The Stranger Stories #2: A Knight in Shining Sweatpants

The young squire raced as fast as his young legs would carry him. This quest was of the utmost importance. His lady was relying on him. Only he was able to fulfill this sacred task. If he was successful in this, surely she would make him her knight.

The relic grew heavy in his hands, almost as if some unseen force was attempting to prevent the object from reaching its destination. The lad leapt over rivers that smelled of sulfur, evaded giants as they lumbered stupidly by on some incomprehensible errand (he would have to return another day to vanquish them), and stopped only briefly when a fellow squire entreated him for news from their home village.

Panting from the effort, the boy reached his goal. As he held the relic out, his arms trembled slightly – more from the magnitude of the moment and recognition of his own bravery in accepting the quest. He had strength to utter only one sentence: “You forgot your water bottle back there.”

The blonde girl in the gray gym shorts and matching top looked blankly at the boy for a moment uncomprehendingly. He was easily a foot shorter than she. He had just said something to her, but she hadn’t heard what it was. She reached up, pulling out one of her pink Beats earbuds, but saw the proffered bottle at the same moment. “Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” She smiled slightly, accepting the bottle while returning to her workout playlist.

“Welcome,” the boy mumbled as he turned back toward the spot where his classmate still stood.

“Dude,” the second boy said. “Heloooooooo?! I said what was the math homework?”

The two of them walked back through the free weights section of the Y, being careful not to get in the way of the burly guys with weight belts on. As they returned to their fifteen pound dumbbells, the first boy looked across the room as a faint smile touched his face. He was certain the Lady had been pleased.

The Stranger Stories #1: The Man in a Hole

His feet were cold. His hands were colder. The rain that had been threatening to fall all day had just decided to follow through. The thin trickle that ran from the back of his yellow hard hat was defying the laws of physics as it ran straight down the back of his old flannel shirt.

“Why did I go to college?” he thought to himself as he jabbed his shovel into the wall of the hole he’d been widening. The foreman said the job had to be done by hand, because of some nearby trees. “God forbid we mess up the precious crape myrtles.” Another shovel-full of muddy clay went over the side. The man’s shoulders had given up being sore. The edge of the hole was up to his neck now. “I have $48,000 in student debt. Seriously. What.the.hell?”

The next strike of the shovel caused a small mud slide. The first time this had happened, the man had managed to step back in time to avoid the cold slime oozing over the tops of his work boots and into his socks. This time he was not so lucky. He tossed the shovel out of the hole and climbed out after it. Might as well have lunch now.

The grape jelly on his pb&j he’d brought had turned the sandwich bread into a purple time bomb. Whatever. At least the apple was still … where was it? Oh right. He already ate it. When his phone rang, the smiling face of his wife appeared next to his on the screen. The picture had been taken three years ago on a vacation they’d taken to the mountains. Everything had looked so sunny – so hopeful then. “How’d I get here?” he wondered.

“Hey, baby,” his wife greeted him when he answered. She sounded tired.

“Hi,” was all he felt he had the strength to muster. Somehow though, he added, “How’s your day going?”

“Oh you know … the kids are exhausting. Don’t tell my mom, but she was right. Raising three kids is way harder than two.”

He chuckled weakly, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Are you working in this mess?”

He knew of course she meant the rain, and that she also knew the kind of time constraints the crew was under. “Yeah. Mike wants to get at least this side done today. I’m having lunch in the truck now though. Hopefully the rain will let up soon.”

“You’re eating lunch? It’s 10am.”

“Yup.” The tone in his verbal shrug was enough to convey all the frustrations of the morning.

“So did you see what else was in your lunch box?”

“It’s in the back of the truck. I’ll check in a sec.”

“Ok. I gotta go. Just wanted to check how your day was going.”

“Mmkay. Love you. Hopefully I won’t be too late tonight,” he said.

“Love you too. Be safe.”

With that, the call disconnected, the man put his phone back in the inside pocket of his weather-proof jacket, and opened the door of the Ford F-350. His blue lunch box was in the back of the dual cab. When he opened it, he saw a small folded piece of paper. Unfolding it revealed a picture colored for him in secret by his 3 year-old. It depicted the man in bright Crayola colors in an unsteady but passionate hand. He was wearing his yellow hard hat. Next to him was a drawing of his wife, and their three kids. All five of them were smiling broadly.

When the man carefully folded up the paper and set it back in the box to keep it from the rain, the smiles depicted in crayon had somehow been transferred to his face. As he slid back into the muddy pit, he no longer questioned why he stayed at this job.

Introduction: The Stranger Stories

I mentioned the other day that I’m beginning a couple new projects. The one you get to read is called, “The Stranger Stories.” It dawns on me that some explanation may be helpful by way of an introduction.

I have always been a people-watcher. When I was a kid, I would often find myself wondering what the world looks like to other people. What do they notice? What’s important to them? Do they perceive colors the same way I do? As I grew up, these questions came to include others such as, “How have other people’s past experiences influenced their thought processes in such a way to make them react differently to this situation than I would?” Maybe I should have been a psych major … nah. Armchair psychology has fewer regulations.

The Stranger Stories is more than a simple writing exercise for me. It is an exercise in empathy, compassion, observation, and circumspection designed to broaden my own gaze, while hopefully encouraging you lovely readers to do likewise. After all, if we are more aware that people around us aren’t all just like us, we will grow in our capacity to care for others – even complete strangers.

These are going to be short stories I write about real people. People I don’t know. I will what information I can glean from observing them (without being creepy), and fill in the gaps to create (mostly fictional) brief narratives. Sounds like fun, right? The first installment will be published on Saturday.

New projects

So here’s the deal: I’ve been AWOL (absent without leave) for … a while. This has not been without cause and purpose though! I have been brainstorming and getting input on the overall direction and tone of my writing. While some of you lovely readers liked it when I weighed in on heavy-hitting topics, others enjoyed the lighter tone of my general musings. The real question though, if I want to maintain a flow and continuity in my blog is: what do I like to write about?

The feedback that I’ve gotten has lead me to a conclusion: I’ll be re-categorizing the old posts … cleaning house a bit, I guess you could say. After that is completed, I’ll be beginning a new project: The Stories of Strangers.

Intrigued? I hope so. Stick around, and you’ll soon learn what it’s all about. Thanks for reading!