A Simple Meeting. A story by Amy R and Randall...

This is just an introductory piece. And an Experiment for two people to write together. This story will be progressing, as it is a Collaboration With Amy R and myself.

                                   Simple Meeting 

 

    They met in the park one day.  It was a simple meeting, neither one was well impressed with the other.  But still something made them look at one another.  Fate, no, he looked at her because she was beautiful.  He felt he had never seen such beauty.  She looked at him, because he looked interesting, sitting there feeding the bird's bread, some sitting on the bench right beside him.  They seem to trust him. 

    She walked on to where she was going, looking back to see if he was looking.  He wasn’t, not because he didn’t want to. But because he felt it, too be impolite to stare at someone. He really wanted to jump up and shout at the top of his voice that she was beautiful.  But he didn’t, he was a gentleman, and he didn’t know her and didn’t want to offend her.  So, she walked away, still glancing back until she was out of sight, but not out of his life or memory. 

    He knew in his heart he would see her the next day or the next, he was sure.  And when that day came, he would at least smile at her, hoping for one in return. He decided to be at the park, the same place and time every day until he saw her again.  Besides, he came to feed the birds bread every day, because they depended on him.  And it made him feel as though he was doing something good in the world. 

    He finished breaking up the loaf of bread between his friends, shaking the plastic bag in the air to get the smallest crumbs out.  Then he sat for a while after they had eaten every crumb.  They weren't staying for the bread now, but just to sit with him awhile.  He liked the sounds they made, and they seemed to listen to his voice as he read his poems aloud.  

    He remembered when he was a child and climbed trees.  How the birds would sit on the limbs around him as if he were one of them.  But he was no longer a child sitting in trees, but maybe the bird word had been past amongst them saying he was to be trusted, just maybe. That was why they stayed and listened. 

    He left the park thinking about his return tomorrow, bringing fresh bread and a chance to see her again.  He hoped, she might be thinking about him. He had heard hope was eternal.  All he wanted was hope for the next day or the day after.  

    He walked home to his small apartment three floors up from the ground and a view of the street.  Walking up the three flights of stairs making two quick left turns to get to his apartment door.  He unlocked two locks on his door; it wasn’t that he didn’t trust his neighbors, but locks kept everyone honest.   

    He thought about what he might say to her when he saw her in the park.  He would tell her he was a writer of short stories, poetry, and now a novel.  He was sure about his short stories and poetry being somewhat good, but the novel he was unsure about.  He had given a copy of the manuscript to someone who he trusted and felt was much smarter than him.  He thought a second opinion would be the best course for a successful novel.  The novel was based on truth and expanded by imaginative fiction.  He was sure someone would like to read it, or it would make a great door stop or used as a prop to hold open a window, for fresh air. Either way, he wrote it, perhaps, as a challenge or just to show off.  

    He thought of all the books he had read and remembered a quote from a writer named Joseph Campbell.  

“If you do follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living.  Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be”. 

    He had gone down many different paths over time and now decided to follow his Bliss, as a writer.  And tomorrow he would go to the park and wait for her to come by.  Perhaps she was to be part of his Bliss.  

 

D. Randall Dollaway 

 August 2025

                                 

Author's Note

Please recognize the Quote by Joseph Campbell. "Follow your Bliss."
If any WritersCafe.org writer would like to try writing the she dialog, there are no expectations of love or acceptance, it goes where it goes at some point, blending it all together into one story. This is a no pressure writing, no deadlines to be met, write when you feel it. I know people have lives outside of writing. Please leave me a note in the mail. Randall...