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WRITERS EYES / ASCRIBER Uniting Writers Around The World Online Writing Group
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by
Margie Wilson
Summer Magic
Her blue jeans were a tad too tight he thought, as she strode towards him. Her pony tail bobbed from side to side, just like the tail of her golden retriever. Both reminded Jack of the cornfields of his youth, a blonde washed yellow. He walked with a slight stoop and his walking stick helped a little so that his head was down and he could observe her from below the broad rim of his hat without her noticing. Nowadays it seemed so easy to offend when all he intended was interest. But she seemed a little different, a little like his Dora when she was young. A light spring in her step, a joy in being alive. He missed Dora so much. Sixty years of shared experiences.
Jack walked a little more slowly. The dog tugged at the leash, full of energy and verve. She laughed a little and he heard her say, “Wait up Tinker!” He started. The dog was a replica of their Tinker, their first dog. The voice was so exactly the same as Dora's. In fact she was the spitting image of Dora – a perfect figure, cornflower blue eyes. Or was he imagining it? His memory did play tricks on him these days. She didn't seem to notice him as she tripped along the path with the leash of the dog lightly in her hand. The sun shining on the lake, caused ripples that shimmered and shone, making it difficult for him to see clearly.
Thinking of her, caused a pain in his heart to grow. He stopped once more to catch his breath. The emphysema sometimes made it difficult to keep moving. He patted his pants pocket. No, the cigarettes were long gone, but not the desire for them. What difference would it make now? Jack watched and waited. Had Dora come to fetch him? He hoped so. Living with the children was so difficult. He knew he was in the way. He'd overheard Lauren say that 'If it wasn't for Dad, we could have a lovely holiday away, skiing.' Being an old man was being less than useless. He sighed. A light breeze rustled the leaves in the overhanging trees. They were turning with the season, shades of russet, saffron and brown. Just like him they too would soon fall and disappear into the rich umber earth. They both knew their days were numbered.
Jack looked up once again. Should he speak to the young woman, just to hear her voice, to remember the sound of Dora's voice once again? Would she stop her walk? Would the dog allow her to stop? He stood uncertainly, with the pain in his chest growing ever tighter. There was a tingling in his arm too. It wasn't a good sign. He knew that much. Or was it? Would a sudden heart attack, put an end to his spent life? She remained oblivious of him, now and again breaking into a run then stopping on tiptoes when the dog jerked to a halt to smell one of the messages left by earlier dogs. Just like Dora she never became impatient. But waited, patiently, letting the leash hang loosely in her hands, assured that she could take up the slack the minute the dog moved off once again.
Could this be Dora? His head pounded. He eagerly took a few steps forward, the strain of movement making the pain in his chest intensify. He tried to stand up straight again. He wouldn't want the Dora-look-a-like to think him drunk. Now, for the first time she noticed him. He doubled over on the walking stick, gasping for breath. He felt his pocket with his free hand. Where was the nitro-glycerine pump? He needed it now.
The girl came closer. “Are you in difficulty?”
He squinted into the sun. Yes, it was his Dora.
“Dora?” he asked softly.
The girl took hold of his arm, very gently. “Come, let's sit on the bench. You don't look well.”
Jack wished he had put on a clean shirt. Luckily though the plaid hid some of the gravy spills from the day before. He wouldn't want her thinking he was dirty.
He made his way uneasily to the bench. He felt his pocket again and triumphantly pulled out the pump. She understood immediately and took of the cap, handing it to him.
“Can I call somebody?” she asked with concern in her voice. It had to be Dora.
“Dora?” He asked again, but she didn't seem to understand.
A quizzical look crossed her face. “Can I call someone?” She looked around frantically, then she shouted, “Help, please help!”
As life slipped from Jack's grasp, he knew Dora had come back to fetch him. He had always known she would.
Comments will appear here
Opening=7
Characteristaion: 9
Dialogue: 6
Setting: 9
Plot: 8
Suspense: 4
Ending: 7
Enjoyment: 9
comments: A really good 'little' story. The only thing to let it down was the lack of suspense. I'd guessed the ending right from the opening lines.
Charles Latrey