Jogging - I don't like this

As the title suggests, I'm not a big fan of this. The idea came to me literally as one line. I just imagined this insecure young woman, playfully telling this older man, who was trying to chat her up, to keep up. So I wrote this. Let me know what you think.

“Mind if I join you?” John sidled up to the new girl of the class with his usual overflowing charisma.

“If you want, it’s a free world.” The truth was, behind this ice cool expression, Henrietta was frozen for words inside. She wasn’t used to being hit on, especially not while drenched in sweat at her jogging group. Her retort was said more out of instinct than anything.

“Lovely day huh?” in truth, John wasn’t used to receiving anything less than come on signs from women. His luck with the girls on the jogging group was seen as legendary by his friends. But he saw Henrietta as a challenge, and was intrigued by the new girl.

“Yes, yes it is.” That was an understatement, it was a gorgeous day. Summer was arriving, the leaves in the trees were slowly turning green, and the mid afternoon sun was making even the grey tarmac look bright and colourful. But once again, all she could come out with was a boring reply, and if she hadn’t been running she would have been busy kicking herself.

“... Although it’s probably not the best day for jogging”. Correct, over thirty degrees centigrade will never be classed as ideal for a sport that entails running around in a circle. John hoped his humour might be the kick start to conversation.

“No you’re probably right, so, umm, what do you do for a living...?” What man wants to talk about jogging for hours? She thought a switch in the topic might invigorate the conversation. Her hesitation came from not knowing John’s name, joggers tend not to wear name badges unfortunately, although that didn’t stop her quickly surveying his chest for one.

“I’m John, 43, divorced, two beautiful kids. I own the small green bookshop next to that huge WH Smiths.” His sentence tailed off as he stopped himself from explaining his whole life story.

“Oh yes, the one that does those amazing café lattes and has quick sand like sofas, that you disappear into if you stay there too long”. Henrietta actually loved that book shop. She was a struggling writer and sought refuge and inspiration from the old, oaky, book-laden shelves in the shop.

“That is the one, we’ve lost several people to those sofas actually. What about you, who are you?” which seemed like a tad bit forward, but he thought he may as well throw caution to the wind as the nameless woman was starting to open up.

“Well my name is Henrietta, I’m 30, not divorced, or married even. So no beautiful kids, although that’s fine when people do have kids out of wedlock. I’m a journalist. But I don’t enjoy it, all my editor wants are salacious tabloid stories, but I want to write about the world. I want to tell beautiful stories that warm the...” at which point Henrietta was interrupted by the branch that collided into her forehead. The thing with jogging is, it’s a lot faster than walking, you need to focus on what is in front of you or you will collide with a variety of objects. Henrietta not only hit the tree, but she hit the tarmac on her way down.

“Are you okay?” the steady flow of blood trickling from her nose, and the bruised tree imprint on her forehead indicated that she probably wasn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine.” Henrietta was in shock, and could barely handle the pain. But now is not the time to cry. First day of jogging and she hits a tree, while being chatted up, this is an eventful day so far. She was still rooted to the floor, and was visualising her head spinning in circles.

“You don’t look it, here let me help you up.” He offered his hand, and gently eased her to her feet.

“Listen, I actually have to go and open up the shop. We have a few readings happening this afternoon, but would you fancy dinner sometime? I know this fantastic Japanese place. You know it’s not all about sushi, we could have teriyaki or tempura...” being forward was John’s game. He had nothing to lose.

“Dinner? You’re going to have to chase a bit more before dinner, even if I do love your shop.” She kicked herself for using the word ‘chase’ at a joggers group. The bump to the head had given her more confidence than she usually had.

“Okay then, well I’ll see you next week.” She hoped.

Does this have legs? Give me some thoughts?

Truth.

I lay back in bed. The gentle ringing of my alarm clock had jarred my senses enough to rouse me, but in actuality I was far from awake. It would take a bucket of water poured over my head, or a slap across the face to wake me up, but luckily neither of those were on the horizon. No it’s just me, my bed covers, and the late morning sun trying to squeeze past the curtains, gently illuminating the room.

I slowly reach up to turn on my music player. The crisp sound of Stevie Wonder immediately, but delicately fills the room. The classic ‘Lately’ reverberated in my ears. I close my eyes, assured I wouldn’t sleep, and imagine the pain one must feel to write a song like that. Knowing that the one you love and give yourself to, the one who you can’t take your eyes off, just doesn’t see you anymore. And all you have is this impending wait, with a gun to your heart just waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

But there are sometimes when a break up occurs, and you don’t see it coming. All of a sudden the bullet flies into your chest without warning; you don’t have time to move for as soon as you know about it, as soon as the bullet comes into view, bang, it’s already hit you.

Looking back, I think I have been one of those assassins in the dark on a number of occasions. I turn the music off, go downstairs, and get some breakfast. With the absence of curtains, the sun is gushing through the windows and hurt my eyes, which are accustomed to darkness. I drop the yolk and white into the frying pan and watch it sizzle, then serve it with toast and lashings of ketchup. I reminisce on the days when my father would make me eggs every Saturday, it was house tradition, but growing up takes these beautiful traditions away. You move out, become an independent man, and think everything will be all good. You can wake up, go out and come home whenever you like. You can drink beer with your breakfast, and you definitely don’t have to worry about your mother hearing when you have some night time company.

But your family are integral to life. They are the ones who wake you up when you sleep in, or fetch you from the middle of nowhere when you’ve had too much drink. You love them and all, but you take it for granted. You don’t realise how much you miss them till you’re gone. I can never get my eggs done as well as he can – who knew fried eggs could be such an art.

Sometimes songs seem to follow you, I can still hear Stevie pouring his heart out even when I’m in the kitchen, and the eggs are sizzling away. I think back to the good times me and her had; going on day trips, eating at fancy restaurants, kissing in the rain. They were good times, but when I pulled that trigger I didn’t think about that. I haven’t thought about it till now. My eggs are burning, and the toast is getting cold. All is fair in love.

Short Story Mania

Blog title might just be changed, we'll see how it goes. It sounds a bit Disneyish at the momento.

Anyway, this blog has been created to encourage myself and others to write short stories... and to share them with the world. Hopefully I can recruit some willing writers, so it's not just my gloomy stories filling up the site.

And that's about it. Very simple premise, but who knows what it could conceive.