He threw one last file into his briefcase, patted his trousers to check that his wallet was in his pocket and walked out of the house. As he turned to pull the door shut the phone rang. Only his ex-wife called at this hour he thought and decided not to answer it. Sometimes he got a malicious delight in listening to her woes – her present husband was doing a better job of getting up her nose than he had ever done – but today he was not in the mood for her moaning. Sticking his middle finger out at the phone, he shut the door and went off with a spring in his step.
As he walked down the street Albert Walker smiled to himself. Today he would make it to the bus stop with more than a few minutes to spare, instead of the usual rushing that so annoyed the waiting driver and fellow passengers. The self-help book that he was reading had advised planning the next day’s schedule before going to bed and then getting up half an hour earlier. It seemed so obvious and he wondered why he had never thought of it before. The extra thirty minutes he spent in bed were quite a waste anyway. He couldn’t sleep worrying about so many things.
Maintaining his leisurely pace to the bus stop, Albert noticed, probably for the first time, the neat houses on his street. All of them looked the same, with identical facades and identical paintwork. The identical little gardens in front even seemed to have the same flowers. The local council was strict about that; no deviations were even considered.
Reaching the stop he was surprised that the usual commuters weren’t there waiting for the bus. That was probably because he was so early. On the bus he quite enjoyed chatting to fellow passengers, even though most times he couldn’t remember their names.
His mind wandered and he wondered if his marriage would have survived had he been more organized. His ex-wife had always grumbled: about his untidiness; his procrastination; and most especially, his forgetfulness. Often, when he hadn’t done something she had asked, she couldn’t decide whether he had genuinely forgotten, or just couldn’t have been bothered to make the effort. “I’m going to call you Al the Liar,” she had once said. “I don’t know if you have Alzheimer’s, or if you’re lying because you were too lazy to do it.”
He glanced once more at the bus timetable, then at his watch and thought of the daily rush to catch the bus, leaving behind the unwashed breakfast things in the sink. All that is going to be a thing of the past, he resolved.
Then he remembered that in making the effort to leave the house earlier than usual, he had forgotten to have his morning cup of tea.
No matter, he would have one as soon as he got into the office. Being early was so much better than being late, he thought. Then one didn’t have to rush, forget things, or annoy people who were more punctual, or less forgetful.
The smile on his face was suddenly replaced by a frown. Hadn’t he put the kettle on the cooker? If he hadn’t had his tea, then the kettle was still on it, which meant that he hadn’t turned off the gas.
He tried to remember whether he had turned off the gas. Maybe he hadn’t put any water to boil. But the thought that he might not have turned off the cooker kept coming back. He looked at his watch again. There was still time; about ten minutes before the bus arrived. It was never on time anyway and besides Paul the driver always waited a few minutes more for older passengers like Albert. He could rush home and rush back before the bus came. Anyway, it was better to miss the bus than to go off to work without turning off the gas. He might come home to no house, he worried.
Albert Walker hurried back home, slightly annoyed with himself. He walked quickly past the identical houses with their identical little gardens. Before he reached his house his keys were out and ready.
The door was ajar and his annoyance at his forgetfulness increased. In deciding whether to answer the phone or not he must have forgotten to shut the door.
He rushed to the kitchen and saw that there was no kettle on the stove and the gas was turned off. He checked once again. The radio was on though he was sure that he had switched it off. He looked through the window and saw his neighbour, old Mrs. Smith, picking up a blouse from the grass. Sometimes the wind blew her washing into his backyard and she walked through a gap in the hedge to retrieve it. He often wondered why she didn’t use clothes pegs.
As he was rushing out of the kitchen he saw that the backdoor was open. He pulled it shut firmly and left the house making sure that the front door was locked too. He rattled the door knob to double-check and hurried back to the bus stop. He had made it in time; there were still two minutes left for the bus to arrive.
Old Mrs. Smith heard her radio go off. As she hung out the rest of the clothes she heard the backdoor shut. “Oh dear!” she said to herself, “the wind is stronger than I thought.” After she had finished hanging out the last of the clothes, she walked around her house to the front door. That too was shut.
Meanwhile, at the bus stop Albert Walker would have more than a few minutes to wait for the next bus. On Sundays and other holidays the buses came only on the hour.
August 2010
COMMENTS
Devinder
I enjoyed the story and wanted to find out what happened at the end but had to read the last paragraph twice. It might be better if you mention somewhere in the story that the contents of the houses are similar.
Sonam Inoka Khulu
I can so relate to Al…not quite there, but I think I’m heading there. Great Story.
stevedsmnd
I enjoyed this; nice little twist at the end.
© Percy Aaron
Wow Laos 