The Power of Innocence and Truth

The cool, crisp autumn air seems to be swirling all around with leaves of red, orange and yellow encircling Tom as he is walking down Main Street in Higby Harbor. Ordinarily, a walk like this would invigorate him and open his mind to creative inspiration to fill him with excitement and motivation. Today, however, the coolness and light wind are only reminding Tom that three months have passed since he handed in his resignation and halted his steady, well-paying job as an electrical engineer.

Having smartly saved the last few years, living frugally and with intention, Tom felt confident as summer approached that it was time to take the leap of faith and write his novel. Writing had been his passion since college thirty years ago, when he chose to take a creative writing class as an elective. He surprised himself with how well he did and marveled at how easily he could invent engaging stories. On weekends, his friends would sit around and listen to his latest assignment, giving valuable feedback. At least, that’s what Tom believed then. With his unsteady life now reeling and stressing him out more each day, he is now wondering if all the praise at his originality and inspiration were merely a group of inexperienced “kids” who not only knew little about what good writing entailed, but were probably more reactive to the booze they were so generously ingesting than the stories he was so confidently telling.

Where was my head? I’m burning through my savings, I have no job and I have not been able to write beyond chapter three of my great, American novel, Tom was thinking in a panic. He took this walk to figure out his next move, but so far, his blood pressure feels like it’s rising and his fatigued feet are beginning to blister. A distraction from his thoughts seems to be the next logical step, so Tom opens the door to the very first business he approaches and is immediately bombarded with the blaring sounds of beeps, pings, crowds cheering, screeching tires and cars revving. This, along with the colorful lights, brings an instant warmth of nostalgia over Tom as he realizes he has walked into the new arcade in town. The frustrated groans and giddy laughter from the patrons inside elicit an empathetic smile to his face as he knows this could be the distraction he is seeking.

Tom looks all over for a token and/or change machine but cannot locate one. A bulky machine in the middle of the place seems promising, as it is clearly not a game. The people milling about it are digging in their wallets or purses. He doesn’t want to seem out of place, so he quickly studies the instructions glued to the side of the screen which state he will get a gaming card after purchasing an amount of his choosing. Realizing he has no clue how much each game will cost, Tom presumes twenty dollars to be a sufficient first run. With card in hand, he scopes out the plethora of games but is unable to recognize any titles. With a slight grumble, Tom saunters over to where he sees he belongs…right where a big, neon sign will alert the other gamers to his “advanced” age: the “Retro Arcade Games” section.

With half his money spent within ten minutes, Tom realizes his mind is not truly being distracted and defeat washes over him. Spotting a section of seats, he chooses to sit down and reflect on how he will approach his former boss to get his engineering job back. The dream of writing his novel is quickly floating away while debt and uncertainty are drawing closer. Tom sits in one of those massage chairs he usually sees set up throughout the local mall, figuring it will be a good way to spend the remaining funds on his arcade card and perhaps he will unwind before the dreary walk home.

“Are you a teacher or somethin’?” Tom opens his eyes within seconds of closing them to see a young boy, no older than ten, sitting next to him. “We don’t have school today which is why there’s so many of us kids here on a Monday. I figure you must be a teacher or maybe a principal.”

Having no set schedule, Tom realizes he didn’t even question why so many kids were in the arcade on a weekday at noon. “Um, no. I work from home so I make my own schedule. I’m an author. At least that’s what I thought I was,” Tom replied to his inquisitive new friend.

“So, does that mean you write books?  And why don’t you think you’re an author no more?”

How does Tom explain a grown-up dilemma to a child? “Well, I am trying to write my first book and I thought I had a great idea. It’s going to be a chapter book and I’m realizing my great idea for a story is harder to make into an actual novel.” He sat silently, waiting for a reply and figuring this kid was simply going to say something like, “That sucks,” and take off running back to his friends. Tom could not have been more wrong.

The boy was fidgeting a bit in his seat, looked over at his friends who were calling him over to the air hockey table, and put his finger up to let them know he will be there but not just yet. “What’s the story about?”

Tom half smiled, feeling appreciative for this boy’s interest in his life. “It’s about a man who plans out a big bank robbery, gets a lot of money but is then miserable because he has to spend the rest of his life in hiding. It seemed like a great idea when I first planned it out, but I realize I don’t have much to say about his days without seeming too boring.”

“Hmm,” the boy says and then asks a very simple question. “Have you ever robbed a bank before mister?”

“No, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?” Tom inquired, now very intrigued by this young lad’s opinion.

“We do journal writing in school and I never have a hard time writing like some of my friends do, because I write about things I know: baseball, games, my family, my dog, what I want to be when I grow up. You’re an old guy, why don’t you write about your own life because I’m sure you got a lot of good stories to tell.”

With the ring of the “old” comment still stinging Tom’s pride, he feels a twinge of excitement come over him. “You gave me something to think about. I’m actually excited to write again. You are a very wise young man, and I hope to see you around again soon. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get home. I have some important writing to do and for the first time in a long time, I’m eager to do so.”

As Tom rushes to leave, he says a quick thank you and goodbye to the boy and practically races home, forgetting about any aches and pains he had when he entered the arcade. His mind dashing with ideas and funny stories of his youth, he settles on which experience will be the basis of his novel. As he sits at his computer and begins to vivaciously type away, Tom chuckles at the simplicity with which a child solved a problem which plagued him for months. He will name a character after him, he thinks but is quickly horrified in recognizing that he never actually got his advice-giver’s name! Disappointment within himself creeps up but the excitement Tom also feels at wanting to write again assures him that he will find a way to repay the lad someday.

***

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and Tom revels in the summer heat. He has always enjoyed the warm weather, but more so this year as he enters a bookstore in Chutney Bay, Florida. Tom is greeted with handshakes, smiles and compliments; what a wonderful way to begin a day. He is led to a table holding stacks of his new novel, a marker, and a cup of coffee just as he likes it. He waves to the gathered readers standing in line to buy a signed copy. As the first person approaches, Tom opens his book and picks up the marker. As he asks the woman who he should address the book to, he unconsciously but affectionately glides his hand over the dedication on the page:

To my mentor and guide, the one who reignited my spark to write not just any book, but THIS book. Arcade Boy, I am forever in your debt.