The Blind Date
The Old Man's Books (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
Author's Note: For this week, I read "Arabian Nights" wherein Shahrazad tries to save the women of her city from their vengeful sultan. Her decision is spurred on by the fact that he marries a new girl every night and then murders her the next morning, decimating the female population. Shahrazad thus agrees to marry him only to tell him a new story every morning just before dawn without finishing it so that her life is spared because he wants to hear the ending. Within her story, she incorporates other stories that just keep chaining along through each other so that she can keep the sultan on the edge and survive until the next night. In this story, I wanted to recreate Shahrazad's story weaving wherein a story is nested into another story but I gave it a modern twist. I found it easier than I had originally thought it would be to nest one story into another which was a nice surprise. I highly recommend this storytelling technique to anyone who wants to give it a try. It's really not as hard as it seems. I also pulled in some fable-like, moral of the story elements much like Shahrazad's stories do. I hope you enjoy this tale!
The Bar (Source: Pikrepo)
The Blind Date
It was exactly fifteen minutes after six when Kennedy's shoe got caught on the mat outside of the bar and restaurant. She flailed her arms like a skydiver, imagining certain death, when she felt someone catch her ... and then slowly let her slide to the ground. Gah, she thought, was she that heavy? She slipped onto her stomach like a piece of paper sliding to the ground, making a C-shape with her back as she did it. She popped up in the next second, tugging her sweater down from her armpits and meeting the eyes of whoever had attempted to catch her.
"Crap," she groaned as she saw who it was, readjusting the strap of her crossbody.
"Yeah, same," said the guy who caught her. He was also, coincidentally, her Tinder date that she was supposed to meet at six on the dot. "I was fixing to leave, actually," he said.
He went to sidestep her, but she did the do-si-do right into his way.
"Wait, please. I can explain." There was an awkward pause as he stared at her with a cocked eyebrow. She flopped her mouth open and shut. She was at a complete loss for words so she continued chewing invisible bubble gum and thinking. Then, as she glanced over her date's plaid shoulder, she found inspiration: an old man hunched at the bar with his eyes closed.
She began her story like this, "I left my apartment at exactly five-thirty." She took her date's elbow as she spoke and led him to a booth in the corner. She had to use a little force at first, but after an initial tug he began to walk with her. "On my way to the stairs, I heard this awful groan and a thump come from the apartment catty corner to mine and I just knew I couldn't leave without checking it out first, despite how late it might make me for our date." She glanced up at his face as she spoke and had to suppress a smirk when she saw that he was looking at her with wide eyes.
"I know, it sounds weird, right?" He nods and she continues. "Long story short, it was an old man who had accidentally dropped one of his heavy volumes when he was trying to get it down from his bookshelf. When I tell you that I have never seen so many books in my life, I mean it. They were piled everywhere, books upon books upon books. The man didn't even own a TV!" Kennedy bobbed her head up and down as if she was confirming her own story.
The Old Man's Apartment (Source: pxfuel)
"So, the old man was... fine?" Kennedy's date asked, his voice raising slightly at the end. He began to pull his plaid-covered arm away, but Kennedy suction-cupped herself to him.
"Yes, the old man was fine, but he began to tell me a story like the one I'm telling you now. He sat in his old leather chair which, by the way, looked like a wingbacked throne with all the books piled around it and he said..."
***The Old Man's Story***
When I was young, all I ever wanted to do was read. This was years and years ago, back before all of your confangled technology. I would sit for hours and hours at the city library, on a park bench, under a tree and just read and read and read. The pages would flip as if turned by the wind and I would never look up from them.
The Tree (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
One day, as I was perusing an old volume under a tree in the park, I heard a noise. I heard noises all the time and I always just ignored them, but this noise was followed by a voice.
"Young man, look at me," it seemed to whistle in my ears like the wind. I jammed my finger in my ear and wobbled it up and down to dispel the tickle and then continued to follow along with the words in my book, ignoring the voice.
"Young man, you are in danger. Don't ignore me," the voice said again, caressing my ear drum with its hiss. "Look!"
Young lady, I tell you I still had not looked up from those pages when the voice exploded in my ear, "LOOK!" I jumped up, the book thumping to the dust as it fell from my hands. Everything went dark.
I had shoved my head straight up into a beehive! The bees stabbed my face, my neck, my eyes. I screamed and fought them. When I finally dislodged my head from the beehive, I was blind. Just as blind as I am to this day. I will never be able to read again. Young lady, listen to me close. Do not ever let your passion cloud your vision.
***End of The Old Man's Story***
Back to the Bar (Source: Pixabay)
"Wait, the old man was blind?" Kennedy's date leaned forward across the table.
"Mhm," Kennedy nodded her head with pursed lips, crossing her legs. "I only realized once he had finished his story that he hadn't been looking at me. I just figured he was bashful." She shrugged her shoulders.
The date narrowed his eyes, "I don't believe you."
One side of Kennedy's lips perked up as she said, "I thought you'd say that. Want to hear another?"
