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The following story is copyrighted material and all rights belong solely to the author. Any reproduction or republication of any or all of this publication without the explicit and expressed written consent from the author is strictly forbidden.
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Precious Cargo - Epilogue
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”, the woman in the white flowered dress yelled as she tossed the last page into the air. Scrambling for the page, the rest of the group hurried to finish the story.
“That just won’t do!”, the woman yelled. “Won’t do at all!”
She then stood up, marched to the lone figure, and grabbed him by the ear. Dragging him to the door and scolding him all the way, she said, “You cannot end the story there! I simply can’t stand stories that end like that! You will go right now and write some more!”
The lone figure winced as his ear was being pulled and could only respond as, “Yes ma’am. Ow… No ma’am. Ow, OW! Yes, ma’am.”
At the door, the woman spun the figure around by the ear and stared at him nose to nose. “And don’t you dare kill him off to end the story quicker. Do you understand me?”, she said as she sneered into his pained face.
“Yes, ma’am… I mean no ma’am… I mean… OW! Okay, okay…”, the figure yelled in agony.
Letting lose of the ear with a snap, the woman raised her eyebrows and pulled up her white shiny handbag. Twisting the golden snaps she reached in and removed a dark brown compact. Opening the compact and checking her hat and hair, she pursed her lips at her reflection. As she reached into the white bag again, she glanced over to the figure out of the corner of her eye.
The figure was rubbing his ear and felt the hot skin throbbing under his fingers. Afraid to look at the woman but not wanting to get snatched like that again, the figure tried to keep an eye on her in his peripheral vision without actually looking at her. Seeing that she had indeed made an impression on the figure and intimated him just enough, she pulled out a black tube of lipstick and removed the top with a slight pop.
“Now dear”, she began calmly. “You must understand that you simply can not excite a genteel woman like myself with such passionate writing like that and just stop”, she said as she flipped her hand holding the lipstick and rolled her eyes.
Continuing to dab the very red lipstick, she tried to keep her lips still and made a face as if she were about to blow smoke rings. “A delicate woman like myself just cannot bear such things”, she said. Putting the top back on the lipstick with a click and throwing it in her purse, she looked him directly in the eye as if peering over reading glasses. “No one likes to be left hanging”, she said as she lifted her purse up to him, snapped it shut, and quickly spun around.
“But this was the second story I had written of a possible series”, the figure said still afraid to look directly at the woman as she turned back to him. “I had written Part 1, which was called A Spartan By Any Other Name and this was Part 2. I had more stories planned and then I realized... Well, I was desperate. I didn’t know what else to do. When I saw a sign for this meeting, I came here for help.”
“Well, I’ll help you”, the woman said. “I’ll help you right out the door so you can get to work on the rest!”
“But I need help”, the figure pleaded.
“Oh no!” the woman said. “You finish what you started, Mister, then we’ll talk about help.”
The rest of the group was speechless as they quickly passed the pages of the story in sequence to each other. The man in Birkenstocks carefully collected them in order as they were finished, trying not to look at the scene. The woman walked toward the man and looked down at his socks peering through his sandals. Looking up and giving a slight smile, she turned and saw the figure still standing at the door.
“What are you doing still standing there like that? Go!” she said as she shooed the figure with her hand. “Go!” she repeated. “And it better not upset me again. Ladies should not be made to be upset.”
The figure looked at the others in the room and continued to hold his sore ear. The group looked at each other, questioning how to react. The figure said, “But…”. Unfortunately, that was all he could utter. The woman stomped her thick white heels, opened her eyes wide like a buffalo about to charge, and pointed for him to leave.
The figure put his head down and opened the door. Pausing, the figure looked again to the woman and opened his mouth to speak. The woman cocked her head, raised one eyebrow, and shook her still pointing hand. The figure put his head down and walked out the door without closing it.
The man with the Birkenstocks looked around the room and saw the uncomfortable faces of the group. He looked down at the stack of paper in his hands and then to the vacant open door. He slowly sat down on the table behind him and placed his hand with the story to his side.
“We can’t do this to him”, the man began. “We are here to help people like him, not take advantage of his vulnerabilities. We all had a moment of weakness but we must stop now. We can’t let this go on.”
The man pulled the hand that held the story around in front of him and looked at it. “I should have stopped this”, he said. “I thought I could control it but I was wrong.”
Standing, the man carefully took the story with both hands and walked slowly to a small round metal trashcan near the door. Pausing to look over the first page, the man gradually lowered the papers with one hand to the trash. Closing his eyes, he let the papers go and they flowed into the can with a shuffling sound.
Looking up to the group, he noticed that all eyes were on him. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry but I will not be able to continue with you anymore. I failed to help a friend in need. I failed all of us. And I just can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
The man turned to face the open door and looked at the large glass pane. Reaching up to a piece of paper that was taped to the glass, the man smiled as he read the words for the last time. He carefully removed the paper and tape and looked at the sign for a while.
The man held up the paper for the group to read and said, “Believe it or not, this is actually a good program”. Then taking one last look, the man took a deep breath, dropped the piece of paper in the trashcan, and walked out of the room.
The others in the group looked at each other and began to follow the man out of the room. Several were murmuring among themselves that it wasn’t his fault and that he should not be so hard on himself. Almost the entire group looked sternly at the woman as she stood with both hands holding her purse in front of her like a shield.
The woman watched as the last person read the last page and slowly walked to the door, dropping the page in the trash. Waiting until she heard the group was gone, the woman walked to the trashcan and removed the papers.
Carrying the loose papers to the table, the woman began to put them into order. The woman carefully removed the sign with the tape from the story as it had stuck to several pages. After tapping the pages on the table to get them in line, the woman carried the story and sign toward the door.
Taking a quick look, the woman realized that someone had put a lot of time and effort into the sign. The letters were hand written and very well done. Almost looking like calligraphy, the letters flowed on the page with gentle wisps and curls. The first two words were much larger than the rest and she thought that they must have taken the most time. The last word seemed to convey a happy air and was more uplifting than the rest.
The woman turned the tape on the sign over to its back so as not to stick to anything else. Placing the sign on the top of the story, the woman walked out of the room and down the hall. Her shoes echoed as she briskly walked down the corridor.
As she walked past a man with a mop, he looked up and said, “I guess you are done with your meeting. Can I lock up now?”
The woman said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your meeting. You know, I watched that man make that sign earlier. He put his heart into it, he did. He said it was the only way that he could put part of himself in his work anymore. Never did understand why they made that Fictional Writing stuff illegal but you can’t fight the government. You like the last word? That one was my idea. Don’t you think it sounds better that way?” The woman looked down at the sign as the man continued, “I think it makes more personal”.
Then taking his hand and waving it in the air for each line, as if reading a scrolling marquee, the man said, ‘Authors Anonymous… Meeting Inside… Welcome...' ”.
