Two days ago, on Wednesday, I shared a dilemma in which I’d found myself – it was writing group, and I’d written a story which had nothing to do with the topic we were to write to. As ever when I was stuck, somehow my imagination had hauled up scenes from when I was young and inevitably a river was the setting. The idea we were to write to was to tell a story from two different points of view, and my chums performed magnificently fulfilling the brief with a variety of different stories.
This is what I wrote, and I have to tell you that it is complete fiction, except for the setting!
Another view from the bridge
Part one:
I can’t now say what exactly I was thinking about, I remember holding the cold metal rail, painted green. I was on the old bridge. It isn’t there now – not the rail and not the bridge. I think there were issues with rust and I think some of the modern cabin cruisers had tall aerials and, as ever, no doubt money talks and anyway there is now a new metal arched bridge which is wider so pedestrians and cyclists can cross without arguments and punch ups. I’m thinking of some time ago now, some long time ago when I was fifteen and I was standing on the bridge looking down at the river.
I’d known the river all my life, swam in it, canoed on it, fished in it – unsuccessfully, and cycled by it. I’m not sure what I was thinking about on that particular day, but it was probably about “them”.
My life outside school was fine – hanging out with Frankie. We would be painting and writing if it was miserable weather, or we’d go to the pool and spend whole days in and out of the water. But whether it was sunny or cold, as long as it wasn’t raining, we’d be out on our bikes. More recently since her dad had bought her a canoe, we’d spend our spare time on the river. The river… as Rat said in ‘Wind in the Willows’ – ”By it and with it and on it and in it.” That was us.
My school life was not so fine. I was being bullied. Marion was in another class from me, but when we moved into options, we ended up in the same group for most of our lessons. Her bullying was all the usual things, “accidentally” spilling ink on my work, knocking water jugs over me at lunchtime, saying things about me to her friends so they giggled stupidly. Fortunately I was able to ignore it, irritating as it was – I had friends in school, and plenty of friends outside school – and I had the river. With Frankie or on my own, I had the river.
I was staring down into the river now, literally lost in thought when I heard voices. On the tow path were three girls, about my age, and there was some commotion going on.
I couldn’t tell properly what it was but I recognised Marion immediately, her red hair was unmistakable and I knew her voice – occasionally it haunted my dreams. There was a tussle going on between her and another girl, smaller and blond. A third girl was there but doing nothing.
I’d had plenty of set-to’s with Marion but it had been all verbals – now I was shocked to see her hitting the little blond girl across the head.
I didn’t stop to think but ran over the bridge and down the slope. I was yelling something as I headed along the tow path and then stopped, shocked as Marion shoved the girl violently. I thought she hit her in the face – but whatever, the girl jerked backwards, her arms flinging up and she went straight into the river.
I’ll share part two tomorrow!
PS this is complete fiction!
Lois Elsden 