Weekend Write-In Story Collection

The Harmonica Player

In 500 words, imagine what happens when a character glimpses their future. Written for the Weekend Write-In prompt themed "Fortune". 2 - 4 October 2015

Some lessons in patience...

The Sign Painter

David hung his tongue out the right side of his mouth and squinted his left eye as he began using the black felt marker to draw the first shape of his new sign. With his first attempt, he had drawn some quickly tapering shapes toward the panel edge, with still not enough room for the final shape, so he had flipped the board over and started with smaller shapes. Again he ran out of room.

He sat on the step pondering his dilemma while he played his harmonica. He loved playing it and loved the compliments he always received. Passersby would pause on the sidewalk in front of his veranda step to listen to the melodic tunes and then remain there, captivated by his playing. I hope nobody asks me the name of this one. I haven't named it yet. It always flustered him when he was asked — he never named his tunes. He never played the same one again. Fresh tunes simply poured out through his lips and moving hands.

Partway through a tune, he stopped. Use a pencil first to draw the shapes. That way I can get it all to fit. I can use a rubber too if I get it wrong. That's what I'll do. He got up and walked into the house.

"Mama... Mama, I need a pencil and a rubber. And another piece of cardboard."

"How's your sign coming, Sweetheart?"

"I always run out of room. I just thought I should draw the shapes first with a pencil to make it fit."

His mother began cutting another piece from a cardboard carton, smiling as she did. She was always delighted when David thought creatively. Over the years she had very patiently given him every opportunity and encouragement to do this.

David took the new piece out to the veranda, then after looking around for a long while, he went back to fetch the pencil and eraser his mother had placed on the table. He spent the next hour and more carefully drawing the shapes on the cardboard, erasing and re-spacing several times until he was satisfied. He looked back and forth between the shapes his mother had printed from the computer and the ones he had drawn. They look the same to me. Maybe I should ask Mama.

He picked up his harmonica and began playing again. He continued for over an hour until his mother came out with a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk. "Here's your lunch, Dear. How's the sign coming along?"

"I think I have it okay. All the shapes fit now. Is it good?"

She looked at the carefully rendered pencil sketch with the letters correctly formed and well spaced. "This looks perfect."

"Before I mark it black, does it say what I wanted?"

"Yes, Sweetheart. It says FOR TUNE."

"Goody! It's time I start making my own money now — I'm twenty-three. I can see people putting lots of money in the basket for my tunes."