It has been a while since I wrote about these characters.

I am told that I am a cathartic writer, and this point does not ring more true than in this story. Be gentle, haha!


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Transposed
Joshua Albers – 2011-09-03

            This is not the place I grew up in.

            England is different from home in a lot of ways, many ways really, but not so much as to be strange; at least not yet. People have been telling me that they are here for me when the culture shock sets in. The by-product of having never really been anywhere different for any length of time is that you aren’t really sure what culture shock is. Truth told, I like to think that a heavy European upbringing helps to make a transfer to a place like England all the easier, but I haven’t been here long enough to really say that with any certainty.

            I still haven’t gotten over the fact that I am here to begin with. Everywhere I go I walk around like I am caught up in some place between fiction and reality, it is surreal. I will be walking down the street out front of my new home and it seems normal enough, I mean the architecture is different sure, but what really nails home the idea that I am not in Canada anymore is when you see potholes in the road, but they aren’t really potholes because you can see the old cobblestone streets underneath. There is a history underneath the pavement that you just don’t get back home. Still though, none of this really has fazed me yet. Get back to me in a month or mores time and I might tell you something very different. Right now though, I am just enjoying where I am. I go to bars, I go to diners for breakfast, I go to the mall or I just walk around and try to make this place a part of my everyday life. Take breakfast for instance. I can assure you that the breakfast you can get at just about any café here is not the kind of breakfast you will find back home. Back home you can get several kinds of things for breakfast, but here you can only seem to get a varying set of combinations of the same dish, the fullest of which involves black pudding, two sausages, two pieces of bacon, an egg, a fried tomato, toast, and beans.

            Black pudding by the way is better known as blood pudding and is rarely ever served back home, and by rarely I mean never. Though it is rarely served, you will no doubt recognize the flavour once you have had it but you will never be able to fully place it. In short, it isn’t as scary as it seems.

            I think the only thing that is really getting to me is the idea that I am sort of here in this place alone. That is the one thing that constantly reminds me I am in some new and different place. My friends and my family are back home. It isn’t that I am unable to make friends here, I have met awesome people, and it is just that the friend-making thing is different here. I am a stranger to this place who is sort of jumping into people’s lives after they have made friends and developed relationship over the course of years. I feel out of place, like a blip on a radar. Maybe this is what everyone who has ever been new to my home country has felt like; in which case I hope I was inviting towards them and available to them. The whole thing is made all the more odd feeling when the friends I have back home rarely talk to me through e-mail. I both enjoy this and resent it at the same time. On the one hand I am excited to be in a new place and meeting new people and going new places; on the other I feel left behind in a way. The odd message here and there is greatly received and yet when I become engaged too much I get annoyed and want to be left alone. Perhaps I am enduring the result of my own fickleness.

            The other day I went to a pub that has sort of become my new local watering hole. My brother would give me a hard time calling a pub a local pub, stating that every pub is a local pub. If he knew how many there were in my vicinity though, he might understand why I call it my local watering hole. Anyway, I was in a local pub called The Whitworth, a quiet place where you can grab a beer and play darts, or watch the latest match or just be left alone to think. It is the less popular choice compared to the modern looking Ford Maddox Brown, which serves various kinds of steaks and is more of a trendy place to go. It was inside the old walls of The Whitworth that I met the unfamiliar faces of a couple long time friends as I had sat down at a table to myself and had taken a sip from a pint of my San Miguel, a bit more expensive but well worth it. An old man sat down at my table with a pint of bitter and a familiar twinkle in his eye. The old man had a familiar feel about him, like I had seen him someplace before but I couldn’t place him. He sat across from me wearing a thick, knitted brown sweater, unbuttoned, over a blue, nearly grey, shirt. His hair was thick and windblown and white and his face was clean-shaven. To tell you the truth, he reminded me a little bit of JRR Tolkien, or at least the picture of him I used to see on the back of The Hobbit.

“How are you liking it here across the pond?” He asked me.

            The question had thrown me off guard a little bit. How could this man know I wasn’t from England? I hadn’t spoken except to the bartender when I ordered my drink. I wondered if I really stood out that much but answered him none the less.

“Feels a bit like a dream if I am being honest.”

He had taken a sip from his pint and smacked his lips, “Blessings do tend to feel that way.”

“Do I know you?” I asked, the curiosity and that familiar feeling had finally gotten the best of me.

“You’ve changed over the years Josh, but you are no less odd. I to change as things progress, your view of the world has changed and I with it I suppose.” The old man smiled a smile that I could all of a sudden place again.

“Father Time, what are you doing here?”

            He laughed a little bit, he was no doubt proud of himself and his wit, “You can always find me in a pub.”

            You can always find Time in a pub. I suppose that is a true statement. He put his drink down on the tabletop and pointed behind me.

“You remember Fall?”

            I had looked in the direction that Time pointed in and the person I saw was not the Fall that I had always remembered. Though her clothes still very much pointed at her season; she was dressed in a long P Coat that went down to her knees, brown in colour with faint rusty red patterns sown into it. Around her neck was a scarf, brown and gold and she was wearing brown stockings and brown suede buckled riding boots. Her wardrobe seemed to reflect the city I was in now and her physical appearance had changed as well. Her hair was no longer red, but was thick and golden brown, her skin was olive coloured but her golden eyes remained the same.

“You have changed a lot since I last saw you at the park back home.” I said to her.

“You don’t look much like the annoyed 22 year old I met that day either.” She sat down next to Time with a glass of cider and a smile.

“What brings you to England?” At the time it seemed a good enough question, though now it just seems silly, a reach for conversation.

“You do.” She said, still smiling. She and Time were not going to make this easy.

            Moments passed between the three of us where nothing was said; there was just the sound of glasses being placed as they went up and down from mouths and back down to the tables. It felt awkward, it was like meeting new people again, and a shyness set in that I hadn’t felt in some time. Perhaps it was a good thing though, it was another growing opportunity, another chance to further step two feet out of my comfort zone, even if it was with familiar people. Fall had changed a lot, she wasn’t as shy as the first time I met her, in fact she had grown into a person I least expected her to become. She was serious, but loving; she was reserved, but open. She seemed to fit a stereotype I have yet to fully discover. No, I didn’t glean these conclusions off of a few seconds of conversation. We did talk much longer, the three of us; it just seems so distant now. We talked about what we had been up to in the last four years and we talked about all the things that had changed. It is amazing the kind of growth you can find in what is really a short amount of time. I have a theory that life works in two-year periods of idiocy.

“Every two years you look back and discover what an idiot you were for thinking that you had it all figured out, only to discover the same thing in another two years.” I laughed a little bit as I said it. It was just my way of saying that I understood that I will believe to have it all figured out but I may never truly. It was my way of saying that I understood I still had growing to do.

Fall looked at me with an eyebrow raised and her lips pursed in a smile, “Sounds like you have it all figured out.” Her voice was very distinct, it sounded as though she carefully considered every word she said in a matter of moments.

“No Fall, what I am saying is that I don’t.” I had smiled as I said it.

“You recognize that much.” Time had pointed out to me. “You still seem to find loneliness all to easily and have yet to discover you are never truly alone.”

            Part of me in that moment wanted to give a sarcastic remark about talking with figments of my imagination but I bit my tongue. The truth is I knew what Time was talking about. He had been referring to God. And God continues to try and tell me that same message every time I start to feel like just a spec travelling through a place.

“Put Him in front of you Josh and you will be taken to amazing places. Another Joshua used to do just that. You never know what you are going to find, but you can trust it is Him taking you there. Stop with all the self pity and just go for it!”

            This wasn’t the first time I had heard those words before. I had experienced a great deal of encouragement a couple times with those very same words and I continue to be encouraged by them now. Time gave me another one of those familiar smiles over his pint glass and almost spoke into his cup.

“Besides, Fall is here. Maybe the two of you can go to Arndale or take a walk around Platt. She still fancies you, you know.”

“Dad!” Fall blushed, that all to recognizable shyness setting in once more. Perhaps we don’t change as quickly as we think we do! “You are constantly meddling about!”

“I’m Time…I meddle, it’s what I do.” He got up and left the table, I don’t know where he went, probably to play darts, but he had left Fall and I alone to catch up.

            To give a bit of history, I suppose. Back home I had been a friend with the Ravens who brought the seasons. It had all began when I met Winter on a train leaving the downtown area. Winter had always been my favourite of the seasons, I had always had a rocky relationship with Summer and Spring slept most of the year. Fall had always had a special place in my heart though. She was never around that long back home, but when she was, she brought with her magnificent colours and days that were bright and sunny but with a wind just cold enough to need a jumper. Fall brought with her inspiration and I had always felt that she was my muse. She had admitted that knowing that she inspired me made her shy towards me.

“So how about it? Would you want to go for a walk some place?” I asked.

“Why not.” She replied.
            This is not the same place I grew up in.

Change is a good thing.

For Another Day

For Another Day

I close the door to my cabin behind me, and turn around to the wind blowing gently through the emerald green hills that surround my home, and the soft bleating of several hundred head of sheep. I live in a quiet stone cabin tucked into the natural cul-de-sac that the hills make. Hills that could pass for small mountains, etched with grey stone protruding like natures own age lines; these are what makes the area I live in so famous. There isn’t a soul for miles around and I am left to myself. I am perhaps the worst kind of person in the minds of some; a writer looking to understand something he doesn’t for the sake of a book. The way I see it; if Peter Mayle can do it in France, why can’t I do the same thing here? The only difference between he and I seems to be that I may have lied about my intentions in coming here in the first place. I have been here for well over a year now and I have no intention of stopping what I am doing. You can call me a coward if it makes you feel better. I think the only reason I stay is because I don’t miss what I had at home. Back home it was deadlines, facebook, e-mail, advertising that would not cease until I defined my life by their products; I jumped at this chance. My desire to get away from all of the noise of back home was the leading reason behind this new adventure, and I do not regret it. I know what you might be thinking; “Oh great, another self righteous bohemian.” And maybe you’re right; your conclusion does not bother me in the slightest though. I have learned a new level of responsibility I have never known in my life. I am not a parent, I do not have children; what I do have, and in abundance now, is sheep; and my dog, a lappinonian herder named Eli. I have never cared for lives so small, so fragile, and at the same time so stupid.

Sheep are by no means the brightest animal I have ever encountered, but there is something to caring for them that seems to resonate with me. The other shepherds in the area think I have a tinge of lunacy for feeling so, but perhaps it is because all of this is so new to me. I cannot help but love these animals, and the level of responsibility that comes with them. I feel ever ounce of joy those little lambs feel as they jump about and play with one another. I feel every ounce of sorrow and pain that the ones who stray from the flock do; and even more so for the ones who do not return. The whole thing makes a stewardship for this planet and its creatures, which we are all born with, become so much more alive than before I came into this work. The truth is I have no book that I am working on, I only have a journal. And as I continue to read my journal from its first entry to its last, I begin to like the main character more and more.

It had been raining all day and the clouds, in their own majesty were every shade of grey that could be offered; merely adding to the vast expanse of the place I now call home. Eli comes bounding up to me, tail wagging happily; tongue hanging out in a smile that only a dog could have. Eli has a black coat with white hair around his paws and a small white tuft of hair on his chest; normally it would have an incredible sheen coming off of it, but given the state of the weather, his hair was to remain matte. I scratch Eli under his chin and pick up a small tennis ball and throw it off into the distance. With incredible speed Eli was off, the ball bouncing up and down the soft earth, dirt kicking up after each of Eli’s strides. I can’t help but laugh slightly as the bleating of the sheep increases and the sounds of small feet thumping across the soft earth all around me as Eli tackles his ball amidst the flock. Trotting back, Eli places the ball at my feet and sits down with a look of accomplishment across his panting face; I give him a pet on his head and with a sharp whistle and hand signal, I send him on his way.

The grass pathway that leads from my land has now faded into a dirt road, and crunching of gravel underfoot lulls me into a tiny sense of rhythm. I am heading into town to meet with the many people that I have come into contact with during my time here, though there is one person in particular that I am interested in seeing. She is a young woman who has been visiting a relative in the village. I know her from back home, though she is not from there either. The two of us worked together for the same paper, she was our receptionist, spending a year in our country before heading off to another part of the world that called to her. I would be lying to you if I said we had gotten on with one another almost immediately. It wasn’t that either of us couldn’t stand to be in one another’s presence or anything like that, it was more that she just didn’t jump out at me. I said hello every now and then to her when the occasion called for being more social than normal, but that was about it. It wasn’t until her going away party that I knew I had made some sort of mistake, that I had missed out on something. She was getting a drink and was wearing a beautiful red dress and she had her hair done in a way I had never seen it before. I had walked over to get myself a drink; I was behaving the same way I always do in those kinds of social situations. My friends went and spoke with their friends and I was left to listen to their conversations, or at least look like I was while my mind wandered. Often there were times were I initiated conversations with people, though most times I would wait for them to do so.

“Thanks for coming out tonight.” She said as she poured herself a drink.

“Don’t mention it. I am always one for being social.” That was a lie; I hadn’t talked to anyone for more than five minutes that night. At least I knew her name; that was bound to make a conversation with a person I had not taken the time to really get to know better.

“So Elise, what new adventure is pulling you away from us?”

She smiled over her drink and ran a hand through her hair, “Well, first I am going to visit a relative of mine then I thought I might look into some work more directly related to what I studied in Uni.”

“Back home then?”

“Work or visiting?”

“Both I suppose.”

“Neither; I don’t think I am ready to go back home just yet.” I remember her mentioning that she was going someplace that had nothing to do with home. One of the many pieces of information I had forgotten while sitting upon the fringe of the office social network.

“So what are you hoping to for work while away from home?” Because I had absolutely no idea what she took in school to know what field of work she was looking for. She smiles at me; she knows I know nothing about her. Is she enjoying this?

“I want to work with children!”

The conversation continued onward from there. Elise didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t paid her any attention during her time with the paper and that I was scamming free food and drink at her going away party. No; the two of us just spent the majority of our evening chatting with one another and that all too familiar feeling of regret came creeping up. Why hadn’t I gotten to know this person when I had the chance? Well, as things would have it, I had another opportunity. Or at least another missed one.

The sun is setting lower now as I crest over the hill just above the town. I can see a few lights scattered about the valley. There is a larger one in the center of the town that interests me more though. It is the pub. Now contrary to what you might believe, this establishment, like all real pubs, does not serve food. It is home to, however, many good drinks, local music, and many, many, long nights. This is the epicentre of social activity for this town. Every night is alive with friends sharing the stories of their day over a drink or two. Tonight however is special. It is the anniversary of the town and they are hosting a night filled with music and dancing. Everyone partakes in this event, in one form or another. This is my debut with the penny whistle. I am not that great with it, but that fact won’t stop me from trying. It doesn’t really matter anyway, these towns folk just want to know you are enjoying yourself. As I walk down this hill I start remembering when I ran into Elise in this very same pub.

I had just landed and was now taking a train to the first small town that would then connect me to another small town by bus, which would then have a person waiting for me to give me a ride to the sheep farm I now call my home. As I was riding the train; first class no less, I began to check my Facebook account, for what was to be the last time I can assure you. I had let everyone know where I was going to be, and Elise, who was now my “Facebook Friend” due to our small exchange at her going away party, had sent me a message.

I am going to be in your small town in your small new patch of the world this weekend, let’s catch up! Meet me at the Ram Horn pub in the center of the town this Friday night.

In a new country for a couple of hours and already a familiar face to meet up with, who would say no to that? The small stone cabin looked as though it had been there for millennia, and maybe it had been. Most of the places in this country had homes and buildings that were older than my country. I was past the point of no return now, and as soon as I stepped over the threshold of my new home, I was committed to at the very least, one year of a new life in this strange place. This was the first moment I stepped foot into the cabin. The old man who picked me up from the bus station was the man who was to give me a tour of my new property. As the old man continued to show me around the cabin, he told me a little bit about its history and its previous owner. It appeared its last owner died with no heirs and that it was a stroke of fortune that I had come looking. At least that is what I gathered from it. In two days time, I was going to the center of that town and I was going to meet up with a friend. I just needed to get through this tour first.

The room was dark, illuminated by small lights in distant places of the establishment and the two small windows and wide open door that made up the front wall of the pub. When this town had gotten electricity, this must have been the first place to get it, the lights look about as old as the establishment itself. Elise and I were tucked into a small corner of the place, a table to ourselves, and our voices lifted a little higher than the soft murmur of the pubs more long serving patrons.

“You’ve taken up shepherding? That is a step back isn’t it?” Elise smiled with her arms crossed on the table, her drink in front of her.

“It’s for the paper, a fluffy piece to take people away to a place they think they want to be a part of.” I took a deep sip of my drink and wiped the foam off my moustache.

“That is a serious amount of dedication to an article; I don’t think I could do that.”

“Maybe this is the piece that earns me a book deal, fame and fortune.”

“Nobody wants to read a story about a North American going over sea to be a shepherd. Though, you may do well with the blue haired reading demographic.” Her laughter was beautiful, as was her smile. Her whole face became alive with the joy of laughter. I felt lost a little bit in that moment. And like the last time we met and talked, it was to be for but a few hours. The night grew old and we both needed to go our way.

“Well, it was good seeing you again Elise.”

“Likewise Brett, we’ll have to keep in touch.”

“I would like that...send a post to me here in town. I am afraid I will be out of touch with the world for the next while.”

“Of course, I’ll see you later.”

“See you around Elise.”

The next moment was awkward to say the least. We were both standing there looking at one another in silence, neither of us moving, as though something were supposed to happen. Finally when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I moved in and gave her a strong hug goodbye. When she left, I felt as though I had missed out on something again. Over the course of the year, we sent a couple letters, but not many. She had given up on work for a bit and went home, and then traveled around a little bit more. I didn’t hear from her much, and eventually just succumbed to my routine. That was until just a few days ago when I received a letter from her in town saying she was passing through and wanted to see me. And now hear I am, on my way to see Elise in the same pub that we hung out in, roughly one year ago.

The dull and muffled sounds of fiddles and whistles become a roaring cacophony of rhythm and livelihood as I open the door to the Ram Horn pub. I am greeted by cheers from various people in the pub, all of them excited to see me and all of them offering me a place to sit during the nights festivities. I politely decline their offers and explain to them about how I am meeting a friend of mine that I have not seen for some time. I briefly describe her to them in the hopes that maybe they have seen her.

“Ah, yes we have, she was the one sitting all on her lonesome, and well, that does not happen long here as you are no doubt aware friend. You have stiff competition tonight!”

Normally this would be off-putting if my stiff competition wasn’t old men, long attached to wives, in their never ending flattery towards young women. Sure enough, my ears perk at the sound of all too familiar laughter emanating from an all too familiar corner of the pub. Sure enough, among a score of old men whose dearest wish is to never see a beautiful young lady go unattended at such an esteemed social occasion were doting on Elise with tall tales often reserved for whatever tourist may be tromping through this county.

“Gentleman, may interrupt you and speak with the lady?”

“No.” The small man with the round face and impish grin laughed and patted me on the back. “Of course boyo, go right ahead. Miss, if this young upstart gives you any trouble, we are a here a waiting!”

“Young upstart? You’ve made a name for yourself in this town!”

“No, Finnegan just knows how to push my buttons. Rather, he knows how to push anyone’s buttons. I believe he has spent a life time devoted to his craft. It is so good to see you again Elise!”

“Ai, yes, and it is great to see you again Brett!”

“Let me grab you a drink!”

I return from the bar and we get to catching up with what one another has been doing, things that can never be properly communicated in a letter, lest you end up wasting the readers time. It is great to hear about all of her adventures out there in the world, and I love watching her eyes react to the many stories I have developed during my time out here. After sharing our stories with one another, exchanges of what exciting new things are going on in our lives, we begin to talk about anything we can think of; silly names, what God has been doing in our own lives, how we have been growing, and then finally we just sit in silence. We are almost oblivious to the sounds of music playing around the bar, until someone grabbing at my shoulder pulls me out of my moment and the events around me come swirling back in.

“Let’s have a dance Brett!”

It is the old woman whose husband owned the pub. I, of course, oblige her request and begin to dance about the pub in tune with the music, as do many other people. The wooden floor is alive with the sounds of running feet and brilliant laughter. I can tell you something; if you are not sweating by the end of your first dance at one of these parties, then you have not been dancing. All of the dances have some sort of step to them, an order, but often these go ignored for the sake of enjoyment! When I finally do get back to my seat with Elise, I am sweating like a cat in a dog pound.

“You’re quite good, I didn’t know you could dance!”

“Well, I could brag and say it was something I’ve always been gifted with, but I am afraid any skill in this area I may have is owed to the fine folks of this town.”

“So when will you show me a dance?”

“How about right now?” I extend my hand to Elise and begin to pull her to the floor. The moment we get ready for our dance, the band changes the tune to a slower song.

“Oh come on!” I shout, more than a little embarrassed and the band laughs at me before striking something a little faster. They have all seen me for the last year, and in that time, they have seen me as a single man and it has been the butt of more than one joke. Our dance is a fast one, but an enjoyable one and when it finishes, she goes back to her table, but I join the band to play a song that I had learned on my penny whistle. The crowd all laughs and cheers me on, ignoring my mistakes but instead continuing to praise my effort. Finished I return to my table with Elise.

“Where in town are you staying?”

“Just outside of town, actually, with a relative of mine.”

“Would you like to go for a walk? Maybe you can come see the old homestead I call home.”

She smiles and nods, “I’d love to see your sheep!”

It isn’t a short walk back to my place from town, and it is already late as we begin the hike back. The sky is pitch black, but I know that as we start to get nearer to my home, that it will transition to a cool purple and dark grey clouds. The silence around us on the lonesome pathway home is almost crushing. The shrill notes of a happy ceilidh band that cut into the night’s sky from the Rams Horn Pub had long vanished in the distance. There are moments when things are quiet, and I mean truly quiet, crushingly so; where silence sits so heavy it is as if it were around you like a physical blanket. Most of our walk back to the hills and the stone cottage is like this. I love moments like this; there is an intensity about them that I cannot fully explain, perhaps it is because in silent moments like this one, I expect some great revelation; I can hear the still small voice in these moments. I look over at Elise and smile a little bit.

“Do you ever have regrets?”

“I suppose,” She doesn’t even look at me; instead she looks ahead in silent contemplation. “I suppose we all do, but I think there are times where we misunderstand what regrets are.”

“What do you think they are?”

“I don’t think regrets are moments that we wish we could go back and relive. That would suggest that we lost opportunities to live, and I don’t think those opportunities just go away. I believe that we certainly have the tendency to fuddle those kinds of moments, but until we’ve died, we just push them to a later date. Regret should not be about a missed chance, a missed opportunity; rather regret should be the realization that we must now take a longer route to a chance, an opportunity.”

“That is profound.” I grab hold of Elise’s hand as I continue. “And it makes a great deal of sense to me. I am only sorry it took so long to see what was right there for a whole year.”

Elise smiles at me and pushes a stray lock of hair out the way of her face. She doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if this is something she expected or if it is just something she welcomed. Either way is fine with me, it just feels nice to finally be doing something instead of sitting on the fringe wondering about what I could be doing.