Friday Flash Fiction: The Bench

This week's challenge was to pick a photo from a random collection and write a story about it. I have been rather busy (graduations and things!) so I am turning in a half a flash--my story came in just under 500 words, and I won't try to make it any longer.

To see the photo, go here.

The Bench

No one could remember who had built the bench. Few people even knew it was there. The molded concrete sat a bit back from a little-used trail in the woods outside of town, half-overgrown with grass and bushes, greened with moss and lichen. Perhaps when it was built it wasn’t lost in the woods. Maybe there was a garden there once. No one knew, nor much cared, except to wonder in passing at such a thing in such a place.

No. One person knew. One person walked the trail from time to time, stepping carefully not to crush the flowers that sprouted along the way, and sat on the bench, gazing into the tangled woods for an hour or for half a day.

That person knew how long the bench had been there, and why it was there. He could no longer manage the walk often, because the bench he had built to sit on with the love of his life had been there a very long time, and he and it had grown old together.

She had not. The beautiful girl he had loved and had courted in the tiny hidden garden had long since passed from this earth, and from the memories of all save the old man who struggled to walk the overgrown path. He used a cane now, but with utmost care, less its unyielding tip damage the flowers, descended from the seeds she had sown. He was ancient, but she never grew old.

He sat on the bench, and ran his gnarled hands over the whorls and carvings of the seat. He had ordered the bench from Sears Roebuck, ten dollars postage-paid. No doubt at one time many, many more existed just like it. Almost like it. His fingers could still find the initials he had painstakingly carved into the pattern at the back of the seat. “Where only we will know, because you are too precious to advertise,” he had told her. Time had gnawed at the indentations, lichen done its best to fill them, but he could still trace the letters.

Once in a long while some brisk pedestrian or rambler of the woods would pass by while the old man sat. Most would look at him with curiosity, wondering why he chose to sit on the worn bench in the weeds. A few worried that he was ill, and inquired anxiously if he needed help. To those, he merely smiled and shook his head, with a brief, “I’m well enough.”

None of them saw what he saw. When he sat in the sun on his bench, he could still see her, kneeling among the flowers of the wild garden, exclaiming over each tender shoot or tiny blossom, and he was content.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2015

Middle Grade review becomes something else

My intention was to make today's post a review of the middle grade historical/western/mystery, P.K. Pinkerton and the Petrified Man, by Caroline Lawrence (the book also seems to have some listings as "The Case of the Good-Looking Corpse," for reasons I haven't yet figured out). This is the second book in the series, and the 3rd I've read. I did an extremely brief review of Book 3, though I am enjoying the series and they deserve more (see caveats at the end of this post)

So my plan today was to do more. But I got a little sidetracked.  Before I go off on that, let's do the review basics:

Title: P.K. Pinkerton and the Petrified Man
Author: Caroline Lawrence; Narrated by Tara Sands
Publisher: Audio Edition (what I read): Books on Tape, 2013. Original publication (as The Case of the Good-Looking Corpse) 2012, 313 pages.
Source: Digital library

Summary: 
Newly-orphaned 12-year-old P.K. Pinkerton has hung up a shingle and gone to work as a Private Eye in Virginia City, Nevada in 1860-something. Business is slow until Martha, a young servant girl, comes looking for someone to find out who killed her mistress, Short Sally. P.K. takes the case and finds it a challenge--and a risk. With the help of P.K.'s main ally, Poker Face Jace, and a bit of aid from a young journalist named Sam Clemens, justice prevails, but not without a lot of excitement!

Here's where I would be reviewing the book, only I got distracted by something. See, P.K. clearly has Asperger's Syndrome (a form of high-functioning autism). This manifests in a dislike of being touched, a fondness for collecting things (and organizing them), and an inability to read emotions--or recognize faces. It was that last that sent me off track.

Because I don't recognize faces very well either. P.K. refers to the problem as "my thorn," referencing St. Paul and his "thorn in the flesh" that was some mysterious ailment that kept him (St. Paul) from doing all he wished. In the same way, P.K. considers face-blindness (official name: prosopagnosia) a handicap. And I read a review that objected to presenting this as a handicap, because we don't want to stigmatize Asperger's as a handicap (I can't find that review, and may not even remember it correctly. It doesn't matter, because it made me think). The thing is, face-blindness *is* a handicap. Especially for someone who wants to be a detective. The interest here is in how P.K. works around it (though I'm not sure his work-around would work, because it seems to me more of a means of remembering names than faces. I'll try to experiment, but Lawrence may have slipped up here).

All this leads me to what I know about prosopagnosia, which is mostly that a) having had it, apparently, since birth, it took me a really long time to figure out why other people could follow movies so much better than I can, and b) that it has usually felt like an excuse when I explain why I wasn't slighting someone just because I didn't recognize them. Oh, and c) it's a little awkward for a writer, too (I tend not to give my characters physical descriptions). What I also know is that I recognize many people quite well--by distinctive features, hair, clothing, or gait.

So I did a little research. One thing I learned is that face-blindness (let's stick to the pronouncable version) is not necessarily an aspect of Autism, but there is a lot of overlap. In my case, I'd say it's related, as my oldest son has Asperger's, and I have recognized a lot of signs and symptoms in the literature as also applying to me. So it's not a common aspect, but makes sense for P.K. to have it along with the other issues. And it makes an intriguing problem for the young detective.

I also learned that some people (maybe most?) acquire face-blindness from some trauma. Those people are probably driven more nuts by it than I am, because they know how this stuff is supposed to work. I found some very good info at https://www.faceblind.org/research/, including a test to see if you have it (if you take the test, please leave a comment about it). Yeah, I'm not crazy. Apparently other people can recognize faces even without hair and stuff. They even recognize actors when they change costumes! Who knew?

Finally, to return to the book, I want to say that I have been enjoying this series a lot. On the other hand, though it is apparently written for middle-grade students (writing level seems to match), the content is often pretty adult, and the story is more like an adult western. There is little or no bad language, but there are gun fights, dead bodies, and (what would you expect in a mining town like Virginia City in it's heyday?) most of the women are prostitutes, delicately referred to as "soiled doves." And P.K., who is half Lacota Indian, is subjected to the racism that was rampant at the time. Make your own judgement about appropriateness for your child.

Oh, and just to finish: if I meet you somewhere, then don't recognize you the next time, please don't be offended, even if it happens more than once. Just remind me who you are and let it go. Thanks.


Since I did sort of review the book, here's the usual boiler-plate:
Full Disclosure: I checked P.K. Pinkerton and the Petrified Man out of my digital library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher in exchange for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

Memorial Day

In honor of Memorial Day, our national day to remember and honor those who have died in our nation's wars (whatever we may think of the wars, let us honor those who gave everything for our country), this blog is not posting the scheduled review.

The Ninja Librarian will resume posting on Tuesday.