Strange Short Stories

It had been a pleasant day so far and as usual after this short drive to the shopping centre, or Designer Outlet as it liked to call itself.

Yes, it included many fashion, footwear and sports stores but also quite a few fashionable restaurants and fast food outlets, all circling two massive ground level car parks and the main central access road. I believe it also had a multi-story car park but we, my husband and I, had never parked-up there, always being successful at finding a spot in one particular area.

We did come here for shopping on occasion but to cover all the shops (there’s more than a hundred of them according to their internet blurb) required an early start and a lot of walking. I could quite enjoy such a day and wished we could do it more often but as with all men, he would last for the first hour and then got bored enough to find a bench to sit on at each group of shops I wanted to visit.

This day was not a shopping visit but a little trip out with our grand-daughter who’s company we enjoyed and equally she enjoyed being with us. On a previous occasion we had discovered (perhaps that’s not the correct way of describing wandering into a back area we had not visited previously when searching for an Asian specialty restaurant) a fish and chips restaurant favoured nationally by many, including ourselves.

We had come this day, another of many since that first ‘discovery’, to partake of a particularly enjoyable helping of fried fish and chips with the grand-daughter of course. 

Just a simple ‘ride out’ for the fun of the journey which the grand-daughter, despite her advancing age (she had now reached the ‘advanced’ age of seventeen and was enjoying our company more than ever).

We had also spotted an ice-cream ‘cabin’ we had not seen on previous visits (it had to be a new addition to the many small food outlets selling do-nuts, fudge, candy floss, etc., now dotted round the site) and from that moment she had been included on subsequent visits for ‘traditional’ fish and chips.

The food had to be eaten in the car of course, there was no other way!.

This had been a practice started some years back when the children were younger, including the grand-daughter’s mother. I could never remember clearly how it all started and neither could hubby.

We had both come to similar conclusions that it all started on one of the many drives for pleasure undertaken purely for the children’s enjoyment. We had passed such an establishment but as it had not included a ‘sit-down’ facility, we had sat in the car and consumed with great pleasure, battered fried fish and chips with lashings of malt vinegar and salt straight out of the paper in which they had been wrapped; oh the pleasure then and ever since.

As a child, I as many of the same age as myself had almost always eaten our fish and chips with eager fingers straight from out of the combination of plain paper and used newspaper they were wrapped in. Sitting outside in the cool fresh air seemed to add flavour more often than not before we finished, fully satisfied before heading back home. Many things had changed since then including the use of polystyrene take-away boxes with lids and the accompaniment of small wooden knives and forks and now we sat in the car to eat regardless of the smell that might linger for a further week.

As children both my husband and myself had enjoyed the great pleasure of a simple ‘ride-out’ with our parents, sometimes our grandparents after they had finished their day’s work, often at some late hour. This would occasionally include a ‘supper’ treat.

Here we were then repeating our ‘fun’ of those distant childhood years, after all those years with our children and now with but one grand-child; the other four were simply not interested, they had ‘better’ things to occupy their time with. Our granddaughter had genuine pleasure in our company and we, in a reciprocal manner, enjoyed hers especially as it rekindled lovely memories of times long since gone.

The drive here was no more than forty minutes along mostly motorway giving time for the granddaughter and I to spend some quality time in conversation while hubby drove.

We had again found our spot in the car park facing into the sheltered mall that ran along the face of a series of clothing shops. How we always seemed to manage to find a parking spot on this particular area we simply couldn’t say. Almost without fail, even on a busy day as today was, there was always a spot in the same general area.

It was as though all the other motorists were blind to one parking slot becoming vacant, with it being retained for our personal use as we had some sort of privileged status. That was dreaming, a fantasy, of course, but it had been a long time since we had not been able to park the car here.

My husband and our granddaughter had taken the short walk to the fish and chip outlet while I stayed in the car awaiting their return with three large portions of incredibly delicious battered fish, far too many chips, all in their plastic boxes, with several salt and vinegar sachets and three large chilled cokes.

Despite the widows steaming up a little (it was somewhat chilly outside today, and the windows had only been cracked open slightly to alleviate some of the condensation problem) we would continue regardless. The odour of the hot food may persist in the car for several days, something my husband would have to deal with later as he always, while the pleasure of consuming such satisfying hot food was as much there in reality as in the memory.

We didn’t rush to consume the food, trying to heighten the pleasure, but took our time in savouring each delightful flake of fish and batter and the vinegar soaked chips.

I was pleased that our granddaughter was adopting out patient approach to enjoying tasty food; she really was growing up and delightfully so.

We were now relaxing after the meal which, followed by a large chilled fizzy drink that had ‘filled’ us up well and truly. An ice-cream cone was still on the menu but before we changed location (it was far too far to walk) we were letting our stomach contents settle listening to some of the ‘oldies’ music on the radio.

The granddaughter then raised the subject of shoes, a pair that she had spotted in a shop window on the short walk for the food. As with all girls including the granddaughter and myself, we enjoyed having a new pair of shoes. We also took pleasure, perhaps more than settling on the pair we truly liked, of spending a hour in the shop trying every other pair on until we decided in favour of the first pair we had seen and desired originally.

The granddaughter was no different and I was pleased that at such an early age she was showing all the attributes of someone older than herself; she was growing up in a manner that pleased me greatly.

“Granddad, please can we go and take a look at those nice shoes I spotted?” our granddaughter asked. “Please Granddad.”

Why had she asked my husband and not me? This was in the same manner as her mother who preceded her and had definitely been a ‘Daddy’s Girl’.

“Come along then,” he replied opening his driver’s side door. “Are you coming too, love?” he asked me.

Normally I would not pass up such an opportunity but I needed a few minutes more rest to let the food settle down if only for a short while longer.

“Can we not sit quietly for ten minutes?” I asked and meant it.

“Oh, you stick in the mud Gran,” she piped up as she leapt from the car.

“You stay there love, this will only take a few minutes, she knows what she wants. Oh and by the way, they’re not shoes as we know them, I’m sure you wouldn’t approve. Take a break love, I’ll be back smartly, don’t panic.”

“This could be a generation bonding moment,” he laughed as he left the car for an impatient, toe-tapping granddaughter. “Back shortly, you know me where shopping is concerned.”

I didn’t mind sitting on my own, in fact I really did need it, for a few minutes at least. I was going to let my fish supper settle in peace. I intended to use the time to people-watch as the crowd in the mall walked to and fro, visiting shops, talked to each other, held hands, chastised noisy children, encouraged others and generally presented a great scene to watch; people watching it was to be.

There were different dress styles according to age and life style views parading in front of me and I always enjoyed the spectacle.

There were national dress styles, particularly of the far-east I guessed including religious sorts of dark black, full coverings which in other circumstances would have attracted much political criticism. Faces were in various shades from pinkish white, through a Mediterranean shade to a dark brown and black. Hair styles among the woman were equally as varied and many of the men included for various facial hair styles from short moustaches to full length raggy beards.

I really did enjoy people watching and in this multi national or ethnic environment it could be thoroughly enjoyable. Here everyone was concerned with genuine shopping or window shopping where much of my enjoyment usually came from, but not my husband’s. Perhaps some were just enjoying the walk round this enormous retail park, despite the chill in the air.

There were those who well wrapped up against the cold with scarves and various headwear, trilbies, pork pies, flat caps, sports caps and that was not only the men; something I always found amusing these days.

The stream of people walking in opposite directions was constant and, so it seemed, without any obvious collisions as though there was some sort of sixth sense or radar in play.

Children were either in a free flow mode, dodging adults and other children with great skill, or ‘respectfully’ walking alongside their parents, some holding hands whatever their age.

I was taking all this in and at first did not notice the single figure walk in from the right of my field of view to stop directly in front of my line of sight.

He immediately looked out of place as he was a bit on the short side and did not appear to have a coat on, nor a scarf or hat of any sort. A complete guess would have him at some five foot and nothing more and because of the walling section here directly in front of the car, protecting the crowd from a slight drop into the sparse planting and hiding a lot of him, I could only make out his upper torso, head and so on.

I assumed that he had to be some sort of fitness geek or ‘hard man’ because of the absence of a covering on his sparsely populated head to protect against the cold. Because of his tanned appearance I also made the assumption that he must have originated from much warmer climes than here, the Med perhaps.

His head turned and looked directly at me with the slightest of smiles. 

His eyes were a sharp blue somehow, penetrating but not in an unfriendly way; at that thought of mine his smile increased. That had to be a coincidence surely; the reading of minds is for stage magicians. It was immediately apparent that he either had no hair or it was cut very short; I got the obvious impression that he was indeed a man yet facially a bit ambiguous.

His head shape was sort of round without distinctive sharpness, no obvious sticking out ears as might be expected with such a severe hair style.

His smile increased to a broad grin, an almost laughing grin that went with a twinkle in his piercing bright blue eye contact. How did I see a twinkle in his eyes, they had not changed yet the impression was with me that there was a sense of humour about this character.

Then slowly a finger appeared from below and behind the horizon of the brick wall, a vertical protruding finger that kept coming upwards, seemingly combined with increases in the breadth of his grin.

It really kept coming, a slender pointy thing but extending to a length greater than any finger I had seen before; it had to be perhaps three times the length of any finger I was aware of.

It was a finger, I was sure and then my doubts were satisfied as it bent slightly at what was clearly a knuckle joint. But this jointed finger was thin, sufficient to be described as ‘skinny’ and far too long to be anywhere near a normal length.

I felt more than saw his smile increase, his emotions, albeit friendly happy ones, seemed to be penetrating directly into my own even more so as I sat rigid in my seat.

His thoughts had to be merging into my own; I knew these were his thoughts but yet they were also my own. This didn’t scare me for some reason; I was being kept in an attentive state somehow and it wasn’t down to curiosity. I found myself compelled to sit there quietly, observe, enjoy and be informed; how very strange.

My eyes were glued to what was in front of me.

As pedestrian traffic continued in both directions behind this stationary figure, he stayed glued firmly in my view his eyes capturing and refusing to let go of my own; I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

His smile, his twinkling eyes, his very person seemed to be the only things occupying my very being, my thoughts, my only reason to be sat here; was he hypnotising me? He was almost laughing now. I was being ‘told’ somehow that this meeting of minds, if that’s what it was, was arranged but how could it be.

His finger straightened and then prodded upwards telling me that something or other was ‘up there’; no ‘message’ of what was up there just that ‘it’ was.

He was laughing, not at me but with me, at the situation we were both in, I was sure of it. I tried to look up from my seat in the car but there was only blue sky and a few clouds. My gaze came back to him and we both continued laughing with each other as though I knew the answer, but it wouldn’t come to me.

Unable to change the direction of my view, I saw his smile drop as his finger also dropped below the height of the wall. One last direct and intense look into my eyes with the humour gone, replaced with great seriousness, before he turned his head away back to the direction of his previous travel.

He then continued to go on his way in a manner that told me he was gliding somehow, not walking, no up and down with each step, just a smooth glide, sort of, to rapidly disappear into the crowd, or was it just disappear.

I was sat still, unmoving and fixated on what had just happened. It had seemed as though all of this, the head turn, the smile, the finger and the laughing smile had taken a longish time to take place but perhaps it may not have done, it might have been a very short time, I couldn’t tell. I had the sensation that something of great importance had occurred, that I had been privileged, even selected possibly. What a strange feeling that seemed to permeate my very being not just mentally, leaving me happy and somehow satisfied with a warm glow but still with lots of questions that I needed answering.

‘Selected’ seemed most appropriate, but surely not or perhaps so; I was confused. This strange figure had reached into my very essence by his presence and what he had been trying to tell me; what indeed had he tried to, or did he, tell me? What had he been pointing to, what was ‘up there’, why had he been so happy and smiling, making me feel happy also, reaching into my thoughts; yet he hadn’t had he, how could he? Perhaps he had, I didn’t know, not for sure, I couldn’t tell, I didn’t know what was going on; what had gone on in these last few minutes?

He had left me something, I knew, but found I couldn’t tell anyone what it was, not even my husband or granddaughter as they now returned with a carrier bag which clearly had a box with some new shoes in. He asked me what I had been doing in the time that he had been gone. I tried to tell him but I couldn’t, the words would not come out.

“I said I wouldn’t be long dear,” he told me apologising with, “it’s only been an hour. ‘Nuisance’ here had to try on three or four pairs before settling on those in the box in the carrier bag. Not sure if you’ll like them, but she certainly does.”

“An hour, no surely not,” I thought to myself. “Five minutes is more like it.”

“Well what have you been up to while we’ve been gone?” he continued to query.

I made an effort to say what I had experienced but each time I tried to engage my mouth to bring out the words, something stopped me from speaking; maybe later, not now, perhaps never. In my thoughts were what I wished to say but something was blocking me from verbalising them; not a pleasant experience.

“Sitting quietly watching the world going by,” I managed; nothing else would come out.

There was a distinct impression in my thoughts, however, that a time was to come perhaps soon, when all was going to be explained; I would have to be satisfied with that for the present. That final thought seemed to trigger something in my mind, something that made me feel happy and contented; how strange.

“Let me have a look at those shoes,” were the only words I could continue with.

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