Story-A-Day #147: Lucky Bamboo

LUCKY BAMBOO

What makes a plant lucky or special?

Who decides the potential bounty to be delivered by certain species of flora?

Does a money tree truly bring wealth, or a peace lily peace?

It is odd to think that humans as a species could put so much stock into the unknown benefits of a plant. Why are we so in need of divine intervention that certain graces are bestowed upon common houseplants?

He had always wondered that, but until this day, he had never believed any of it true.

It was a normal day, not unlike the one that came before it, or the one that was sure to follow. He had climbed out of bed at 6:45am, showered, and eaten a small breakfast. He had settled in to watch the televised newscasts and check the weather before he planned his day.

He was standing in his living room, gearing up for a lazy walk along the seaside promenade, in lieu of his normal workout in from of the television, when he was suddenly compelled to cross the room to the bookshelf.

On the top shelf, twin shoots of bamboo jutted out from a rectangular glass container. The flickering shadows of the bamboo leaves caught his attention and he stepped in close to examine the soft fluttering shadows.

He barely had time to registering the sudden shrieking wail when the entire front wall of his house exploded inward. He dove into the kitchen through the nearby doorway and when the dust settled, he was amazed to discover a full sized sedan parked in his living room, right where he would have been doing his workout.

He later discovered that the driver had suffered a heart attack and lost control. Had he been following his normal routine, he would have been killed.

On that day, the bamboo shoots had indeed proven lucky. For him at least.

Story-A-Day #146: Vox Populi

VOX POPULI

He looked out the small steamy window at the receding coast of Cuba. He had always imagined it would be a beautiful country full of rich histories and forgotten lore. To an extent, it was, but there was a sadness to the country that permeated the very soil upon which it had been built.

In Havana, the majestic architecture had crumbled under the weight of neglect. The random pockets of splendour and beauty were peppered throughout, and accessible primarily to the legion of tourists and lucky few who had been assigned work there. More often than not, buildings had been left to crumble and decay under the balanced equality of the communist regime.

No government was truly just, but the true shame of Cuba was how far things had fallen under the guise of freedom for the people that came with dictatorship. Too often, gleaming stone facades revealed gutted interiors that reflected the better times through a grimy layer of neglect.

In Varadero, it had been no better.

The long coach ride from the airport wound through countless communities that swayed wearily under the weight of oppression. Tenement blocks, or social housing, lined the highway. It was not uncommon to see a particular block whose upper floors were open to the elements, or whose walls were constructed from scavenged materials.

The resorts were fine, mostly built in a colonial style that represented the ideals of the major international companies who operated them. There was a stagnant sameness throughout the peninsula. Fat tourists in the golf shirts and sarongs obliviously passing the citizens who had welcomed them to their country with the hope that opportunity would follow.

Cuba was not all bad though. Like the tourist areas in many tropical countries, it was a country defined by its people. The Cubans were more reserved than say the Mexicans in Cancun, and their steely eyed determination and quick smiles commanded respect. They knew life could be, and should be, better, but they accepted their places in society and did what they could to make the most of each opportunity. A sail on a catamaran, a box of cigars, a drink at the bar – all were presented with a smile and a knowing nod.

It was hard not to respect that outlook. It was hard not to hear the strength in the words left unsaid by people who had stories untold to tell.

Story-A-Day #145: The Thaw

THE THAW

It was a strange conundrum – chunks of ice floating lazily in the water and flowers struggling forth from the soil on shore. In a way, it seemed well suited to his current station in life, a conflicted tear between the past and present.

In the case of the shoreline, the past clung tenuously, a flotilla of ice that did not wish to cede to the encroaching warmth of summer. The present, a patch of vibrant yellow flower struggling to makes its present felt, and to dispel the ugly grey-brown of the thaw in favour of sunnier times.

As far as metaphors were concerned, it was surprisingly apt.

His past was a dull shadow that loomed over the day, a mottled grey-brown mess of hard work and forgotten dreams. The present was full of opportunity, but it would be hard work. It was always hard work.

He had just move to this new town, his interest peaked by the promise of serenity in a casual urban setting. It was a new beginning to be sure, but one that would take some getting used to; one that would require some adapting to.

For starters, he would need to figure out what to do with him self. Long days of wandering the streets and learning about his new locale would soon lose their appeal, and when they did, he knew he would need something to distract his mind from the shadows of the past.

He would need to make some friends so that he had someone to talk to, otherwise he was sure that he would end up wandering the streets and talking to him self. The loneliness would be the hardest thing to get past.

Planting new roots was the easier challenge of the ones he faced. Remembering how to blossom and live in the present would be more difficult by far.

He missed his old life. He missed his friends and the happier times he had known. Mostly though, he missed her. That was an aspect of his present that no amount of sunshine and warmth would ever change.

Still, he would try.

Story-A-Day #144: Chicken

CHICKEN

“It doesn’t look like much.”

“What did you expect, gargoyles and a cemetery?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would be a little more… Scary.”

“Trust me. It’s scary. I was here last weekend with Adam and Sam – we were going to find a way in and try to talk to the spirits with Adam’s Ouija board.”

“So?”

“So when we got to the window around back we heard these people moaning, and then this loud laughing!”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m not lying. This place is haunted. My mom was telling me that that kid who went missing last week…”

“The one with the braces?”

“Yeah. She was walking her dog right around here when she disappeared.”

“No way. She lived practically at the other end of town. I saw her mom on the news. Why would she be walking her dog all the way up here?”

“Why do you think, dummy? Her MOM lives way down there, but her DAD lives about two streets over. Adam’s sister told him so.”

“So what are we supposed to do about it? We’re just a couple of kids.”

“I think we need to go in there. If we could get in and take a quick look around, we could probably find some clues.”

“’Cause I’m sure the police didn’t already find them all.”

“They might not ’ve. Plus, that girl didn’t disappear until after all that other stuff happened. The police wouldn’t even ‘ve known to look here.”

“And how are we supposed to get in there? There’s boards on all the windows.”

“We come back tonight with supplies. A hammer, some flashlights – maybe a bit of rope.”

“And then what?”

“Then we go in and rescue that girl.”

“What if she’s not in there? What if the ghosts took her?”

“Trust me, she’s going to be in there, and we’re going to be famous. They’ll probably even put us on the front page of the newspaper.”

“I don’t know…”

“Quit being such a chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken!”

“Good, then we come back tonight.”

“Fine. We’ll come back tonight.”

“This is going to be so awesome!”

The two kids took off up the road without a second glance at the dilapidated old house. If they had looked back, they might have changed their minds about coming back at night. They might have changed their minds about ever coming near the decrepit old house again…

Story-A-Day #143: Face Crash

FACE CRASH

It was sunny but cloudy, one of those weird weather days where everything was bathed in an ethereal half glow. Great billowing pillows of cloud skirted across the sky, but the sun’s great blades still managed to slice their way through to the world below.

He had spent the morning cleaning his yard but the good graces of Spring finally put an end to it. The birds were singing cheerfully in the sky and the earth itself seemed to be pulsating with the life surging efforts of flowers and grass. He had put in a good morning of work, and now it was time to enjoy a bit of the warmer weather promised by the changing seasons.

He hopped on his bike, anxious to feel the hum of tires on asphalt, the soft crunch of leftover road sand below. He raced down the hill, legs pumping furiously as the speed of the bike surpassed his own abilities.

He rocketed onward and gently applied the brakes as he zoomed towards a sharp bend in the road. The bike wobbled as he leaned into a corner and his entire body seized up as he felt the back end slowly drift out on a blanket of loose debris.

The tires connected with the solid concrete curb, one after another in rapid succession, and he felt himself defying the natural laws of physics. One minute he was leaning into the corner, the next he was being catapulted out of it.

He watched as the ground receded below and caught a brief shiny glimpse of his bike pirouetting through the air, its front tire bouncing wildly back and forth through the air.

He hit the ground hard and felt the air crush from his lungs. He choked on the seizing muscles for a moment, then finally regained his breath. The bright sunny blue world had turned the colour of a bruise, and he closed his eyes for a moment to let his eyes adjust.

He should have worn his helmet. He had meant to grab it, but the call to adventure had been too great. A wash of dizziness poured over him and he grimaced again.

He tried to stand up, but his legs weren’t quite willing to cooperate.

It took him a moment to notice the young man standing over him. “Dude, that was awesome,” the kid said.

He acknowledged him with a warm stream of vomit over the shoes. Face twisted in a mask of sickened disgust, the kid retreated.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but an ambulance finally arrived on the scene and the attendants quickly set about examining him.

The puking had been funny, but he would never venture out without his helmet again. He was getting way to old to be performing comedic, public face plants.

Story-A-Day #142: Tom

TOM

The shadows scurried. There was no other way to explain it. She had climbed out of the shower and was toweling off, the remnants of the song she had been singing still drifting through her mind, when she noticed the movement.

It was quick and fleeting, a sudden dash across the yard outside the window. Her first impulse was to assume it was a peeping tom, some lowlife trying to sneak a peak at her.

She had noticed her neighbor skulking around back there before and assumed that this was more of the same.

She pulled the towel tighter around her torso and peered out through the blinds. Everything seemed to be as it should and just as she was about to turn away again, the black shape dashed from tree to shed.

She squinted more intently. There was something out there, but it was hard to tell what it was. It was too fast to track with her eyes, and too amorphous to clearly distinguish. She could just make out a wavering form behind the shed, dark tendrils extending fingerlike around the corner of the small building.

She banged an open palm against the window hoping the abrupt noise would be enough to scare off whatever was out there. The shimmering form froze and the imposing feeling of being watched quickly mounted. She took a step back as her discomfort grew and was about to turn to leave when the form revealed itself.

It was a shifting black mass, uniform in its make up, but hard to distinguish against the growing gloom of twilight. A pair of glowing red-gold eyes peered across the distance between them, sizing her up.

She took a few tentative steps backwards, finally running into the flimsy bathroom door,. The jarring impact caused her breath to seize momentarily in her chest.

The black shape flowed across the yard with a sudden burst of speed and filled the entire space of the window, its breath fogging up the small pane of glass. There were no discernible features to be seen.

The shape vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She ran into the bedroom where she hastily turned on all the lights and closed the blinds. It was a while before she was able to make her way back to the bathroom, and when she did, there was no sign of the creature – only a growing darkness that slowly filled the neighbor’s yard in an inky black darkness.

She returned to the bedroom and crawled under the sheets. It was something she hadn’t done since she was a child, but that night, she left the lights on, a comforting glow to ward off the things that go bump in the night.

Story-A-Day #141: The Fool

THE FOOL

No dare was too big for The Fool.

On a Grade 6 field trip to the Toronto Zoo, his friends had dared him to take a short cut. He accepted without a second thought and found himself dashing wildly through a wide stretch of rugged terrain towards a distant fence. He was halfway there when he realized the wooded area was used to house more than a dozen snarling wolves. His friends found it hilarious.

In Grade 7, while sailing with a friend’s family on Georgian Bay, He decided it might be good for a laugh if he “accidentally” tumbled overboard. He did, and the choppy waves and brisk currents nearly overwhelmed him. That particular prank didn’t earn him many laughs, but what doesn’t kill you…

The following year, again at the bidding of his friends, he set up a rope swing at the top of a 35-foot cliff to “get a little further out into the water”. Before taking the plunge, he gave the rope two firm tugs then with a short run, leapt from the cliff. The drop was sloppy and the impact of the water knocked the wind out of him. The snapped tree limb that followed him down nearly knocked the sense out of him. His friends once more, found it hilarious.

Throughout college, he would stack empty bottles and glasses at parties, seeing how high he could get the teetering stacks before the toppled and smashed. He would pick fights with guys twice his size to see if he could take them.

He supposed it was some form of neurosis. It didn’t matter what was asked of him, he could not say no. He had bungee jumped, sky dived, ran with the bulls, scuba dived with sharks, surpassed the speed limit by 70 kilometres per hour, and ingested an infinite range of drinks, foods, and illegal substances.

One time, he had even scaled the outside of an apartment building just because he had been told he couldn’t.

He who dares wins, he would say, as though the SAS motto rationalized everything. He had been injured and sickened many times, but he always managed to pull through. Maybe there was truth to the statement.

He figured he would always be like this, that no challenge would ever be too great. And he was fine with that too. Why not, right? No harm no foul. He supposed one day, his shenanigans would catch up with him, but until then, he would continue talking life head on.

What he never expected was that all is would take to end it all was another simple challenge. He was standing on a rocky beach on the West coast of Canada with a girl he had known for years. They were good friends and he could see a look of concern in her eyes. Then she said it: “I dare you to stop being so reckless – I dare you to settle down with me and start a family.”

He couldn’t say no. And that was how the fool grew up: because he dared to.