"Joshua, come and say goodbye to Mrs. Marmeyer." Our neighbor was moving away. Her and Mr. Marmeyer divorced.
Mrs. Marmeyer got me into reading. I'd broken my leg and was glumly watching friends play in the street.
"You look bored." Mrs. Marmeyer had been mowing her lawn. "You need something to read."
"I'd rather be playing."
"Reading is playing," she tapped her forehead, "for the mind." And so she brought me books. I started the first one to keep her off my back. Plus it was thin and had a bright cartoonish cover. And that was me hooked on Terry Pratchett.
From his Discworld books, I went to Earthsea, Orthe, Pern, and a host of other strange worlds by other authors. Then she brought me comics.
"They're not comics, they're graphic novels. Like you've been reading, but using pictures as well, instead of thousands of words."
My favorite character was Death from Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. She reminded me of one of my older sister's friends, hip and goth with an alluring air which had my developing sexuality pinging.
Mrs. Marmeyer moved away. But books stayed with me. That summer of reading sent me down the route of journalism.
And journalism sent me, thirty-five years later, to Syria. After seven weeks in Aleppo, there were stories I couldn't write with the constant whoosh of rockets and rattle of gunfire. I decamped to Beirut, appreciating the irony of escaping the civil war to a place which still showed the bullets holes of its own.
I shacked up in the Ras Beirut area and wrote, fueled on coffee and soup. After eight days I sent everything to my editor and went to the Kayan bar for long, complicated, drinks, and human contact.
We ended back at her place, in a nicer part of town than mine. In the early hours, I watched her sleeping and shifted long strands of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, revealing a scar I recognized.
While sympathizing about my broken leg Mrs. Marmeyer had turned her head and showed a scar from her childhood. It was the same scar, not similar, the same. An identical scar on a woman who thirty-five years ago had been the same age she was now.
I got out of bed and walked to the window, looking over a city which had seen its fair share of impossible things. I poured water and sat in a chair watching her sleep on.
Urban myths are fascinating and I'd come across several about people who constantly move to hide the fact they don't age.
She blinked awake. "Hey. You not sleepy."
"Too wired." It was true. "We never got round to proper introductions earlier. I'm Dan Ellerson. Though you might remember me as Joshua." She frowned. I suppose, she had just woken up. "I called you Mrs. Marmeyer. You did tell me to call you Ruth, but mom would have spanked me if I did."
Now she was awake, sitting against the headboard with the sheet drawn up to cover her nakedness.
"It is you, isn't it?" I asked.
"How did you know?"
"Only when I saw the scar behind your ear a few minutes ago."
She touched it and nodded. "Well, this is awkward."
"Awkward? Thirty-five years ago you were older than my parents."
"How are your folks?"
"Divorced. Retired. Old, like people in their seventies, are old. What about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Morning after small talk is tough. But what do you say to the woman who helped you love reading, and thirty-five years later reminded you that being human can be wonderful?"
"What about thank you?" She said.
"Thank you." I drank more water. "How old are you?"
I expected her to demure, instead she said, "Four hundred and thirty-six."
I did the math. "Sixteen eighty-two? Where?"
"A small village in Spain, long since disappeared."
"But how?"
She shrugged. "Luck, fate, capricious gods? You remember what Death said to the dead attorney in The Sandman book?"
"'You get what everyone gets, a lifetime.'"
"Well, mine's longer than most. What now? Am I to be the subject of an article? No one will believe it."
I thought of her moving constantly to avoid questions. I thought of where I'd been for the last two months, and of the war-torn history of Europe she'd lived through. I thought of trying to sell my editor on a story about a four-hundred-year-old woman.
I stood and moved back to the bed. "We may have different lifetimes, but we've both here now."
Story by stuartcturnbull, picture from Unsplash by Aladdin Hammami
So after about thirty plus years, Joshua slept with the same person that made he develop interest in reading and eventually journalism...eeeeww. What a twist!
I would have loved to know how she was cursed with eternity though.
She doesn't know 🤷♂️
Ooooo! I am hooked on this story. I want to know more.
!hivebits
It's definitely one I've thought about extending. But to many other projects are on the go
That’s stupendous! Beautifully done. I really didn’t see that coming. 🤗❤️🥰
thank you very much
I was left wanting to know what happened to the 400+ year old woman....
The same people meet again under different circumstances, but she is eternally young....
The same person who encouraged book reading caused him to develop an aptitude for detail that led him to recognize her many years later.
I couldn't stop reading it until the end @stuartcturnbull
#LOH
Thanks so much.
Part of me wants to know more about her, but not enough to write it at this point.
The story is great, in many ways. First of all, your introductory paragraph let's us know the character, Mrs. Marmeyer, is intriguing. Of course, we do not expect her to appear years later as she does--eternally young, and now the young man's lover.
Your writing style is smooth. You don't waste words. Your resolution is fine. Mrs. Marmeyer does not understand the mystery any more than we do. However, our narrator does clue us in that
Explanation enough.
Thank you for joining us in the Inkwell. We do expect our writers to read stories of other authors in the community, and comment on at least two. This mutual support is not only encouraging to writers, but also helps them to gain insight into how they are using their craft. We hope to read more stories from you.
Thanks for the feedback, and I'm looking forward to delving into the work of fellow Ink Writers
Oh my, this Is me getting ready to hug you tightly for such an amazing story, I got hooked and the middle got me fixed unable to let go.. A lifetime hehe.. That's awesome!!😃😃
Thank you.
It's a story I like a lot as well
It is beautiful 😘😘
This is super engrossing...way a bit mystical.
She's a beautiful and eternally ageless.
You need to see how I was glued to the screen although I had some activities in the kitchen but I marked where I stopped and continued.
But why did it had to finish 🥺🥺🥺.
Thanks. It is just a very short story. Buy I'm glad you'd have read more.
Thanks for sharing this with us in dreemport..I am hoping to read more🤗
Nice story dear
You did amazing 😍🤩
Reading from @dreemport
Thank you
You are welcome 🤗
I love this piece. There is something about how it flows. And the story. Ohh! Didn't see Mrs. Coming back in the picture. I love the tale. Well done.
Thank you
This is a terrific flash fiction piece, @stuartcturnbull. It uses words perfectly and sparingly. It brought a lot of questions to my mind, but flash fiction never attempts to provide all the answers. Beautifully done.
thank you very much