𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 || Original Story

twenty-four | dramatic

The day after my encounter with the notorious and reputable Patrick Collins, I went to Maisie's to take my mind off things. I took my journal along with me and an old novel that I picked up at the second-hand book shop that I discovered a while ago on the outskirts of the village. One might have thought it to be a house, but if I hadn't wandered so far and looked so closely I never would have known.

I happily spent the majority of the morning and some of the afternoon there, tucked in the corner by the window enjoying both my book and the view from outside. Maisie herself was there and came to check up on me every now and then, once saying, "if you're going to stay here for so long every time you visit, Mr Bailey, then you'll quickly become my favourite customer!"

I decided that after reading and writing, I would head off to the park and take a stroll by the river to stretch my legs, which had become numb from sitting down for so long. I was glad of it, really, especially with the lovely weather. The air was warmer, the grass was greener, and I felt far more comfortable with my surroundings. It was as if Maplebrook had been my home for the entirety of my life.

I began to return home as it neared tea time. I was my usual self in the sense that I was daydreaming, which was an unfortunate thing to do when turning blind corners on the street.

There was a startled yelp and the dull thud of several books hitting the ground. I mentally cursed myself, knowing that this was the second unfortunate experience I had with running into somebody.

It seems I was beginning to make a habit of it.

The person- or rather, woman- I had collided with was pretty, her thick, dark hair braided and cascading down her back, and the colour of her eyes were like the purest chocolate. He had a striped t-shirt under her leather jacket and wore jeans and boots to accompany them. Studs decorated the lobes and helixes of her ears and a thin chain hung around her neck, the silver charm shaped like a star, something which I thought was of significance to her.

"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered irritatedly as I bent down to pick up the books. And as she spoke, I noticed that her accent was softly Scottish. "I'm so sorry. That's what I get for daydreaming!"

The books were, in fact, copies of plays: Othello by Shakespeare, All My Sons by Arthur Miller, Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett, and A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams. They were all worn with bent pages and tattered covers, but that clearly hadn't stopped them from being loved and read over and over again.

"Th-That's okay," I replied, handing her the books. "

"Hey," she said, her eyes narrowing curiously. "I haven't seen you before. Are you a tourist or something?"

I shook my head. "You m-might know me as th-the city b-boy."

"Oh, yes! Well, I'm Maya," she grinned. "Maya Braithwaite. Kate mentioned you the other week and I was wondering when I'd get to meet Mr Edgar Bailey from ol' London Town."

Maya then burst into song, reciting Flanagan and Allen's song  Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner, stifling giggles in between. I watched her, amused and smiling, somewhat envious of her confidence.

When she stopped, she sighed and shook her head. "Sorry about that. I'm into stage shows and acting, hence the books, so I'm rather dramatic."

Still smiling, I said, "th-that's okay. I l-like the theatre, t-too."

"Then you're a man of good taste," she laughed. "I like you already."

It was to be complimented on my now-diminished fondness for stage productions. I used to see them a lot with my Grandma Mina (who would sometimes bring my cousins along) and then tried my best to keep on going after she died. I found less and less time for the theatre, but still admired it anyway. I'd read reviews of the shows they had on at Broadway in the weekly newspaper and if I loved the sound of it then I'd buy myself a ticket and go alone.

"You're f-from S-Scotland," I then commented, after feeling the pain of nostalgia in my chest, my tone suggesting it was more of a statement than a question.

Maya laughed. "I am. I've been in Maplebrook since I was thirteen; my mum's from Edinburgh and my dad was born here. Never picked up the English accent, though..."

"Edinburgh's n-nice."

"You've been?"

I nodded.

"Then you've been to the best place on Earth!" She exclaimed. "I'm going back home next month. I finally got a place at the university to study drama in September. I know, I might be a little too old to be a proper student, but that never stopped anyone!"

Maya was right. Learning was for anyone at any age. It was one of the things I enjoyed most.

"You've g-got a wonderful chance," I said. "And I th-think you'll excel at your c-course."

Maya grinned, her face lightning up as bright as the sun. "Why, thank you, Edgar. That's very kind of you. It's nice to have some encouragement."

"It is," I agreed.

"I think you're like me, you know."

Curiously, I raised an eyebrow, to which she began to elaborate.

"You and I are determined souls and we think we can do things alone. But we can't. And that's why we need the help of others sometimes. Other people make us better."

I nodded, acknowledging what she had said and finding it rather profound. "S-Surely it would d-depend on who is h-helping?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Maya answered. "I think it's usually those most close to us. There's no shame in accepting help from those we don't know, though. You know, like therapists and counsellors."

"Hmm..."

I'd had my fair share of those. I was going to say that to Maya, yet thought it best to keep my mouth shut and refer to philosophy only, not my private life. Perhaps there would come a day when I told her. Today was not that day."

"Well, I'm sorry to have to put an end to our discussion," she piped up after a moment, checking the time on her watch. "I must be off; my mum and dad hate it when I'm late, you see."

"Of c-course," I said with a faint smile. "It was n-nice to m-meet you, Maya."

She beamed in return. "And you, Edgar. Maybe I'll see you soon... before I go."

"M-Maybe. If not, g-good luck."

"Thanks! I think I'll need it."

I watched Maya skip off down the road, her books clutched tightly to her chest. And on my way home, I reminisced some warmer memories from my childhood, remembering somewhat simpler times...