The second of Chrissy’s writing challenges was to …
“Ask three people, on line, on the phone or in person what their favourite onomatopoeia is. Write a short piece with these three words in the text.”
So the words I eventually ended up with are… sizzle, trickle, drizzle, purr and clunk…
The guy in the park had been less informative than I had expected. He had done little more than tease me with the short interchange we had shared, then invited me to join him at a group of which he was part. He gave me a card, that was more like a tarot card than a business card and said he hoped that he’d see me at the group the next evening. At the time I took hardly any notice of his card and shoved it in my pocket with little more than a quick glance. From it I learnt that his name was Dane Slagskygge and that the group, which he had already told me, was ‘From the Shadows’.
Walking to the park, and sitting in the sunshine had raised my mood slightly, but the encounter with Dane and now the drizzle that had started out of nowhere had pushed me back down. The words from my waking dream were back with a vengeance and running round in my head. They had returned as an intrusive repetitive purr but were gaining strength. A migraine wouldn’t be far away.
As I trudged homewards the sky darkened even more. It was clear a storm was coming. I was now wishing I had put on a warm coat instead of the shades that were now surplus to requirements. The rain had started to trickle down my neck wetting my collar and my shoes were soaking up the water as it settled in small puddles.
Instead of rushing home and getting a complete soaking I decided to duck into the cafe I sometimes went to for breakfast. Looking through the window I could se that I wasn’t hte only one caught out by the suddenness of the change of the weather.
I pushed the door open making the bell above it jingle. It was such a traditional greasy spoon type cafe. There was a low murmur of conversation but the dominant sound that grabbed my attention was the sizzling of the grill from which the smell of bacon wafted across the room assaulting my nostrils. I moved towards an empty table and took a seat on the bench along the side wall.
” You’re late today. The usual?” Belle, the waitress asked as she sidled up to me with a coffee jug in her hand. She was easily old enough to be my grandmother but as spritely as a teenager, and so much more pleasant. She placed a mug on the table in front of me.
“Fill her up,” I told her pushing the mug towards her. “And yes the full veggie.”
“A man of habit,” she commented as she filled the mug. “Bad day today?”
“Again,” I replied. She instinctively picked up on my demeanor.
She knew me well and instead of offering some pointless platitude simply tilted her head signaling her understanding, giving me a wink at the same time. She grabbed my shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.
Beside me on the bench there was a damp newspaper. I didn’t usually read the news, finding it all too depressing, but something about the headline had caught my eye. I picked the paper up and shook it out to read the article. I was just a few words into the story when there was a loud clunk on the table. I looked up from the paper slightly startled, but it was only Belle with my all-day breakfast.
She was normally a seen and not heard kind of waitress, unless you were looking for conversation. Then she could talk the hind legs off the proverbial donkey. I looked up from the plate to her. For just a moment she had a blank look on her face.
“Don’t go,” she whispered. Her face changed as if registering where she was after a long sleep.
“I’ve only just got here,” I half-joked away the awkwardness.
“I know, love. More coffee?” She asked brightly. It was clear she had no recollection of what she had just said.
I nodded and as she moved away looked back at the article I had been reading. ‘What the hell is going on?’ I asked myself under my breath.