A writer`s Muse

The aroma was intoxicating. Sherry sat in her usual seat, opened her laptop, and began to type, intermittently sipping on her hot drink. Clack, clack. Quiet sounds of the keyboard. Then the harsh sound of a blender cut through the relative quiet, for almost two minutes, which felt like five. She needed peace so moved outside under the shade of an umbrella. This was her favourite time to be here. Only a few customers hung around for more than an hour as most of them were on their lunch break. That, for Sherry was one of the perks of being retired.

She sat back. She had come to a part of her story that needed research. Thoughts ruminated through her head. She needed clarification. So, onto the internet. She thought, how did we manage forty years ago. She let out a small giggle. Encyclopaedias were far too heavy to carry around.

An hour of research allowed her to return to the story. She enjoyed basing her novels on true events and this present one was riveting, so much so, it was hard to believe it had actually happened.

At that point three youths strolled inside. It was a little early to be drunk, or stoned. Were they just naturally boisterous? The tenor of their voices, the extravagant arm movements, and loud laughter, disturbed the peaceful surroundings. She was thankful that they ordered take-away.

The words on the screen glared back at her. Her eyes itched. Did I bring my eye drops she asked herself. She was stuck. She needed inspiration.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a lady sat close-by with a long-haired Pomeranian. People say owners look like their dogs. This was a perfect example. Her perfectly coiffed hair pointed nose and beige outfit mirrored her dog`s image. Not long after an older gentleman joined the scene with a small terrier which was panting as if it needed water. They both had grey beards.

The man tied the leash to a chair while he went to order.

There was a resident cat, called Pumpkin, whose name always baffled Sherry as he was black and white with eyes as green as emeralds. Sherry always carried a packet of treats for when he made an appearance.

As she concentrated on her story, she did not notice that Pumpkin had arrived by her side. Unfortunately, the terrier spotted him immediately and ran towards him. The screech of a chair pierced her ears and made her look up, as the chair was dragged along the ground. The dog`s leash found freedom which caused another chair to fall. The quiet Pomeranian woke up, barked, and joined in the fun. Sherry was now surrounded by two yapping dogs. Pumpkin hissed and arched his back and then decided two against one was too much so he sped off. Both dogs were tangled around Sherry`s leg. She closed her laptop to avoid pending disaster. She loved dogs so tried to calm them and untangle the mess. The owners came over and pulled at them which caused Sherry to fall to the ground.

“Oh, my goodness,” said the woman, “are you okay?”

“I think so,” said Sherry as she grabbed the table to lift herself up, which was quite hard as the arthritic knee throbbed from the pain.

After ten minutes of untangling, accompanied with apologies, the situation was solved.

The lady left, leaving behind her drink and chocolate muffin, but the old man, helped to straighten out the chairs, went inside and settled comfortably on one of the sofas.

Composed once again Sherry thought, that would make a funny short story.

Sherry removed her hoodie and wiped her brow. Time to go inside.

She often observed people, which helped her character descriptions in her books. She glanced over to where the old man was sitting. A hearing aid in both ears, a raggedy grey beard and frameless glasses. A jacket, the colour of a cucumber, topped off with a Panama hat. Was he lonely, was he married, a widower? Sherry was curious.

Today people do not converse enough: Text, text, text. It`s like we have gone back to writing letters to each other – they just arrive faster. Can they not pick up their phones and talk to people. Sherry had always been a talker to friends and strangers alike. She glanced over at the old man. Their eyes met and he beckoned to her. Sherry picked up her laptop and joined him.

“Hello, young lady,” he said.

Sherry laughed. “I`m probably not much younger than you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“No thank you, I´ve already had two cups.”

“My name is Samuel, and my naughty dog is called Moshi. He is much better behaved when he is not tied up, so I apologise for his earlier behaviour.”

“That`s fine,” replied Sherry, as she petted Moshi lovingly on his head. “I love all animals.” The dog`s hair was tangled and dry. The little guy needed a good bath.

In the next hour she found this old man fascinating. He was originally from Israel and spoke seven languages. He had been in the military, so Sherry wondered if he was ex-Mossad. She didn`t ask.

Sherry felt restless, so asked Samuel if he would like to go for a walk.

Outside she breathed in the fresh air and the three of them walked slowly through the park. The smell of freshly cut grass wafted in the air.

Over the next few weeks, they saw a lot of each other. Samuel`s wife had died only 6 months earlier after a forty-year marriage, so he was glad of Sherry`s company. They learned a lot about each other and laughed often. They met almost every day, enjoying a modest breakfast and a walk through the park.

Sadly, the deadline for Sherry`s story was looming, so she needed a few days to finish. She would miss seeing Samuel.

Finally, when the story was completed and sent to her publisher, she called Samuel. No answer. Sherry thought that he must be out and had forgotten his phone. She called later that day. Still no answer. She sat at her laptop but couldn`t concentrate so ate lunch then decided to visit Samuel. She knocked loudly on his door. No answer. Had he forgotten to put in his hearing aids? She walked around back and peaked through the window. He wasn´t in the living room. Now panic set in. She remembered where he had hidden his key. She lifted a heavy grey rock, found the key and opened the door.

“Samuel. Hello. Where are you? It´s me Sherry.” No response. Then a muffled bark from Moshi.

She walked towards the bedroom and opened the door, her hands shook. Samuel was in bed. A faint smell of dog urine emanated the room. An excited Moshi came running to her. Was Samuel sleeping? She gently shook him. His hands were cold. She lay her head on his chest but could not hear him breathing. She called an ambulance and thankfully it arrived in ten minutes, sirens blaring.

He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. However, the doctor told her that he had actually died two days prior. Guilt coursed through Sherry`s body. Why had she not been there for him. She could taste the saltiness of her tears as she walked to reception.

His daughter lived in America so Sherry gave the hospital administrator the information and returned to Samuel`s house. She had promised to take Moshi if anything ever happened to Samuel. Moshi jumped up and down with excitement. Poor thing must have been confused as he was used to having a walk every day, so was doubly excited to see Sherry. She locked the house and she and Moshi walked home via the park. Happy memories of their time together with Samuel, flooded her mind. The hospital had said he had died peacefully in his sleep, of old age. What do they mean by that?

As he was Jewish, he was buried rather than cremated. Only Sherry and his daughter attended. His daughter thanked her, and they parted ways. Funerals make you think a lot about your own demise.