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QDOS
April 12th, 2012, 05:09 PM
Diary - Thursday
This is a God damn awful day.
Sedated!

Diary - Sunday
Note: Haven’t written for over six months. As an aspiring writer that doesn’t give me much credence...

I’m staring down at my computer keyboard, where to start, I must write something...

For Matthew Bainbridge, life was just drifting... NO

The life of Matt Bainbridge was stuck in a rut and going nowhere... Hell NO

“I’ll start again.”

Passed his mid-twenties, Matt Bainbridge lived at the top of an old Victorian house. The house had been converted into apartments some years before. Three levels of steep stairs led to the apartment’s front door. It opened on to a minimal square hall. Opening the door on the left revealed a small bathroom. But to call it a bathroom was wrong. There was no bath, there wasn’t the space. A wash basin and toilet left only room for a shower. As to the only other exit from the hall there wasn’t a door, just an archway that led into an opened plan living area.

“Describing Matt”

Shy, not very outgoing, lacking in confidence, Matt at nearly five foot eight could at times be a little sensitive about his height. He nearly always exaggerated on the seven and a half inches. When wearing thick heeled shoes he made out he was five foot nine. A rounded face was set with sullen greyish blue eyes and a generous mouth. The nose was thin, straight not hooked, Matt thought it a little too large. His head was topped with fine, not coarse, light brown hair. As to build Matt was definitely not a geeky skinny as in underfed, more sort of filled out. Yet not overweight, definitely not overweight. Matt was no fitness freak, muscled you might say, but not toned.

It occurs to me as a writer I can make Matt anyone I like...

Matt had the physique of a Greek God the sort of body any girl in the western would... would what?

Matt moved with the sleek rippling muscle tone of his Zulu warrior forefathers.

With a Maharajas regal presence and grace befitting Matt’s Indian past... Yea, da, de DA.

I make note that true life is much more mundane...

Matt worked two jobs. He spent Fridays and Saturdays with an occasional Sunday working for an estate agents. The owner said of Matt, he had a warm welcoming face and a friendly disposition that was not threatening. It helped that the boss was the father of Matt’s best friend.

The second job was acquired through the local jobcentre. During the week Matt work three days at a special needs home. It benefited Matt as it came with training, which was how he came to obtain a basic qualification in caring. The home was not unknown to Matt as his twin brother Tom had been there for several years.

“Shit! This is crap, all such crap... Delete! Delete! Delete! Delete!”

The phone rang an unexpected call. I’ll tell you about it later. But for now it got me thinking...

“Third person, first person, maybe I’ve been approaching this all from the wrong angle.”

Tom my brother, how to put this, he’s not well and it’s all my fault. Well when you’re a twin I guess that’s how you feel. Growing up with the best pal as your brother, there’s always somebody around to play games with. But that all changed, just starting our teens Tom contracted meningitis. It left him with a mental age of 10. The obvious lack of academic ability soon revealed itself. It wasn’t obvious at first with Tom recovering and all. But in the following years my parents struggled to come to terms with the disappointments, the mental inaptitude, the raging hormones and sudden uncontrollable outbursts. In the end unable to cope with the disruptions they managed to get Tom placed in a care home under proper medical supervision.

That’s where he’s been the last nine years. They calmed him down, and he settled in. He gets on really well, he’s everyone’s friend and the staff love him. Working there three days a week our paths cross often. It has been almost like old times, we played games, cricket, football in the garden, worked on jigsaw puzzles together and watched TV, old comedy shows.

Six month ago that all changed when Jenny arrived. She was a paraplegic, victim of a car accident. It was tragic, she was one hell of a looker. She and Tom seem to be made for each other they got on like a house on fire. Reading was hard work for Tom, I don’t think he’d done any for years. I walked in on them one day, a few weeks after Jenny’s arrival. Tom was sitting reading to her. I listened, if he struggled on a word Jenney asked to see and corrected him. I don’t think anyone could believe it, but Tom, my brother, just blossomed under her guidance. It was as if the barriers had been lifted, what had blocked and turned off his learning processes had suddenly been switched on.

It was amazing to see them working together. It turned out Jenny was training to become a teacher. I guess having Tom about fulfilled her need as much as his. There was talk of Tom being able to return home and live an almost normal life. Our hopes were high. Then there was the question of Tom and Jenny. It was obvious by now they both had a deep affection for each other. In fact working at the home was becoming something of an embarrassment. Catching them, yes spying on them if you like, when they thought they were alone.

The weeks drifted into months their happiness spilled over on everyone they came in contact with. Then it happened, life’s such a bitch. Jenny suffered from aneurism, part of the complications following the car accident I guess. A burst artery wall meant she had lost a lot of blood internally. They thought they’d saved her but it wasn’t to be. Tom knew she had been taken to hospital. Yet no one could bring themselves to tell him she wouldn’t return. Least of all me.

It was dad who broke the news. He and Tom spent the afternoon together. I don’t know what was said, but Tom seemed Ok. Well on the surface he did. As for me I realised I was in love with Jenny too, well her persona as much as Tom was. In a weird way her death had revealed my envy. I knew then if ever I met my Jenny, well you get the picture.

On the day of the funeral it was a last minute decision, but Tom wanted to come. He sat still and quiet throughout the ceremony. It was only as we went to leave that he broke down. As we passed the coffin with the picture of Jenny upright in front, the tears swelled up. I stood with him and we both sobbed. In the car all the way back to the care home, he didn’t stop. They gave Tom an injection to help him sleep.

Diary - Thursday
This is a God damn awful day.
Sedated!

Diary - Sunday
Note: Haven’t written for over six months. As an aspiring writer that doesn’t give me much credence...

I confess to this guilty secret. Yesterday I met this girl, she doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to ask her out.

QDOS :wink:

lcg
April 12th, 2012, 05:45 PM
Good to read..Writer's procrastination habit... :joyous:
Don't wait for six months for next entry.:-p

QDOS
April 22nd, 2012, 03:51 PM
Hi, thanks Icg I take your comments as encouragement.

The genres of Tragic Romance, is new to me and Humour is so hard to write. Systematically my presentation is usually in the third person not the first. As to format, using italics to convey an individual’s thoughts is somewhat sanctimonious. Especially as I’m aware that for those with dyslexia, reading italics can be somewhat troublesome. Even so in pursue of this experiment, I have continued. So any thoughts on written format when portraying mental deliberations or recalling past events. Likewise, is this take on a diary style of storyline refreshing or outdated. :nevreness:

Diary – Tuesday
Mars verse Venus

Diary –Saturday
Love is my Casualty

“Hello. That’s if anyone is listening.”

Thoughts! I actually asked her out. Yes me. I guess where there’s the will, there’s a way. I was journeying back from the Care Home where I work Tuesdays. The one where my mentally deranged brother is interned. Sorry I didn’t mean it to sound quite as bad as is does. It’s just a private joke between me and Tom.

Anyhow, I caught the bus from Highbury, where the home is just of Shillitoe Ave. The route takes it down through the town centre and then on to Maple Street, that’s my stop. However, there I was half my journey over. I suddenly realise she was waiting in the queue at the bus stop we were pulling up at. You can imagine my dilemma. I sat there with my brain a buzz, was this a god given opportunity to make contact or not. I was sitting on the outside seat with the one next to the window unoccupied. Perfect you might say, so what was holding me back. It was that all important opening line.

“Hi, this seat is free.”

I imagined my casual remark accompanied with a nonchalant smile and me getting up to offer the empty seat. Yes this one right here next to me. I prepared myself as I watched her pay her fare then follow the other passengers towards me. I didn’t know her name at this point and I was so engrossed with my thoughts, it hadn’t registered that I was being spoken to by an old lady with a very large shopping bag.

“Err! Sorry what was that!”

“I said is that seat taken young man.” The woman asked.

Before I realised, I was up and offering access to the empty seat by the window. I sat down clearing the gangway for other passengers to move up the aisle. I felt somewhat deflated the opportunity having slipped from my grasp, the conversational engagement with my intended now at an impasse. Yet at that precise moment, I looked up and came into direct eye contact with the girl of my dreams. She smiled, a pleasant and up lifting smile. I was not dead in the proverbial water yet.

I tried to be as casual about it as possible and make the glance over my shoulder. Three rows behind and on the other side of the bus, she was sitting next to some hunk of a guy. Over six foot tall, well muscled and obviously fit, he had the physic that perfectly match the job description for one of those nightclub bouncers. My heart sank and I tried to shrink down into my seat, which was difficult as I had to contend with a large shopping bag placed between me and the old woman. I waited, keeping an eye out for my stop on Maple Street. It came and went, the girl didn’t get off and neither did I. We must have gone another three stops when my seat companion made her move. No not the girl, the old lady.

In the process of allowing the shopping woman her exit, I glanced again at the girl with the beautiful face and beguiling smile. Did I see that, I wasn’t mistaken, did she give me a wink. Yes she did, I sat down again beaming a broad smile. I felt ecstatic, but I remembered to calm myself and not hyperventilate.

I think the bus must have been almost at the end of the route. As the bus rolled to a stop, I made a quick glance and realising the girl was getting off, I jumped up from my own seat. I followed her off the bus with three other passengers. In truth, I was a bit confused; this wasn’t a part of town I was familiar with.

The girl stood waiting at the curbside as the bus drew away. She looked left and then right to see me standing on my own and smiled. I suddenly felt totally embarrassed.

“You waiting for someone too.” She asked.

God I’ve got it all wrong, she must have a boyfriend. I’d gone out on a limb and all for nothing. Now you have to understand I’d asked girls out before, of course I had. Nevertheless, not quite like this, I knew them from college or work. Oh and yes, there were the distant relative’s daughter and friends of friends that sort of thing. Always a bit shy, I was used to playing it safe. So for me to be standing there in this predicament was totally out of character. Yet here I was and with this deep sense of urgency, maybe it was desperation. It was certainly something I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually about to engage in conversation with the girl of my dreams.

“Not really.”

The girl returned a somewhat frowned smile. It just triggered a search for words to explain myself. I mean there I am standing a few feet away from this attractive figure in an off-white, no cream, yes cream raincoat with one of those tie in a knot wide belts. It accentuated her slim waist. The black shoes had sensible heals I noted. The shapely legs well the bottom half below her coat. I remembered more from the first time I’d seen her in a short summer dress out with some of her friends.

“Err! Actually, I was desperate.”

Wow! Did I really say that? Another if not deeper of those frowned smiles, then quickly she glanced up and down the road. I didn’t mean to say desperate it just slipped out. There was only one course of action I had to admit my reason for being there, she could either be flattered, accept me on face value or tell me to get lost. Then as if I hadn’t already done enough to freak her out.

“I know this might seem a bit weird, appearing as a complete stranger and all. It’s just that I saw you the other day, and well I just had to pluck up courage. When I saw you get on the bus, I stayed on right passed my stop. You probably won’t believe me, but I don’t even know this part of town...”

Yes, this was me babbling on like an idiot. At the very least, it showed that I was no threat. The smile on her face widened and the frown lifted. She dipped her head a little then swept her hair back, she was laughing with an infectious giggle. I stopped my discourse and looked into her radiant eyes. My mouth gapped wide, I gulped one, twice, then snapped my jaws together. What was happening was this my moment of humiliation or was I winning her round. Whatever I said next was going to be crucial.

“I was hoping to ask you out.”

The laughing subsided and then stopped. “You’re asking me out, what on a date?”

“Yes, a date.”

I stood nodding my head like one of those novelty dogs you see on the back parcel shelf of cars. Did I note a tinge of acceptance in her voice? I hoped so. We stood looking at each other; she appeared to be waiting for me to say something else. I was wondering what to say, when it dawn on me I had no idea where she lived.

“We could meet up somewhere.” I stopped nodding, and then I started shaking my head slowly from side to side before adding. “I have no idea where you live.”

“Have we met before, I’ve recently move here and I don’t recall being introduced.”

That caught me out and I had to think. Stupid, stupid, what’s the normal protocol when starting any relationship, why its introduce yourself. I’m a complete idiot.

“Bainbridge, Matthew Bainbridge. My friends call me Matt.”

“Well hello Matthew, Matt, I’m Anthea Wilcox, pleased to met you.”

Anthea, I gulped at the name and blew a soft low whistle. The dream girl had a name to match.

“When?”

It was a simple enough question. Now it was out in the open, had I thought about it? To start with an evening meal, a film, maybe a play at the local arts centre. They put on amateur theatricals, or one of those touring shows. Occasionally they had a stand-up comedian. They were always worth going to see.

“When!” I repeated. My surprised face must have said it all. Nevertheless, I was now fired up. “Oh! How about Friday?”

“Sorry no can do, Saturday maybe.”

“Saturday it is then,” I spoke as if the deal was already confirmed. “I’ll pick you up. I mean where shall we meet.”

A car drew up alongside, driven by a young man. Anthea made a move towards the passenger door. She stopped took pen and a small notebook from her coat pocket. A moment later, she tore off a page and passed it to me.

“We could meet outside Walters the Book Shop do you know it.”

“Yea, sure.”

I’m concentrating more on this smart looking guy in the driving seat. I was in half a mind to drag Anthea back as she went to climb into the car. The confusion and concern I was showing was obvious. As the car started to pull away, she wound down the window.

“Half seven be OK. Don’t look so worried.” She shot a glance across at the driver. “He’s my brother.”

The car went off at speed to fill a gap in the traffic. Written on the paper was her mobile number. So Anthea Wilcox, Saturday half eight outside Walters the Book Shop on the High Street, duly noted and stored in my memory bank. Mission accomplished.

I was late home having walked it back to my place in Maple Street. I’d taken a wrong turning more than once. Yet I was walking on air, head in the clouds. I don’t remember climbing the stairs to my top floor flat. Taking a can of Pepsi from the fridge, it suddenly dawned on me I had no idea of her tastes or interests. Where on earth could I possibly take her on our first date. Then as if to add to my problems, the phone rang.

“Oh! Hallo dear,” it was Mum. “I’m just checking, it is this Saturday you promised to take Tom bowling.”

The reminder hit me like a bombshell. How could I have forgotten, such an Ars so busy planning my own future. Well that was that, there was no way I could disappoint Tom. I finish the conversation with Mum, I might have been a bit sharp with her. I stood weighing up my options; it was a juggling act bound to end in failure. However, what choice did I have?

Saturday we waited outside Walters the Book Shop. Anthea arrived to see not one but two facsimiles for her date. Like some double take, she looked at my twin brother Tom and me. It was an awkward moment not helped by my vain attempt to explain. So there I am babbling away, when Tom as if he was the real adult leans across and just says.

“Hi, I’m Tom.”

The simplicity of it, Tom holds out his hand showing a grin like the proverbial Cheshire Cat from Alice in wonderland. All very nice, but just as Anthea is about to shake he removes his hand. Then he starts swinging his arms and stomping around making whooping noises like he’s from the Planet of the Apes. A twenty something carrying out the antics of a ten year old does have its comic effect. Anthea quickly put two and two together, giving a knowing smiled at my own dysfunctional attempts at an explanation. I have to say she showed guts in not calling off our date right there and then. I grabbed Tom with one hand, Anthea with my other and steered us all towards the end of the High Street and the direction of our local bowling alley.

There was a short delay for a lane to become free. This Saturday seemed busier than normal. Things started out well, Tom was enjoying himself and Anthea was showing remarkable skill at knocking the pins down. I had some serious competition on my hands. While Tom and I got stuck in to a second play off, Anthea insisted she buy a round of Pepsi. I guessed it might also be an excuse to use the you know what room.

“Come and get it.”

Anthea had returned holding three large paper cups. That was when the evening ...

Stop freeze frame. Let me set the scene. Bowling lanes, polished flooring, duel desks for writing score sheet. Behind them mirrored ‘J’ shaped seating for the players. Gaps between the seating giving access from the carpeted reception area to the bowling lanes. Our lane is to one side and in front of the counter for collecting your bowling shoes.

Fast forward following Anthea’s announcement...

Tom being Tom turned and rushed to get his drink. Forgetting he still held the bowing ball he was about to play. OK it was possibly an accident going to happen, what can I say. Tom dropped the ball and it landed on Anthea’s foot. The right one if you’re interested. I had already turned hearing the call about the drinks. I see her hands go up at the same time she lets out a shriek. In my mind events from then are like watching a slow motion picture. The drinks fly in all directions, one hits the floor of the next lane over. The contents spill out running across the polished floor just as one of the group is about to swing his bowling ball.

Do I need to say any more, wet polished floor, smooth bowling shoe, ouch. The guy does the splits. I see the expression on his face as he goes down and I wince feeling his pain. However, that’s not all, the ball he was holding gets thrown over his head and backwards. It lands on the carpeted reception area and starts a slow roll. I watch, mesmerised by its movement as it covers the floor towards where they hand out the bowling shoes. The ball has a mind of its own, it going for a full strike, the pins being the present group collecting their shoes.

No, no don’t step back. He’s going down, pulling another with him. Then another, four, five, six, is it to be a full house. The last one standing, a young woman manages at the last moment to avoid being toppled. I give my head a shake and make a move to help Anthea. She’s hopping around her face screwed up in pain. About the same time the adjacent group of Bowlers rush forward to help their stricken comrade agonising with his acute groin problem. Those around the shoe counter are picking themselves up checking for injuries as others rush to their aid. Then to cap it all Tom looking terrified, starts to bawl his eyes out. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. Do I first console Tom the child or apologise to Andrea, show sympathy and try to ease her distress.

“Well if you want more details, I can imagine the forth coming edition of our local rag.”

An incident at the local Bowling alley last Saturday resulted in three being taken by ambulance to Barnet Casualty. One with a groin injury was kept in overnight. A second with a broken arm was released later in the evening, as was a young woman with a suspected fractured big toe.

It seems hours ago now, Tom’s back in the home, and I’m making my way back into A&E when I see Anthea. I can see the plaster cast over the toes of her right foot. Two men accompany her, one considerably older and grey haired is of similar age to my father. The other I sort of recognise, the man from the car that picked her up at the bus stop. Her brother looked none too pleased to see me.

“Dad this is Matt.”

I just wanted to disappear. Even more so as Anthea said her words through almost clenched teeth. I guess she was still in some pain. What was I supposed to say, the damage was done, as to any possible future relationship, I felt that was pretty much dead in the water? Then my hopes rose.

“Anthea told us about your brother Tom. I hope he’s alright.” Anthea’s father held out his hand in that age old gesture of friendship.
Diary – Tuesday
Mars verse Venus

Diary –Saturday
Love is my Casualty


QDOS :encouragement: