Stalking My Thoughts – Part Three


Stalking My Thoughts – Part Three

This is the third article in an occasional series.  Click here to go to the second article.

reportImagine someone.

Describe them.

Remember someone.

Describe them.

Which was easier?


I pride myself on a vivid imagination.  But..remembering is easier than imagining.  I have taken to sitting in places, and watching peopleI wrote more about this in another postSome day, some of my observations might be helpful in a story, especially if I need someone doing something ordinary.

How Ordinary?

You decide.


Eight year old boy (Jimmy)

Sitting on a bench in the Mall, watching people, I notice a child, Jimmy, and his father, John.  I do not remember them arriving.  What else have I missed, as I watch the world go by?

Jimmy and John are on a bench, solid, made of stained wood, blonde.  The heavily varnished wood is smooth and slick.  The glossy surface reflects the light.  The frame is heavy and solid.  Smaller seat boards run parallel to the bench.  Back boards run up and down.  Each board is about an inch thick, with a similar gap between.  Heavy, solid, arm rests guard each end.

John is about two-thirds of the way down the bench.  Jimmy is on the end nearest me.   Either Jimmy or John face the wrong way on the bench.  Jimmy kneels on the bench, facing the back.

Jimmy is in a special place, seeing something the rest of us cannot, or will not, see.  His hands flatten out, sliding over the back boards, up and down.  Sometimes he slaps the wood.  Other times one or both of his hands leave the wood.  One hand seems to chase the other.  Utterly absorbed, his lips move.  Perhaps he talks to himself, sings, or adds special effects sounds.  He tilts his head from side to side, making faces, adding more special effects.  Perhaps he immerses himself in a great car chase, or Luke and Darth fly against each other.

Never once does Jimmy look toward his father.  Nor does John, intent on his smart phone, look back.  Still, when John moves, Jimmy leans slightly in his direction.  As Jimmy pitches and turns in his game, John, somehow seems to be aware of Jimmy.  I am not observant enough to know how I feel this.

A woman, Amanda, appears, Jimmy’s mother.  Jimmy glances to his father, then gives Mother a quick, glance  He returns to his game.  Amanda and John say something.  Jimmy’s cars continue to chase each other.  John stands.  Without breaking his motion, Jimmy is on his feet, hand reaching for…Dad.  Mother leading, the three disappear to my right.  Jimmy studies the floor, hopping along.  Perhaps he avoids the cracks.


Will I ever use Jimmy in a story?

I will call Central Casting when I need a boy who can see something the rest of us cannot see.  Completely focused on his game, he seems to know exactly where his parents are, and what they are doing.  Smart phones are not needed for a good time.


Read next article.




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