The Shadow Knows
There was nothing particularly unusual about the ball. A royal blue, 8-inch diameter polyurethane orb with red stripes, purchased for 3 year old Preston as a reward for recognizing his potty chair as more than just a step up to allow easier access for emptying the toothpaste tube into mommy’s hairbrush.
This morning the ball had been enjoying a brisk game of “Kick me Against the Siding” with Preston, when it suddenly found itself going one on one with a beige sedan. If inflated plastic is capable of possessing emotions such as hope, and desire, this particular ball was now desperately wishing it were somewhere else.
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Mrs. Reynolds had just delivered the youngest of her 3 daughters, 8-year-old Elyssa, to the halls of Crighton Elementary where, at this very moment, under the vociferous, but nurturing tutelage of her near deaf 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Gilstrap, she was diligently practicing the making of a cursive ‘J’.
Elyssa’s twin sisters, Millicent and Althea, walked to school. They were fifth-graders. Fifth-graders required parents only on special occasions.
It was on the twins where Mrs. Reynolds’s mind had landed, temporarily, as she turned north on Humboldt Ave. (It should be noted here that Mrs. Reynolds’s mind never landed for long in any given spot; although lately it had been considering settling down, maybe even having a little thought to raise and take over the family business.) Down Humboldt to Eldrich was a shortcut to the supermarket, and she needed treats for Millicent and Althea’s ‘Bunny Rangers’ meeting after school.
As she negotiated these back streets, Mrs. Reynolds was wondering why Robert, her husband of 15 years (she always called him Robert because his buddies all called him “Bob” and she didn’t want to be thought of as one of the guys) had seemed like such a stranger this morning. She wondered if she did her hair differently if he would take more notice of her. She was thinking of a pageboy, but feathered forward on the sides. She was thinking that she preferred it when her favorite radio station had played Classic Rock instead of all this oldies crap. She was thinking it would be wrong to hope the new stock boy in the produce section of the market might notice the effects of the cream she had been using around her eyes, which was advertised to “Take Off Ten Years!” (Ironically, researchers would later find a carcinogen in the lotion’s formula that provided the necessary ingredient for seeing to it that the product lived up to its claim).
She was thinking the kitchen chairs needed reupholstering, and the floor was getting a little dingy, and 35 miles per hour was probably about the right speed limit for this neighborhood, and the reflection off of the ball rolling into the street might blind someone if they weren’t careful, and…
…and then she saw the patch of blond hair...
Mrs. Reynolds was thinking that it felt as though time had taken a little holiday; and worrying what her husband would say about the car, and then...
...she saw the patch of blond, again.
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Some people simply think too much. When it comes right down to it, during many of life’s crucial situations where the really important decisions must be made, for all of their cognitive powers, human beings must finally rely on instinct. All of the reasoning skills in the world won’t do them a bit of good until the shouting stops.
Just before she lost consciousness, Mrs. Reynolds hoped her foot was already on the brake.
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For one man’s reflections on his attempt to capture the essence of specific times and places, and doing his best to fit within these boundaries, join us for the current discussion of Colin Fletcher’s “The Man Who Walked Through Time”, at Shelly’s Place.
Great story, Pinhole. I love how you put a narrative together.
Thanks, also for the link. My blog editing software tells me that the newest post in the discussion is up, but my browser isn't showing that to be true. I am not sure who to believe.
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Thanks PC, and you're welcome. Looking forward to the next segment of discussion, and when it comes to anything computer related it's been my experience to believe no one.
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Your story is very well done! You're right, many people think too much and perhaps not very effectively and at the wrong times. Good driving (and emergency scene responses) depend on well developed instincts and situation decisions that have been made way ahead of time.
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Thanks, Montucky. I wasn't all that pleased with it, but thought it might provide a decent segue to the discussion at Shelly's.
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Hey, I just tagged you for another meme. I found this one interesting and thought you might enjoy it. The details are in my latest post.
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I'll be over to check it out, shortly.
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