Writing challenge 9th February 2012

The Traffic Jam

Franklin sat on his favourite bench, basking in the July sun. There were not many people around on the Downs this time of the morning. Most of the dog walkers had come and gone, young mothers were fighting their way through the school run, students were probably still in bed so that just left people like him.

      Frank, as he was known to his friends, and probably any enemies he had made during his long working life had recently retired. He now had time to enjoy the little things in life that he was fully aware had passed him by while he worked hard and sold his time to earn a living for his wife,  himself and their three children who had now scattered across the world in pursuit of their different destinies.

      Sylvia and himself had planned to enjoy many trips to far away places when Frank retired but she had died seven months after the final party at the office. All those plans were meaningless now so he was content to settle into a mundane lifestyle and take little pleasures where he could. The children visited him when they could and brought the whirlwind uncertainty of youth with them but they soon left and got on with their lives. This left Frank on his own but he was generally happy with his own company, no one could replace Sylvia after their forty two years together. He had many very happy memories to keep him company and he played these like u tube videos in his head whenever he wanted.

      There was little breeze this morning to disturb the butterflies feeding on the buddleia bushes near the bench. He watched them do what butterflies do; ‘flutter by’ he thought and wondered if that Red Admiral was going to cause a hurricane in Brazil, or was it the other way round? He mused on their short life and marvelled at the irridescant beauty of their wings. They had a very short life compared to Frank who was already in his sixty eighth year but they seemed happy, if you can decide what butterfly happiness is and how they would show it.

      ‘Do all old men think like this when they are on their own?’ he wondered.

      There was a constant stream of cars across the suspension bridge this morning. He was amused to see the jostling for position to get through the toll in front of one more car. Did it really matter? Why compete, why not cooperate and share? Was it some inate human drive?

      He felt the first pangs of hunger so he opened his rucksack and pulled out his half litre thermos flask – a present from his eldest for last Christmas and a plastic box of sandwiches that he had made in the kitchen before leaving the house. He poured a cup of coffee and dipped into the pile of sandwiches. He bit into the first one with a sense of anticipation.

      ‘T’riffic jam,’ he thought.