Making Headway by Pat Wright, soda pop

The station waiting room is cramped and cosy. It’s a refuge from the elements for a single female passenger. Curled up in a corner, she has been here for some time. She dozes intermittently enjoying the warmth and the comfort of the red plush bench. An open fire is labouring to sustain itself. Sporadically it springs to life with a crackle. A few sparks drift lazily up the chimney, but the glowing coke mostly whistles and sighs tenderly. Somewhere, there is the drone of distant voices, but they are not her concern. The regular tock of the station clock is the soundscape of her sanctuary. Time passes routinely and the tempo of station life ticks on.

Tring tring! Tring tring! The calm of this peaceful backwater is rudely shattered, and the traveller prepares to start her journey

In his cream and red nerve centre the signalman is on high alert. He releases the long levers and the gates swing free. All his energy is concentrated on turning the large wheel and allowing access to the station.

The distant speck progressing down the line appears to gain momentum as it gets nearer. Finally, looming large, it surges into the platform and briefly comes to rest. The train now standing in the platform could be going anywhere: that information is for some to know but others to discover. No one appears too worried.

With some apprehension the sleepy passenger gets onboard. The carriage is empty and, tucking herself into a corner, she searches for clues that this is the right train. The doors close automatically. As the station recedes all memory of the waiting room is erased. She submits to her new surroundings and a drowsy nothingness once more takes over. 

But not for long! Fully awake now she feels herself tensing as the train picks up speed and heads towards a tunnel. With a whoosh she is rushed headfirst into the unknown. She starts to panic as the darkness consumes her. But, at the other end of this abyss all is peaceful again and the train continues on its way.

It can’t be happening! The tunnel is coming for her again. This time it swallows her up and she feel as if her head will burst as she is sucked into the void. Nevertheless, at the end of it she is comforted by the stillness that follows and she relaxes. However the tunnel is looming large again like a huge balloon which becomes a pulsating chasm that immediately consumes the whole of the carriage. Sweet relief! But no! Here it comes again. And again! And again! Amoeba like the balloon continually transforms into a phenomenon that is absolutely horrifying, and she is quite powerless to get away. Mouth pricking and tingling with apprehension, nerves resonating on high alert; she is drawn at speed into that stifling interior.

Just then a sudden sharp intake of breath prompts the passenger to cry out. Is it relief or panic she is feeling? Maybe it’s a tinge of excitement? Whatever! Early morning on the 24^th of May 1947 sees her catapulted headfirst into the waiting world and her next big adventure is about to begin. 

 

 

About the author

  

Pat’s creative talents mainly focus on Art. However, In common with the themes she chooses for her paintings, her adventures into Flash Fiction aim to create narratives which are abstracts of ideas that have irregular angles or perspectives.

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One of the Family, Sarah Swatridge, soda pop

 Jake studied the baseball cap and wondered if he’d ever feel it suited him.

‘You’re glum today, Jake, what’s eating you?’ Darleen asked in her slow Indiana drawl.

‘I’m going to miss you all so much if I can’t get my work permit and I have to go back to the UK.’

Darleen threw her arms around him in a bear hug. ‘If it comes to that I’ll adopt you and then you’ll have to stay!’ she laughed and offered round more popcorn.

            A week or so later Jake called over one afternoon. ‘Hi. How you doing? Was it Taylor you wanted to see?’ asked Darleen as she prepared a mountain of food for the evening meal.

Jake and Taylor were practically the same age. When Taylor was younger, she’d been a gymnast but nowadays she coached the local gymnastics team, same as Jake did on a voluntary basis.

‘Actually,’ said Jake sounding more English than usual. ‘May I have a private word with you?’

‘Sure,’ said Darleen drawing him into the large open plan living area and gesturing for him to sit down.

‘You remember the other day you said that if I didn’t get my work visa, you’d adopt me?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Darleen cautiously.

‘Were you serious?’

‘I said it in jest,’ said Darleen. ‘You looked so down-hearted that day, but if it were up to me, I’d adopt you tomorrow.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Jake knew she meant it. Darleen had the warmest heart he’d ever known.

‘Hey look,’ continued Darleen. ‘If you’re serious, this would affect the whole family. I couldn’t do it against their wishes. If you want, I’ll chat to them and let you know a decision by Thanksgiving. Is that okay?’

‘That would be brilliant,’ agreed Jake with a big grin. ‘I’ve looked into it. I’d have to make a petition to the court but being over 18 I can give my own consent and as I’ve lost both my parents, there’s no one to object.’

‘It’s a serious undertaking,’ warned Darleen.

‘I realise that,’ Jake told her. ‘Obviously I’d pay all the costs. I’ve got the job offer, so that’s no problem.  It’s just getting a wretched visa, that’s the hard bit.’

‘One step at a time,’ cautioned Darleen. ‘Let me speak to the family first, but honestly, I can’t see a problem. They all love you to pieces. You do realise Jake I’ll have to have them totally behind me, one hundred percent?’

‘No problem,’ said Jake. ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way.’

That very evening Darleen cooked a special meal making sure every member of the family was present.

‘I’ve got something I want to discuss,’ she announced as they all took their seats at the elongated table. Darleen and Mathias had five boys and one girl of their own.

There was always an extra place set at the table for a visitor. Darleen had done this all her married life and said it went back to her Irish roots. It’s what her grandmother Mary O’Grady always did, and Darleen liked to follow suit.

Visitors, whether they were old friends or new acquaintances, were always welcome in Darleen’s home. Her motto could have been, ‘the more the merrier.’

‘How would you all feel if we adopted Jake Leadbetter?’ she announced and was greeted with a stunned silence. She knew it was not something they’d been expecting to hear. ‘I am serious, but I need to know you’re all behind me.’

‘Is this just so he can get a visa?’ asked one of Darleen’s sons.

‘I’ll not pretend. That’s what prompted the conversation, but you all know he lost his own parents in that awful train crash. He’s got no one to call family and since he’s been out here with us, we have sort of adopted him.’

‘But if he doesn’t get his work permit, he’ll have to go back to England,’ pointed out Mathias.

‘That is true,’ agreed Darleen.

‘He’s a hard worker and a good gymnastics coach. We’d be sorry to lose him at the gym. He’s always so cheerful, the kids would miss him,’ added another son.

‘He might be successful with his visa application and not need to be adopted,’ continued the first son.  ‘Would you still go ahead?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Darleen. ‘I think it’s all about belonging and feeling he’s part of a family. He needs to feel loved, as we all do.’

‘Can you adopt an adult?’ asked Taylor.

‘You can, with their consent. I’ve looked into it,’ replied Darleen.

They continued discussing the matter for a while longer, and then as Darleen fetched more food, she asked Taylor to hand out pencils and paper.

‘In true democratic style,’ she announced. ‘We’re going to have a secret ballot and no one will ask you what you voted, or why.’

Once the meal was over and the family dispersed Darleen sat in her huge kitchen diner and counted the votes… again.

‘That’s not going to change the result,’ Mathias told her. ‘Who’s the dissenter?’

‘I really can’t say,’ said Darleen scratching her head. ‘Taylor was quiet, and that’s not like her.’

‘Can’t be her, she loves him,’ Mathias said immediately. ‘I reckon it’s one of the boys being jealous, although Lord knows why; we’d treat them all alike.’

Jake joined the family for Thanksgiving. Darleen cooked a turkey large enough to have been from the Pterodactyl family.

Darleen popped a pumpkin pie in the oven while Taylor sat on the floor stretching like a good gymnast. Jake and the boys were out in the yard throwing a baseball around.

‘Taylor, can you set the table for me?’ asked Darleen.

‘I’m doing my conditioning. Can’t you ask one of the boys? They’re just playing.’

‘I could, but you’re here, and you’re usually helpful,’ answered Darleen. ‘I really don’t know what’s got into you lately. You’ve been behaving quite badly. In fact, I reckon it was you who voted against adopting Jake.’

Taylor’s face went scarlet and it wasn’t from her gymnastics routine.

‘He’s a lovely lad,’ Darleen told her. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to have him as a brother.’ Taylor made a face. ‘He clearly adores you.’

‘You’re right, I did vote against him,’ admitted Taylor standing up and coming over to her mother, hands on hips. ‘I don’t want him as a brother. I never have, because from the moment I set eyes on him, I wanted him, one day, as my husband!’

About the author  

 

Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)