An exciting new turn for 'David Tries New Things'. Throughout my education I've been asked to write short stories. I've never been great at limiting myself to about 2000 words. As Charlotte said to me only a couple of hours ago: 'You're like me, you think in novels.' And this is true to a great extent.
But I love the idea of writing short stories. To write 2000 words or thereabouts and tell a story of characters you only have a short amount of time with and tell as much as a novel can. I think it enhances your skills as a writer. Also, I have new ideas every day that I think could one day be novels. Why not get them down on paper as short stories first? Then I can extend. If I don't then I have the accomplishment of a finished story in an hour.
I could have written a blog about this, but sometimes my blog writing becomes angsty and grumpy. I don't like this. In a story I can turn angst to humour. I can extend my talents and explore an idea for myself in the process. So that's what I'll do.
Just a little background. I've recently started a subscription to The Times. I know, I'm officially old now. But this means I'm taking a far greater interest in what's going on in the world. I wanted to write a blog about Cameron, Milliband and the rest of them. Who votes, why we vote, why young people sometimes don't. But realistically, who's going to want to read that? You might as well by the paper. So a story sounded like a better idea. Secondly, I've recently come to face with one person's opinions. These opinions grated on me a great deal. A little game for you: spot the opinions that grind my gears. Also, a warning - piss off a writer, you end up in a story. So here we are. I present - 'A Space In-between':
The lift ground to a halt with an ungodly sound. Jonas found himself cringing as though someone had slid their hand across some cellophane, or scratched their nails down a blackboard. He stumbled backwards and grabbed the rail behind him. Two things occurred to him. One, that of course the lift had broken and he was now stuck somewhere between the fourth and fifth floors of the civic centre in the middle of town. And two, that he would be spending an extended period of time with a complete stranger.
After that, more things started to make themselves apparent. He shut off the old Blur track he'd been bopping along to while it pumped its way, without register into his ears via random shuffle. He sighed and slumped the huge bag of newspapers, which were giving his shoulder stiffness issues every single morning, on the floor. They're probably all bent now, he moaned in his head. Another telling off from Mr Barnes tomorrow then.
'God that sounded like a car crash,' said the other man in the lift car, Jonas assumed more to break the silence than anything.
He turned. Jonas looked into the eyes showing the first sign of wrinkles. The salt and pepper hair and the salt and pepper from breakfast sprinkled on his left lapel. He wondered if there was enough time to get his sketchpad out. Would that be rude? To just slide down on the floor and start drawing? Not much inspiration in a stuck lift though.
'I've never seen one,' Jonas grunted. He didn't mean to, he just hadn't spoken that morning yet. Even so, he noticed the doubt in the man's eyes. The question over whether following this path down to conversation town was a brilliant idea or an ill-conceived fancy.
'Bloody awful,' the man replied. He laughed. 'I crashed my first car when I was your age. I'd just seen this girl. I...erm...' He faltered and his words faded to silence.
Jonas felt his hackles rise. I'm seventeen not seven.
The silence in the car became thick. Jonas shuffled. He glanced at the alarm button on the wall. Aren't we supposed to push that now? Or do they know already? He cursed his paper round. He'd be late for college now. What seventeen year old still has a paper round anyway?
'Guess we should give this a little old push then,' the man ventured. I bet he's a dad. Jonas thought Only dads talk like that.
The man reached over and pushed the button. There was a loud ringing on the speakers. Then silence again.
He rose to his tiptoes and let himself fall. His suit looked old and well worn. He must work here.
'Oh come on,' he said and jabbed the button again.
There was a crackle this time, then a quiet grumbling voice. 'Yeah alright we heard you the first time.'
'Erm...what's happening?' asked the man. 'I have a place to be you know.'
At his words Jonas began to wonder whether he was high up in the council. He clearly thought a bit of himself.
Jonas heard the end of a sigh as the repair man clearly pressed the speak button too early. 'Don't worry, you shouldn't be in there too long.'
Silence again. Jonas decided that sitting on the floor was the best plan of action. He slid down the wall and stretched out his feet next to the bag. Then, without even thinking about it, he slid his hand in his pocket and extracted a smartphone with a large crack down the middle of the screen. No signal. Great.
'So, erm... you going to go and vote later?' said the man. 'I'm Terry by the way. Terry Grisham.'
'Jonas,' Jonas replied. 'And no, I'm eighteen tomorrow.'
'Sod's law,' Terry tutted and rolled his eyes like he belonged in a sitcom from the eighties. His eyes flickered to the small noticeboard next to the alarm button. 'Can't escape his smarmy mug.'
Jonas followed his eyes and noticed a picture of Henry Bayes, the Tory candidate. Dad loved him. Strict on immigration, strict on criminals, strict on everything. Jonas looked forward to the days when conversations at the dinner table didn't revolve around Henry bloody Bayes.
'My dad likes him,' Jonas said for no reason other than to continue talking. The threat of the awkward silence was approaching again.
'A lot of people do,' Terry replied as if that was a reason to condemn them.
'He has some good ideas doesn't he?' Jonas asked. Terry would know. Terry was politically involved. All adults seemed to be. Jonas wondered if you reached a certain age and it all became interesting. Like he'd wake up tomorrow morning and would know what 'deficit' meant.
'You could say that,' Terry said. 'The NHS stuff might be good, but he only said that because our guy did. Never trust a Tory.'
Jonas laughed. 'Sounds like football.'
Terry bristled. Clearly not a fan. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, you can't trust a gooner. Dad says that too.' He met Terry's blank stare. 'A gooner's an Arsenal fan. Dunno why. I don't really like it as much as Dad does. But he doesn't like anyone if they support Arsenal. It's the rivalry. I just thought it sounded the same.'
'I'd hardly say that,' replied Terry. 'Bunch of hooligans don't have much on the people who keep their country from falling down.'
'I dunno about that,' Jonas said. This is like debating at college, he thought. If only Miss Peters could see me now. 'I've seen... what's it called. That House of Lords place when Mum turns it on before Eastenders. You know? The one with the green chairs they just use to shout at each other?'
'The House of Commons, actually,' Terry corrected with his eyebrows raised. What are they teaching kids these days, his eyebrows said. 'And sometimes people like Mr Bayes over there need to be put in their place.'
'But I thought the other lot, the Labour guys had messed everything up? We've been at war for about ten years haven't we?'
Terry sighed. 'It's a little more complicated than that.'
Jonas picked at a loose thread on his jeans. He'd met people like Terry before; teachers who thought they were doing children a great service by imparting their great pool of knowledge. Of course they'd never actually give you the answer quickly.
'Rick Yeoman did great things for this country this past term,' Terry said. 'Of course the papers never report that do they. I don't suppose you watch the news?'
'Well it's not like they make it appealing,' Jonas retorted quickly. 'Why would I want to watch an hour of how terrible the world it. You should watch YouTube, there's only funny, cool stuff.'
'Oh I don't go in for all that rubbish,' Terry replied, crinkling his nose like YouTube smelled funny. 'YouFace and TweetGram and the rest of them.'
'I see both of them on Twitter all the time,' Jonas informed Terry. 'Both Dick and Bayes always tweet stuff. It's quite interesting to get their opinions actually. Like, to see what they're actually like as blokes.'
'I don't think Rick would do that,' Terry snorted. 'He probably gets some intern to do it.'
'I saw it on the news actually, now you mention it. Dad put it on. I think he does it himself.'
'Don't believe everything you see on the news,' Terry scoffed.
One minute I don't watch it enough, next minute I should ignore it.
The speaker crackled again. 'Er...sorry guys, you might be in there a little longer.'
'Oh for Christ's sake,' Terry said before sliding down to the floor opposite Jonas and removing his tie with a jerking motion. It was getting stuffy in there.
Jonas fished in his pocket and pulled out a KitKat. He sliced his finger down the foil and split it in half. It was a bit melted but that just made it better. He offered the other half to Terry who shook his head.
'I like Twixes better,' Jonas said, trying to change the subject. 'Do you know you can drink tea through them? Melts it all inside.' He put the whole wafery biscuit in his mouth and crunched. 'So good.'
Terry raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Does this man have any fun?
'Say what you like about Bayes,' he plowed on. God I've made a monster. 'He's thinking of doing great things, building all those homeless shelters for example, but you just can trust a Tory.' He repeated the words like he lived by the mantra.
'Why does it matter?' Jonas replied through a mouthful of mushy wafer and chocolate. 'How do you know he's going to be bad because he's a Tory?'
'History is a brilliant teacher,' Terry said, raising his eyebrows. Jonas was beginning to get sick of his patronising eyebrows.
'I just think everyone's different,' Jonas shrugged. 'I don't think you can judge someone just because they belong to one party. They might start with the same idea but in the end we all like and think different things. What's the difference between saying 'I don't like Tories' and 'I don't like Asian people' or 'I don't like women?' I just think it's silly.'
'It's nothing like that,' he said. 'Bayes is an Eton boy, same as the rest of them.'
'Didn't Dick go to some posh boarding school too?'
'No...I...'
'Yeah, Dad told me, he went to private school in Wimbledon.'
'Yeah but he didn't go Oxford like Bayes? He went straight into a job like a normal bloke. S'why I like him.'
Jonas shrugged. There was no arguing with a man like Terry. He should get 'set in my ways' tattooed across his forehead.
'If I was going to vote tomorrow, I'd vote for Bayes,' Jonas said. 'I just think he's stronger, more genuine and he wants to do good stuff even if he can be a bit harder.'
'Your vote's your vote,' Terry stretched, then quieter at the peak of his stretch. 'Doesn't mean its the right one.'
'You think I can't have an opinion just because I'm younger than you, don't you?' Jonas felt his voice raise a little. He fought to control himself. 'What, exactly, does one night make in my opinion? Just because I'm eighteen tomorrow doesn't mean I know any better than today.'
'Well, it's like that young girl last week? The one from that film. Talking about human rights like she knows what she's talking about. She hasn't lived a life yet, had kids, had a real job? How old is she, 19? You know, whatsername?'
'Emily Brady?' Jonas replied. 'I think she had brilliant opinions. And she's 24 actually. And if you ask me, having kids can narrow some people's opinion.'
'All I ask is that next vote, you be careful. We're trusting you, you know, the next generation, with this great country.'
'Oh thanks,' Jonas replied. 'Passing on great big mess to us. If you ask me there's a lot wrong with the people up at the top. Who do you see in Lords...'
'Commons.'
'Whatever, Commons, you see old posh blokes. You don't see women, or anyone darker than an Essex boy. I bet there's no transexuals, or pansexuals...'
'What on earth's that?'
'Maybe you should go in the internet, there's this wonderful thing called Google.'
'Oh very funny,' Terry said. 'I have the internet, I just think all this social bollocks is stupid.'
'So you think Emily Brady's YesForWomen hashtag is bollocks?'
'Well what's it going to do on Twotter?'
'Make people aware,' Jonas answered. 'A lot of people my age see it and think it's brilliant. Maybe you shouldn't be so terrified of handing over your great nation to us. We might make it better.'
Terry shrugged.
The lift beneath them jerked and then there was another horrible grinding sound. Both of them cringed and then the lift moved.
'There you go lads, and lovely conversation by the way.' Jonas heard the repair man snort. 'You should have a TV show.'
There was the familiar bing and the lift doors slid open.
Terry jumped up and exited the lift faster than he would usually. 'Nice to meet you,' he mumbled.
Jonas stood up and watched the older man walk down the threadbare carpeted corridor. It was like time had frozen for the twenty minutes they'd been stuck. Their debate was stuck in an in-between place and now, normalcy resumed.
'Terry,' he called. He had to say one last thing. He didn't know why. To win? Old versus young. Labour versus the undecided. To make Terry see sense? Terry faltered a step and cocked his ear. Jonas took that to mean he was listening. 'It's not football, Terry.'
He didn't reply, only walked on, through the council doors and into the street. Later that day he would make his vote. Jonas picked up his bag and swung it over his aching shoulders, already thinking about a distant lunchtime.
