Years of Sundays

I hear that there used to be a saying, a month of Sundays. That must have been back when the days of the week were different, now they’re all Sundays I guess. Well I suppose that would be impossible, but since we don’t make any distinctions between the days of the week, every day might as well be a Sunday.

I remember when I was little we had days of the week still, but they were finally considered redundant since they didn’t affect anything anymore. I was old enough at the time that I knew what the days of the week were, but I was young enough I couldn’t tell them in order. I have forgotten them now, it was unnecessary knowledge.

I never really thought about any of this, I mean sat down and truly considered this state of affairs, until I met the man in the top hat. I think it was his top hat that first drew my attention to him; actually I know that’s what it was. No one ever wears a top hat anymore; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real one in my life, except that one of course. I had been sitting on a bench in the park and he sat down next to me, I looked over at him, and then looked again when his odd appearance registered. He finally seemed to notice my gaze because he turned to look at me in turn.

“Do you have the time?’ I asked, to hide my confusion. The man nodded and pulled out a large old fashioned pocket watch. I was quickly coming to the conclusion that I was seated next to a mad man.

“It is three until two,” the man said, snapping the pocket watch shut again.

“That’s an interesting watch,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say. I wondered if it would be rude of me to just stand up and leave.

“I’m rather old fashioned in my tastes,” the man admitted. “That watch is just an example. So is there somewhere you need to go on this fine Wednesday afternoon?”

“Wednesday?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry, another example of my old fashioned behavior. I just can’t seem to stop thinking of days by their name, even though I know they are all the same anyway.” You would think, or at least I would have thought, that anyone this old fashioned would be old, at least old enough to be my grandfather. This wasn’t the case; I calculate the man in the top hat was about my age, maybe even a little younger.

“Is there any reason for this old fashioned tendency?” I asked, to make conversation. I was starting to get genuinely curious, and I didn’t have anywhere I needed to go, despite my previous enquiry for the time. I only work from nine to one every day and that’s my only commitment.

“It’s just so interesting,” the man explained. “Things have changed so much, and in such a short amount of time. Did you know that even so short a time as when our parents were children the average adult worked thirty to forty hours a week. Can you imagine? Think how much things have changed. I suppose my interest causes me to dress like this, and sometimes use outdated words. If I use one just ask.”

“So you actually keep track of the days of the week?” I asked. “How, they don’t sell calendars with the days of the week anymore do they?”

“They do, though they don’t sell them in normal stores. There are people who still like this sort of thing, it isn’t just me. Some people know that there is a market for calendars of the old fashioned sort and they make them, and people like me buy them.”

To be continued...

Please Respond III

Missing persons report for Caroline:

Name: Caroline C. Blake

Age: 27

DOB: 4/6/1973

Gender: Female

Race: White

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Brown

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 120

Missing from: Howard County, Missouri

Please contact: The Howard County Police Department at XXX-XXX-XXXX

Details: Caroline was last seen leaving her home by a neighbor, carrying a small bag and nothing else. She was seen to walk down the street and hasn’t been seen since. She was reported missing by her husband two days after that when she didn’t return.

Clipping from the Howard Times:

The search continues for an area woman who disappeared last month. Caroline Blake (27) left her house and never returned. She had been showing some signs of depression previously and some people expect the worst. Both volunteers and police have not given up hope yet however and are requesting that anyone with information come forward.

A letter received by Jonathon from Caroline’s mother:

Dear Jonathon,

I know this must be as hard for you as it is for me. Every day I wait by the phone, expecting some news, but none comes. It seems like every night I dream that she has been found, so nights she’s fine, other nights she’s dead in a ditch somewhere, or drowned in a lake. Do you really think she was depressed enough to kill herself? I know she said that she wasn’t really all that happy, but do you think it was that bad? The police have been asking me about it. They have read all of her letters to me, have they asked for all of the ones that you got from her as well?

The police, and the reporters, seem to blame you in part for my daughter’s actions. I would like to let you know that I don’t think you hold any of the blame. Caroline has always been moody and driven by her whims. Her moods are (I almost wrote were, and I hope that isn’t the case) very changeable and I know that you couldn’t watch her at every moment. She is an adult, she should be held responsible for her own actions.

In such hard and stressful times as these I feel better when I talk to you. At least you know what I am going through; you and my husband are the only ones. Some people show sympathy, but it’s just not the same.

Sincerely,

Janet Yeats

A postcard received by Jonathon:

Dear Jonathon,

I suppose I have made you worry, I am sorry for that. I have seen the posters around with my picture on them a couple of places. Please stop looking for me, I’m fine, and I look nothing like those pictures anymore anyway. I just needed a change. Maybe I’ll come back someday, if I feel like it. I know this is unfair to you but I guess I’m just a selfish person. Please don’t respond,

Caroline

Please Respond II

A letter from Caroline to one of her old college friends:

Dear Alice,

I was very happy to hear from you; it seems like only yesterday that we were staying up until two o’clock in the morning, cramming for science classes. I won’t say that I miss those days.

I got laid off from my job, so I have a lot of time on my hands at the moment. They had no real complaint against my work, but they decided that there wasn’t enough work for both secretaries and the other one had been working there longer so I was the one they got rid of. I have looked for another job but there don’t seem to be any around. Jonathon tells me not to worry, that he is making enough money to support us very well now that he has been promoted.

Jonathon is away again, on yet another business trip, this is the third one in as many months. I’m getting tired of it, I really am. Still I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles. How are Jack and little James?

Please respond soon, you have no idea how happy I am to have any sort of friendly human interaction.

Your friend,

Caroline

Taken from Caroline’s diary:

I tell myself that life is everything that I could want. I have a husband who loves me and wants to give me everything I need; I have a roof over my head, and all of the food I could want. This is the life that I always dreamed of when I was little, I don’t have to work, and I can live in leisure. So why is it that I hate it as much as I do?

You know what I really hate? It’s this city, with everyone in it. It would be alright I suppose if I actually lived inside city limits but instead we live out in the sticks and I have to drive in to do anything. I just don’t have the energy to drive in every day just to live, and so I find myself lying around the house not living at all. The neighbors are all uneducated, stay at home mothers who I can’t relate to, so even they aren’t companions. I have made positively no friends since we came here, and it’s already been two years.

Jonathon is home less and less. Even when he isn’t on business trips now he stays late at the office and logs more hours then anyone else in the company. I want to move but Jonathon says that to leave this city would waste all of his hard work to make his way up in the company.

To be continued...

Please Respond

Clipping from the Millville Post:

Mr. and Mrs. Yeats, of Millville, MO, announce the wedding of their daughter, Caroline Yeats, to Jonathan Blake, son of Mr. and Mrs. Blake, of Smithton, IL. Caroline Yeats is a graduate of Adams High School, class of 1991; and University of Missouri, class of 1995. She is presently employed as a secretary at Adams Elementary School. Jonathan Blake is a graduate of Peters High School, Peters, Illinois, class of 1990; and University of Missouri, class of 1994. He is presently employed as an architect by Wilhelm and Son of this city.

The wedding took place at Grace Lutheran Church this Sunday last and was attended by friends and family.

Letter from Caroline to her mother:

Dear Mother,

I know that you were worried about how Jon and I would do, living so far from you, so I thought I would write you and reassure you. Both Jon and I are very happy, he’s found a job at a local construction company, and I am a secretary at a lawyer’s office. We aren’t making a lot of money yet, but we have installed ourselves in a nice little house outside of town.

Jon works very long hours now, so I try to have dinner on the table for him when he gets home. I know that he works so hard to put food on the table but I do wish I could see him more. He says that if he works hard this year he will probably be promoted and then he will be able to see me more often. It is still hard though, when I think about the fact that I probably saw him more often before we were married.

I should write more, but I’m afraid that I have to go to work now,

Affectionately as always,

Caroline

Letter to Caroline from Jonathon:

My dear wife,

I know that this is the first time that we have ever been parted, and I’m sure it is as hard for you as it is for me, so I thought I would write you and tell you that I was doing well. Think of me being sent on this business trip as a good thing, a sign that the company trusts me. My promotion may not be a dream after all.

The company has given us very nice hotel rooms; there are advantages to working for such a large firm. They are even paying for all of my meals so you don’t have to worry about finances. Will you please pick me up at the airport on the eighteenth? My flight should arrive at three thirty in the afternoon.

Your loving husband,

Jonathon

To be continued...

The Musicians II

Following the music took Annie into the deepest depths of the ship, where passengers never went. It was deep in the hold that she finally found the players of the music she had heard. It was the same duo she had seen in the parlor before but they had totally changed. She had a musical ear, improved by the years of music lessons which her father had insisted that she take. When they had been playing in the parlor the duo had been average, not horrible, but neither had they been amazing. Now she found herself wanting to dance, to move with the music, and most of all to sing like she had never sung before.

Annie peered around the door into where the music was coming from. The man with the piano had traded his instrument for flute. They had broken into crates of toys that had been stored down in the hold and had made themselves an audience with the dolls. Tin soldiers stood in full regalia in their regiments, porcelain dolls sat like fine ladies on thrones of machinery goods, rag dolls propped up their weak backs against boxes of dry goods. It would be humorous to Annie usually, the musicians playing to the imaginary audience, but the music was such that nothing seemed funny, only beautiful.

As their song ended both musicians stopped to bow to their fake audience and then started a new song. This was a song that Annie knew and she found her words almost torn out of her, she began to sing along with the song. Instantly she was ashamed and stopped, they would surely stop playing now, they would flee, embarrassed. They surprised her. Instead the flute player put aside his instrument for a minute and walked over to where she was hiding. He didn’t say anything but he took her hand and lead her into the middle of the room where they were playing. Normally she would have objected to a strange man holding her hand with such familiarity, but nothing seemed more natural in this case.

Still neither man said anything but the man with the flute motioned that she was to continue singing, Annie couldn’t account for how long she sang, down there, surrounded by the audience of toys. Sometimes once they had finished a song, or executed some difficult part, she even imagined that she could applause. Once her voice started to go the man with the flute took her hand once again while the violinist played for both of them, they danced.

As they danced, Annie was under the impression that the man became more handsome, and slightly more youthful. She even found herself looking down at herself to make sure that she wasn’t growing older and uglier as compensation, but she was unchanged.

It was a mystery to Annie what happened then. One second she was dancing, and growing tired, in the arms of the flutiest, the next she was standing in the ship’s parlor. She expected her feet to ache but they did not, and after looking around for a few minutes, she returned to the dock. There Elizabeth was waiting for her, an abrupt call to reality.

Elizabeth demanded where Annie had been in a frantic voice. She had clearly been worried. Annie looked back at the ship only once, and then turned back. “I was looking for you, where else would I have been,” she said.

The Musicians

Annie sat on the padded bench in the parlor her cousin’s steamboat, headed down the river. Her father had been reluctant to allow her to go to the city for a few days, even though it would be on her cousin’s boat. It was only when she had told him that her friend Elizabeth would be coming with her that he had agreed to allow it.

There were a piano player and a violinist in the corner, another of her cousin’s attempts to make the parlor more high toned she supposed. His first try had been candles on every table which had been disastrous due to the rocking of the boat. His next try had been performances by a trained monkey which had tuned out to have a magpie like fascination with glittery objects. It had had to go after an unfortunate incident with a woman who was wearing a jeweled brooch. Annie couldn’t see how the musicians could go wrong however; they sounded pretty good and did add something to the room.

Annie looked over at Elizabeth, who was sitting next to her. Elizabeth was the timid one, she hadn’t wanted to go on this trip at all, the only reason she was going was that she knew Annie really wanted to go. Elizabeth was the weak sort of person that passed as ladylike under poor light. Not that Annie looked down on her for it, Elizabeth was one of her best friends, still that didn’t mean she couldn’t occasionally find fault.

The city of M____, where they were heading, was the boats last stop. By the time that they finally reached it the parlor was filled. Some of the people who came on board were of their class, not wealthy but well to do; others looked like country farmers going into the city for some business or other. They all sat together however, crowed up against one another due to a lack of seats. All through the bustle and commotion the musicians played on, as if they were the only people there.

When they reached M____ there was a great fuss in the disembarking and Annie and Elizabeth were separated in the rush. Annie stood on the dock, waiting for Elizabeth to find her, but even once everyone else was gone Elizabeth didn’t come. Annie started to wonder if Elizabeth had ever gotten off of the boat at all but wasn’t just standing in the parlor waiting for her. These doubts finally got to the point where Annie turned around and boarded the steamboat again.

The boat, so lately crowded and noisy, was now eerie and quiet. Even the crew was on shore now, enjoying a few hours liberty before they had to unload the cargo. When Annie reached the parlor and realized that Elizabeth wasn’t there she couldn’t suppress a shudder. She was all alone, and somehow it didn’t feel right. That was when she heard the music.

The music was distant, but it was a sign of life. Annie had a choice now, she could disembark the ship again, and wait for Elizabeth outside, or she could follow the music. The music was far lovelier then anything that she had ever heard and she found herself drawn to it. She even found herself thinking that Elizabeth could wait even if she was now out on the dock.

To be continued...

Units

Let us imagine a unit of family as our character, Mrs. Unit, Mr. Unit, and their two children, Girl Unit and Boy Unit. They live in the suburbs. Mr. Unit works in the city and commutes. Mrs. Unit is a stay at home wife. They sometimes have barbeque parties with the neighbors. Girl Unit grows up and marries Boy Unit2. Boy Unit goes to college where he meets a girl he marries, and so the whole thing repeats.

But that’s pretty dull, so how about we flesh out the characters somewhat. For instance let’s make Mr. Unit a strange traditionalist who still wears old fashioned hats, and overcoats. He carries a briefcase, and still takes the train into the city even though his office has a car pool.

While we’re out it we should probably make his wife a bit more fleshed out. She works a lot for charities, so even though she doesn’t have any job, she works as much as if she did. She is very involved in the schools her children go to as well. She insists that the family go to church every Sunday, even though she is the only one in the family who is religious. The others go because they want to make her happy and she is content in this.

What about Boy Unit? He likes art, and is alright at it. It’s his best subject in school, though he is pretty good in physical education as well. It’s when he’s asked to study that he has problems, doing things with his hands is something that he has never really had a problem with.

Girl Unit is the exact opposite, she reads everything that is put in front of her. She isn’t overly popular with the other girls her age, but also not totally rejected. The highpoint of her week is when she can stay out late on Saturday and go bowling with her friends.

While all of that is a little more interesting how about we make things even more interesting? After all, that’s just characters sketches and doesn’t really have a plot. Let’s start with Mr. Unit again. He doesn’t like his job much and therefore one day he quits. He starts his own business which unfortunately went bankrupt during a recession. He is now back at a desk under someone else but he has grown too used to being his own boss. There is almost daily conflict between Mr. Unit and his boss.

Mrs. Unit eventually grows tired of doing good; it just doesn’t seem to pay off like she had thought it did when she was younger. She has worn herself out trying to fix everyone’s problems but there just doesn’t seem to be a dent in them. Eventually she grows depressed and gives up. She sits around on the couch and watches soap operas and eating potato chips instead.

Boy Unit went to college for art in the end, rather then business which is what his father had wanted him to do. The girl that he meets is a pot smoking hippy who shocks his parents the first time they meet her. She is never invited over to dinner again, and neither parent goes to the wedding. His art takes off in a small way after a while and he is able to manage to live off of what he makes when combined with his wife’s income.

Girl Unit didn’t marry Boy Unit2 immediately. They lived together for a little while first. Her father doesn’t mind this but Mrs. Unit cares very much and thinks it’s horribly shameful. Several years later Girl Unit and Boy Unit2 get divorced anyway because it turns out that he’s been having an affair.

So in the end it all turns into individuals, because no one really cares about a story with no main characters. One simply can’t write a story about a unit without making the individuals stand out.