Souvenir

Bonus chapter from a novel I've been working on.

Souvenir

 

 

People had places to go and flights to catch. Their shoes and heels clicked and clacked past me, but the sounds only temporarily masked the ruminations; I must have relived the goodbye scene three times by then. So I decided to explore my options at the cafeteria. It couldn't have been far from the waiting area. A little walk around the airport seemed like a good distraction.

 

"Your father and I are proud of you. You know that, don't you? Come back to us when you've grown into a fine, young man."

 

"It's only temporary. You'll be living very close to your university and you'll learn many things about being on your own."

 

"It's for the best isn't it… Aaron. Are you listening, sweetheart?"

 

Where was the cafeteria? Wasn't there a map to my left when I got lost here the first time?

 

My hand reached to swipe my forehead, as if the anxieties would fall with the tiny drops of sweat.

 

Opposite the gift shop and the cafeteria, slightly to the left, a children's play area squalled and cheered with colors, beep-beep noises and the persistent wailing of a small child who was unwilling to let go of his mother's clothes, repeatedly asking her to let Papa come back.

 

The cafeteria vendor shook his head a little, "I hate to see children cry."

 

"Yeah," I said browsing through the pastries behind the glass, "It's a sad sight."

 

"No, no, it's not sad, it's obnoxious. I can't work. And if I can't work, there'll be angry customers," he clarified, even when the only customer so far had been me. 

"Tell you what… I'll reheat your croissant only if you go there."

 

"Go where?" I thought the only condition for getting a croissant was paying money. Not at this airport, it seemed.

 

"Here, open your hands….C'mon, I do it all the time. Open 'em." from his fingers onto my palm rained a few candy wraps; lime green, banana yellow and cherry red, "Do me a favor and give those to the bawling kid. That'll shut him up, let's hope."

 

"… Alright."

 

Although my initial plan was to politely greet the frustrated mother and reassure her I was not here to drug or kidnap her son, things took a comfortably predictable turn; I had decided to head back to the waiting area, giving up on both my olive-cheese croissant and the community service requested of me.

 

I stared at the candy in my palms and cheered myself up with an imaginative, optimistic scenario in which I succeeded in calming and even befriending that child, a scenario that would have likely taken place had I not been a socially incompetent coward.

 

I tapped my feet as I waited for the boarding announcement, hesitant before finally snacking on one of the taffies and the wrapper crunched as I opened it, the foil on the inside glistening in the sunlight from the giant windows.

 

The flavor had little to do with pineapple, opposite to what was implied on the wrapper: Real Fruit Explosion!

 

I remembered the nutty chocolate truffles my mother kept in the guest living room.

 

One afternoon, I lifted the heavy glass lid just to take a look at the little golden globes, kept away from my reach like a treasure chest.

 

Taking a peek and closing the lid again failed to restrain me and so I decided to 'borrow' one single truffle. Only one. I then promised I would compensate my mother; I would grow up into a responsible adult, find a good job, and buy her another truffle once I'm filthy rich. A promise was a promise.

 

"Aaron, we talked about this…Why, honey?" she had walked in on me in the middle of my euphoric tasting experience. It took me a few moments to realize that I had devoured at least a dozen little spheres. And because this was not supposed to happen and because things had gotten out of hands, my eyes filled with big tears as I stared at the wrinkled golden wrappers piled on the dining table. How in the world would I be able to pay all my debts?

 

My father joined us just in time only to confess that he too had previously snuck in and gobbled up a few truffles. And Mama, stuck between getting more upset and smiling at the silliness of my father's guilty face, took a deep breath and suggested we all share the remaining dessert as we watch television together.

 

"Good afternoon, passengers. This is a pre-boarding announcement for flight 18-Q to New Cyan…"

 

I would later ask the flight attendant if they sold any golden, nutty chocolate truffles; a souvenir from the home I may never return to.

Reviews

[Undying Glory]

"I would later ask the flight attendant if they sold any golden, nutty chocolate truffles; a souvenir from the home I may never return to."
Those words are a great ending to this story. Even though this one wasn't long, it was a real pleasure to read. Great job!

[StarNinja]

Your words are so poetic, almost lyrical even in story form. It's been a while since we've seen this character and this place. I'd almost forgotten our little snowman's face. Hope to see more of New Cyan in the future. Keep up the good work!

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story my friend.
"I remembered the nutty chocolate truffles my mother kept in the guest living room."
The simple things about new places. Make us wish to return. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[JayG]

This is pretty much all over the place because you're trying to use the writing skills we all learn in our school days. You're also talking about things that have meaning to you, who already knows the story, without giving the reader context for what's happening. You have, for example, an unknown person at an unknown airport for unknown reasons, and have him or her walk around the airport thinking thigs that have no meaning for the reader who doesn't know what prompted the thoughts or what they refer to. So he or she is upset for unknown reasons.

You know the why's of it. The characters know why, too. Shouldn't the reader, the one you wrote this for know?

Here's the deal: In our school days we learn only nonfiction writing skills because they were preparing us to hold a job, and employers need nonfiction skills, which are meant to inform. But the goal of fiction is to entertain. We learn no professions in our public education years, and writing fiction is a profession. So we leave school exactly as prepared to write fiction as to pilot a 747, though we don't know that.

So, the solution is simple, though not easy. You're missing the tricks of the trade so you need to pick them up, as you would the tricks of any other profession. After all, to write like a pro you need to know what a pro knows. Your local library's fiction writing section has what you need. And it's free.

The not easy part is because any skill takes time to master. But then, anything worth doing is worth doing well. So it's a pain in the neck to learn this, but everyone faces it on the way to publication, so it's not really a big deal.

So, head for the library's fiction writing section and chew up a half dozen books on the subject, to get a wide variety of viewpoints. You might also want to poke around among the articles in my writing blog, to get a feel for the issues involved.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/