Character

Thanks to Patois over at Whee! All The Way Home, I found a new website and writing community I fell in love with. It's called Write of Passage, and this blog post made me fall in love - hard. So, there you have it.

One week's writing challenge was about character. "Find a person in public today and study their character. Make a story surrounding them. Build them in to your shorty essay." And I can think of just the guy...

I don't know how I got here. Not the disbelief kind of 'I don't know,' but the type of 'I don't know' that only comes with memory loss. But, here I am. And I'm not sure where I'm going. I see these shoes - these really comfortable, polished loafers - and I wonder where I got them, because I sure don't remember that, either.

The first thing I remember about my present situation was waking up under a bench outside the bus station. My head was killing me, my forehead bruised and scratched, and there was someone sitting on the bench above me. When I began to move around, they jumped up in surprise and stood up to leave. In an odd turn of events, someone sitting on an adjacent bench came over and sat down above me. They bent down and asked me, "So. What happened to you?" I opened my mouth to reply but had to stop. It very quickly occurred to me that I hadn't a clue as to how to answer that question.

So I woke up under this bench wearing clothes that were very unfamiliar to me and, quite frankly, a little too...shapeless. I do remember that I was never a sweatpants kind of guy or, well, I don't know. Maybe I was. Maybe this new guy I've become just doesn't think he was a sweatpants kind of guy before. Anyway, these don't feel right. I'm assuming I didn't wear them before because I feel awkward. And the hooded sweatshirt isn't really what I would believe to be my style, either. Remember I said something about loafers? Yeah. I have these Cole Haan loafers on. Bus Station Dwellers don't typically come away from the Salvation Army with Cole Haan, do they? I feel as if this is a connection to the life I had before I forgot my life.

As I was saying, I was sitting on this bench with a stranger who hadn't said another word to me, and I was looking like the Unabomber. (well, apparently i remember something. what year did they catch the unabomber, anyway?) The stranger moved a little closer to me and that made me flinch, so I got up and checked under the bench for any belongings (no such luck) and just started walking.

I know now that I am in Lafayette, Louisiana. I don't live here, though. Or, if I do, I'm a lonely bachelor with no family. I came across a police officer at a gas station. No men of my description have been reported missing in months. He said he would be willing to give me directions to a men's shelter. Outside of that, he said, there wasn't much he could do. So, I just started walking.

I found a freeway. I figured I could always just follow that freeway somewhere. What else was I to do? I don't even remember anything about Lafayette, anyway, so what made me believe I lived there? Nothing. Time to move on. Maybe something will come to me. Then I can go home. So I began walking along the freeway. Not on the freeway, but alongside it, down on the access road. Eventually, the access road will enter the main roadway which has now turned into a highway, and my only choice will be to walk along the busy road and look like a hitcher.

Which I'm not. I want to make that perfectly clear. I'm not hitchhiking. I'm walking, rather than driving, along a major US interstate. Only because there are no sidewalks.

But, eventually, my feet got tired, so I took off my nice loafers and stopped walking. I wasn't really looking for a ride, but one just stopped anyway. It was getting dark and I really didn't want to get mowed down from behind, so I climbed into the company truck (it's against company policy so please don't tell anyone, he begged), and we drove. Well, he drove, and I promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, we were in Lake Charles, getting fuel. He bought me a big 5-piece chicken meal and we ate together in the little cafe. He said he was on his way to Beaumont in Texas, that I could ride with or stay here. I chose to stay.

Unfortunately, there's not much in Lake Charles. So, after a few nights of sleeping in some seedy casinos, I went back out to the highway and began walking. The cops really just leave you alone if you're only walking and don't have a thumb out. Of course, they don't ask if you want any help, either. They pass right by. It's downright rude.

Of course, there is WAY more to tell about what actually happened while I was waiting there, but you don't want to hear that. I don't want to tell it, either. No offense.

So I just kept walking. But then I got tired and sat down here right by this guardrail. I sat for a little while, just watching the world go by, all of them in a hurry to get somewhere. That's where you came in. I heard you before I saw you: thumpity - thumpity - thumpity with your tire. As luck would have it, you came to a stop right here in front of me. Remember how you said you didn't need help, and you were perfectly capable of changing a tire by yourself? That wasn't nice, considering a man with so very little in life offered to help a very-obviously well-to-do uppity bitch like yourself and expect absolutely nothing in return except a thank-you. I may be lost in life, but I remember how to change a tire and lift shit that's too heavy for a delicate woman.

Oh, look. There's another car pulling up right now. Sure, man, I'd love a ride to a gas station. I seem to have misplaced my cell phone and should call my wife. I left the house in a hurry and was just on my way to pick up our daughter down the road a bit who, ironically, was having car trouble! Just let me get some things out of the trunk and I'll be right with you...

Now, I'm not going to open this trunk, because I know you'll scream or try to run away. I'm sorry I had to do this to you, but when people offer to help, you really should be a little nicer about it. As I said, I have nothing, but was offering you everything I had, and it was rude for you to not take it. So, farewell, and thanks for listening to my story. I hope someone lets you out soon. If not, well, I'm sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have stopped when you saw me sitting here on the guardrail, aimlessly watching cars pass by. I have to go now, I'm sure you can hear my ride honking.


I'm not sure if I followed the prompt, really, but I kind of enjoyed creating the character. This evening I was driving to the BEST Greek restaurant in town and saw this guy just sitting on the guardrail of an extremely busy, inner-city freeway on-ramp. He was dressed in black sweats with his hood up, looking just...vacant. There were no stores, no homes, no cars nearby, and I just began wondering what must've happened to place that guy right there at that time. I'm sure his real story would've been much better than my rushed fiction one. Comments are welcome but, to be honest, I half-assed it and made it up as I went along. I think I must be a bit more dedicated to the future prompts. I promise. *holds up right hand*