammering was heard. They worked with their tools from 7 to dark! He wondered why they piled the pallets so close to his house. On the other side lived his friend Pablo.
Train of HoughAs he entered the alley he remembered he would be alone tonight. He was happy to have some time for himself.The side door was then unlocked. It was a large heavy gray one with a very small peep window. It opened to a staircase, which lead straight up to the second floor.
Train of HoughThe stairs seemed stretched to a third floor! It was a dark stairway with gray and brown pealing paint. The door was closed at the top. Wearily he climbed up thirteen brown stairs, He flung the white door open. This was his castle!The sun streams though the windows, a breeze blew from the alley. Picking out a cold drink at the refrigerator, he headed to a safer place. That place was his wonderful chair He had bought the recliner from an old lady. This old rust colored chair sat in the living room by the long table. Sitting on one end of the table was the TV. He seldom turned it on. He liked radio better. The sound of music from the earphones drowned out city noisesTrain of HoughSlumping into his chair, a since of well being came over him. He put on the earphones and tuned in some soft calming music. Such comfort!His mind scanned the room. He was surround by shelves of treasures. He knew them all. They were his old friends.He knew where each collectable sat. They were all placed in an honorable spot.On one shelf were old toy trains. A Steam engine, coal tender and a caboose which stood ready to run down a track to a small town station. His dad had worked on such a railroad. Dad used to say the railroads were here to stay!In another place on a shelf a Morsel village presented itself. He had built them as kits. Each model building reminded him of a place he had been even the windmill bought as a soveneerof on a family outing to Holland Michigan.A rubber truck came away from the village. It crossed a plastic bridge to another display. Here were lighthouses and ships filling a separate shelf. The lighthouses he had climbed inside. They were the castles of America! He liked the sea and its waves of mystery. The wind in a boats sails reminded him of Freedom
Train of HoughThere were many more shelves of remembrances. Each a page in his life. He was amazed at his feeling of contentment. Each day that he sat here they brought Happiness.


Lloyd, If you have a Hemingway moment, you might want to participate in this: Six-word Memoir Meme

Lloyd Irving Bradbury said...
sANDY i POSTED A STORY NOW WHAT DO I DO iAS MY STORY ANY GOOD. iT IS HARD FOR ME TP WRITE AS I CANT NOT SEE THE PAINT BRUCH IS MORE FORGIVING THEN THE PEN WITH GRAMMER,SPELLING AND LANGUAGE STRUCTOR. tHIS STORY WAS ABOUT ME WHEN I LIVED IN A CAVE IN cHICAGO LUCKLY i EXCAPED TO A rIVERSIDE BUNKER.

Comments:
Lloyd,
I like this story and the struggle of the main character with his many pills and his place in the ever-changing ordinary world. His return to the objects on the shelf take him back to other times and places that bring him back to his life. Thanks for writing this. I like it very much.
Writing in Faith: Thoughts
 
Hi! Thanks for dropping by. I have been under the weather lately. Bad cold. I just read your train of thoughts. Your story is amazing and wonderfully written. We all have dry period of creativity. Our masterpieces will come in bursts of creativity when we least expect them. I have those kind of moments many time.
 
Lloyd, this story is so beautifully written. Reading it, I could see all the images you describe so well. How ironic that it is a blind man who can make a scene so evocative.
 
Post a Comment



<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?