I have said before that stories are in my blood. All of my siblings have, at one time and in some fashion or another, been writers. The other day we were messing with an extremely old and somewhat broken computer, and came across some of my older brother's work. Just for the fun of it, I thought I'd post one of his short stories for some random English class he took. :D
[names have been changed to protect the
innocent guilty. it's a relatively true story, as true as any such story can be. :)]
I have always believed I am an exceptionally gifted person. For example, like a great modern-day Daniel Boone I have never been lost, just temporarily disoriented. Unfortunately, in a society where everyone is disoriented almost constantly, my gifting has gone largely unappreciated. Countless times in car-travel, I have taken a wrong turn, and driven down a completely unknown road for hours, only to end up at the right place after all, right on time. This phenomenon used to be merely accidental. Lately, however, I have taken to trying to lose myself on purpose, just to see what happens. It just doesn’t work. I always find a way.
Speaking of cars, I have a habit of being temporarily disoriented while outside of them as well. Walking out of the post office, I cannot find my car anywhere--anywhere. Come on, this is a small town. So I step across the street to the police station to report my car stolen, only to remember while I’m there, that I actually rode my bike to the post office.
“Mr. Smith? Yes, we located your car right where the thieves left it--in your driveway.”
“Well, that was nice of them!”
The other day, I was running errands with my younger brother, sort of as a brotherly mentoring opportunity - that’s a really vital sort of thing. I walked out of the store toward our white Camry, keys in hand. I unlocked the door, threw the bag in the seat beside me, made sure Benjamin was buckled up in the backseat, turned the key in the ignition, and slowly pulled out. Then I noticed a tall woman fly out of the store, flailing her purse above her head like a lasso, and running right towards us. I instinctively stopped. Maybe it was the way her long red hair streamed out wildly behind her that got my attention, very much like the long red flames that were shooting out her eyes and mouth.
“Yes ma‘am, can I help you?”
“What on earth are you doing? That’s MY car!”
“Ma’am, uh, I unlocked it with my key, and my key also fit the ignition. I don’t think--"
“Oh my word, I know!”
“Just a minute.”
Stepping out of the car, I looked across the parking lot. There, not two parking spaces away from where the other car had been, was an absolutely identical, white 2001 Toyota Camry. Well, how did it get there?
Going through the same motions a few seconds later, in the right car, my brother remarked from the back. “I was wondering why you got in that other person’s car. There was a purple fuzzy monster in the back seat.”
“Ben, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Ah, I was relieved! I had mastered a man’s lifelong key to disorientation - projecting perfect confidence. Always look like you know what you’re doing. I guess my freshman year at college had paid off some way. I hope Benjamin was inspired, and appreciated the invaluable lesson I was living before him that day.
My guess is, probably not.