30 comments

Fiction

What if life offered second chances? If you could press rewind, or stop, or start from a certain point again, just like watching a YouTube clip. Would you take the redo? Would your life be different?

Press play.▶️

The train grinds to a halt midway between stations and you look out of the window onto a freeway that better resembles a car park. It is as if the entire world has been forced to a stand-still. Swirling around you in the cramped carriage, there are chaotic bubbles of conversation peppered with exclamations of dismay, and your heart staggers within your chest. You really should have taken the earlier train. You’re going to be late.

You check your watch for the time, then cross check that against your mobile phone. Late. The minutes are ticking closer and closer to ten, and your interview time is ten-fifteen. You drum your fingers in agitation against your thigh, tapping a rhythm of urgency that is echoed by your foot as it hammers the counterpoint with your heel.

You check your phone again. Only a minute has passed, the train is still stationary, and now the woman across from you seems to be having a panic attack. Her face is pale and her breathing shallow, while her wild eyes glance from one closed door to the next. Neither door will open. There is no way off this train, and from the look of terror on her face, she knows it. Her terror sparks your own and you begin to feel as if there is not enough air to share.

“What’s going on?” The wild-eyed woman whispers into what has now become concerned silence. No one, it seems, has an answer and everyone is just as confused as you are, well almost everyone. The kid in the dark hoodie towards the back is just resting his head back against the wall, eyes closed and earbuds in, nodding to the music. His body is relaxed and you can hear him humming and quietly beat boxing under his breath. You wonder absently what he is listening to that keeps him so engrossed that he is not part of the collective concern.

Without warning, the carriage jerks back into motion, eliciting sighs of relief. Conversations fill the silence along with what can only be considered hysterical laughter from the wild-eyed woman as she expresses her relief. You continue to tap your heel and drum your fingers against the edge of your phone as you eyeball the minutes ticking down. Mentally you calculate that if the train reaches the station in the next five minutes, you will probably have just enough time to get to the interview… maybe, but it will be a rush.

The train finally pulls into the underground station, and you push urgently to the front of the crowd.

Press ⏩️

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I have a job interview.” Some people are kind and step back so you can weave to the front of the queue, but most blindly ignore you. As the doors open, you burst through them along with the suddenly released sea of humanity, and ducking and weaving, you dodge breathlessly through the crowd towards the escalator. Once on board, there is no space to move, and you are corralled into position by the throng of people. So much for Covid protocols, you think to yourself as you are pressed against a middle-aged man by the mass of people behind. There is no social distancing when everyone is in a hurry.

At the top of the escalator, you vaguely register a busker plying his musical trade for those who are commuting today, but you have no time for street performers as you hot-foot it towards the Tranby Building. As you dodge through oncoming traffic, you barely miss the fender of a taxi as the driver blasts the horn, but you ignore it. Once back on the walkway, you blunder through a group of older slow moving persons, throwing a half-formed apology over your shoulder as you barge past them.

Finally, you arrive breathless and flustered in the foyer. Glancing at your watch, you are relieved to note that you still have three minutes to spare. You punch the call button for the lift repeatedly, hoping that the pounding will translate your urgency to the machine, thus ensuring that the lift arrives swiftly.

It doesn’t.

You contemplate the stairs, it’s only four floors up, but just as you dither between going for the stairwell and staying, the lift dings open. Thank God, you think with relief.

In the small elevator space, you try desperately to repair the damage your mad rush has done to your image. You comb your fingers through your hair, and straighten your shirt and jacket, before flapping your hands vigorously over your cheeks in an attempt to fan them and cool down. You are hot and flustered, not the best look to have, but at least you are not late.

Well, not late, according to your watch. The raised eyebrows and prune lips of the woman sitting at the desk as you enter the suite indicate otherwise.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you begin in a rush. “There was an issue with the train.”

The woman raises her brow even further, as if she had heard that excuse before and thought as little of it then as she does now. You writhe with discomfort under her glare. She obviously belongs to your grandfather’s school of thought, that if you are not fifteen minutes early, then you are already late.

“Mr Carstairs is waiting. Please follow me,” she says in a monotone that is far from impressed.

And so it begins, the interview from hell, that starts badly and only gets worse. Mr Carstairs reads over your resume as if he had never seen it before. Not a good feeling. Surely something in your file should have stood out. Perhaps the years working for SWP as a consultant, the three years working in London for Wetherby, Wetherby and Smyth updating their online presence and organising their systems. Wetherby senior had even written a glowing letter of recommendation before he had passed away last year. Your file should be memorable at least.

“So, tell me, what experience have you had in the industry recently?” he asks.

Recently? Now here is the catch, you think. How recently does he mean? This week, this month? The last time you were employed was nearly two years ago. Since then you’ve waited tables and watched an old man die. You cringe as that thought flits through your mind. It’s not fair to call your grandfather an old man, but it was true. Although you know that death comes to us all eventually, the cancer turned your Gramps suddenly from a sprightly seventy-year-old to a husk of a man who needed twenty-four-hour care. His death set you free, but it feels more like it cut you loose and cast you adrift with no anchor in a sea where nobody cares.

At the end of the interview, you shake hands with Mr Carstairs, say goodbye to the prune-faced lady at the front desk and unthinkingly, lost in your own misery, step out of the building directly into the path of an oncoming bus.

Stop!⏹️ 

Rewind! ⏮️

Press play.▶️

The train grinds to a halt midway between stations and you look out of the window onto a freeway that better resembles a car park. It is as if the entire world has been forced to a stand-still. Swirling around you, in the cramped carriage, there are chaotic bubbles of conversation peppered with exclamations of dismay, and your heart staggers within your chest. You really should have taken the earlier train, you’re going to be late.

You check your watch for the time, then cross check that against your mobile phone. Late. The minutes are ticking closer and closer to ten, and your interview time is ten-fifteen. You drum your fingers in agitation against your thigh, tapping a rhythm of urgency that is echoed by your foot as it hammers the counterpoint with your heel. Making a decision, you pull up the contact details for the interview and call.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Carstairs and Associates. How May I help you?” The woman’s voice on the other end is a monotone of efficiency, and you quickly introduce yourself.

“I have an interview at ten-fifteen today, and unfortunately, the train that I am on has broken down. I will not be able to make that appointment.” You inform her quickly.

“Thank you for letting us know.”

That is it, you have blown your job opportunity; you sigh as you disconnect the call. Well, from the sound of the receptionist, it wouldn’t have been a place that you would want to work, almost as if it would suck the life out of you, and you’ve had enough of that over the past two years. With your Gramps being sick and finally succumbing to cancer, you need somewhere to work that is life affirming, not absorbing.

You look up from your phone; the train is still stationary, and now the woman across from you seems to be having a panic attack. Her face is pale and her breathing shallow while her wild eyes glance from closed door to closed door. Neither door will open. There is no way off his train, and from the look of terror on her face, she knows it. Her terror sparks your own. Enclosed spaces always get to you, but before you can give in to panic, you catch her eye and smile. “I’m sure it will be fine,” you tell her and the wobbling confidence in your voice seems to settle her.

“What’s going on?” The woman asks, taking deep steadying breaths, her eyes not leaving your face, as if you are the only rock she can cling to in the ocean of fear. You shrug and shake your head, you’ve no idea what is happening, and no one else seems to have an answer either. Everyone is just as confused as you are. Well, almost everyone. The kid in the dark hoodie towards the back is just resting his head back against the wall, eyes closed and earbuds in, nodding to the music. His body is relaxed and you can hear him humming and quietly beat boxing under his breath. To distract the lady, you tilt your head towards him and ask, “I wonder what he is listening to?” You both listen intently to the soft unconscious hums and vocal drumming sounds he is making under his breath. Neither of you can work it out, but his vocal stylings are amusing, slightly off key, and he’s so unaware of anything surrounding him that you can’t help but smile.

Suddenly, the carriage jolts into motion again, and everyone heaves a sigh. Relieved conversation fills the silence and you and the lady share a smile. The train finally pulls into the underground station and you stand back to let the other commuters off. The boy in the hoodie steps past you, still nodding and mumbling along with his music.

“Good song?” you ask him.

He nods, “Marvin Gaye.”

“Ahh,” you say and suddenly the vocal mumbles and hums you heard make sense. “What’s Going On?”

“Yep!” He smiles. A sense of shared understanding passes between you both, as if in this crazy universe there is another person who just gets you.

At the top of the escalator, you hear the sound of a violin being played. The notes ring out in joyful phrases, landing on top of each other in playful melodies that bounce and trip and swirl, echoing in the cavernous entrance of the station. It entrances you and you slow to a stop, while the swirl of humanity parts to flow around you. Someone bumps into you. It’s the boy in the hoodie. He glances up to apologise and you point to the street performer. The boy takes out his earbuds and turns to watch as the solo violinist caresses and dances with his instrument.

Press ⏸️ 

The song finishes and he instantly begins the next one, a slower, more mournful tune that somehow speaks words into your heart. Words of sorrow, and loss and pain. Your eyes fill, and your heart swells. The boy next to you is fixed motionless by the music. Together, you share the moment, as if you both see the same story. The last mournful note rises to the station roof as a tear slides down your face. The man on the violin looks up at you and he smiles as he leads into a new song. This one twists your heart with joy, an Ave Maria, played with a tremulous passion that you have never known. The controlled vibrato ripples through you, every nerve ending shivers, lighting a fire in your soul.

There are three people in this moment, the man, the boy and you. Hundreds of people hurry by, too busy rushing to the next moment, but right now, you share this incredible blending of one soul with another. It’s like you can’t breathe or move, you can only be. Transcended into something more and as the last note trails off, you are released.

You reach into your pocket. Is there any change there? Whatever is in your pocket, it is not enough, so you walk up to the man with his violin, look him in the eye and say, “Thank you.”

Press ▶️

May 08, 2024 11:38

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30 comments

Trudy Jas
19:12 May 09, 2024

Stop and listen to the music. Rinse and repeat.

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Michelle Oliver
22:58 May 09, 2024

Always the best advice!

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Marty B
04:14 May 14, 2024

Life is full of choices. Life puts us all in predicaments that can upset our day, however how we react to these challenges is really how we interact with our lives. The MC took two different paths one the hurried chase for the job, the other a choice to breathe and experience life, so important as she is still suffereing the loss of her grandfather. That we could all get a do-over! Until then my mantra will be to follow the music ;) Thanks!

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Michelle Oliver
22:27 May 14, 2024

Follow the music indeed. Be present in the moment and live life well. You only get one chance at it.

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Story Time
07:08 May 23, 2024

A really beautiful look at second chances. Lovely structure and perfect flow.

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Michelle Oliver
09:52 May 23, 2024

Thank you for reading it and for your feedback.

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Carol Stewart
20:17 May 15, 2024

Loved every word, the idea, the 2nd person present narrative, the perfect flow. Impressive!

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Michelle Oliver
22:20 May 15, 2024

Thanks for reading it. I’m glad the second person pov worked for you. It’s a risky pov.

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Liane Fazio
20:29 May 14, 2024

I really enjoyed this story! Second chances are rare so slow down & enjoy your surroundings!

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Michelle Oliver
22:25 May 14, 2024

Thanks for reading, I’m glad you enjoyed the message.

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Belladona Vulpa
16:39 May 14, 2024

Immersive descriptions, creative structure, and nicely executed ideas. Thank you!

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Michelle Oliver
22:26 May 14, 2024

I’m happy you enjoyed the structure. Thanks for reading.

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Stevie Burges
08:53 May 13, 2024

Great story Michelle - thanks for writing and sharing.

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Michelle Oliver
22:27 May 14, 2024

Thanks Stevie.

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Calm Shark
23:27 May 12, 2024

Hello Michelle, I know it's long overdue, but I loved the story. I like the way you write:) Have a good week ahead!

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Michelle Oliver
22:28 May 14, 2024

Thanks for giving it a read. I’m glad you liked the story.

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Irene Duchess
01:42 May 10, 2024

Enjoyed it a lot. Glad the main character got another chance. Love the violin, too. It's a beautiful instrument. :)

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Michelle Oliver
05:01 May 10, 2024

When played well it’s haunting. Thanks for reading.

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Hannah Lynn
02:32 May 09, 2024

Great story of a second chance. I was so stressed reading the first version of the interview. Glad he got a redo!

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Michelle Oliver
09:03 May 09, 2024

Thanks Hannah. I redo where we figure out exactly what’s important and it certainly wasn’t the job interview.

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Jesse Smith
23:11 May 08, 2024

Wow, this is really beautifully written! What a fun, unique story! I really had no idea where it would go, but it ended wonderfully. The music of a violin was a great choice (I love the violin!). Very well done! :)

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Michelle Oliver
09:01 May 09, 2024

Thanks for reading Jesse. A well played violin is a thing of beauty. It’s important to take time to appreciate the beauty in life.

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23:00 May 08, 2024

Wow! This is so good. So unique. Amazing opening. Love the concept and you executed it expertly. Well done!

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Michelle Oliver
13:08 May 15, 2024

Thanks for reading it. I’m glad you enjoyed the story.

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Ty Warmbrodt
21:43 May 08, 2024

I salute you and your creativity, Michelle. You always seem to pull the rabbit out of the hat. I loved the use of the emojis. That was great. Thanks for catching my error. Good luck you.

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Michelle Oliver
13:07 May 15, 2024

Thanks for reading!

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Alexis Araneta
14:17 May 08, 2024

Once again, you blow us away with another one of your tales. The use of such vivid sensory imagery is so impeccable. I felt as if I were on the train with how you described everything. Beautiful use of player buttons to tell the story. I love the whole juxtaposition of what could have been and the option your protagonist chose (to relax). Great use of "What's Going On" in all its iterations. Stunning stuff !

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Michelle Oliver
14:27 May 08, 2024

Thanks for reading and for giving me your feedback. Always appreciated.

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Mary Bendickson
12:27 May 08, 2024

Much better scenario on the replay. Unique way of presentation.🙃

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Michelle Oliver
13:08 May 15, 2024

Much better on the replay. If only life gave us second chances, hey?

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