The Hobo and the TARDIS

Please critique. I always half jokingly say I want to be a hobo. My one friend told me a I would make a great hobo sidekick and so the idea for The Hobo and the TARDIS was born.

It didn’t matter how many times he had been through the same thing. He had written a collection of short stories and his list of novels was growing at an impressive rate. He was a successful author and confident in his skill but still the inevitable block happened now and then. He had been working on this story for about 3 months now and the deadline was looming on the horizon. Only the final chapter remained unwritten. A decision lay before the main character and he struggled along with the character he had created. Was there something he had overlooked in the background story that would determine just how the character would react? Those final details that would allow his story to leap from the pages and into the readers mind he felt were missing. Or was this simple performance anxiety, writer’s block, that inhibited him from being able to finally end the story and turn in a finished product to his editor in two days. Maybe he had just been at it too long and needed a short break. He rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling as if looking for the answer. The only thing that came to him were the numerous water marks and the wondering if there was an active leak that may be dripping, working at the integrity of the structure, just waiting for the right moment to come crashing down on him ending his plight. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the rapid creeping of a huge ugly spider. He tipped back to his laptop and tried to write more, but he kept imagining the spider dropping down on his shoulder like little Miss Muffet and wished he knew enough about spiders to be able to identify if the brown hairy thing was a harmless house spider or a more sinister model out to eat his flesh. With broom in hand he started the attack and after a long battle, victory and unfortunately back to work. He looked around his room stacked high with books. Tomes from authors that he had loved since childhood read countless times and now scribbled with notes as he grew and developed his own craft. Now those books seemed to mock him, precariously leaned toward him ready to bury him alive. Wodehouse and Welty laughing. Killed by the very thing he loved and lived by. He could feel the anxiety building in his chest, suffocating him. His limbs crawled with a primal energy as if backed into a corner by some unseen predator and they were ready to spring to action. As that moment, he sprang from his chair grabbing a few pencils, notebooks and keys he was out the door in search of fresh air that he hoped would clear the cobwebs from his mind. He walked until he found a busy spot in a nearby park. He enjoyed observing people and creating stories for them. One them may give him the inspiration he was looking for. He found a spot on a bench covered by the shade of nearby trees. The shade combined with a light breeze made the mid June Pittsburgh day seem like spring and the hours passed without notice. His notebook was quickly filling with snippets of ideas for his current work that he felt a light relief wash over him. He even was starting on the skeleton of his next story. Carefree with a self-satisfied smile on his face he enjoyed his day and allowed himself to daydream about the sense of accomplishment he would feel when he turned in another book to his editor and could right then pitch the next.

She had found the perfect spot in a park. There was a dense, but small patch of trees with heavy undergrowth perfect for concealment. She had great confidence in the skills she had learned through her years. Many of times had someone nearly stepped on her, but she was so well concealed that the person was left unaware of her presence. Often she thought what they would all think if they knew she was watching them. She was unsure of the day of the week. Assumed it was a weekday because people seemed to be turning in early, no doubt to prepare for the next workday. She could hear the familiar protests from children not wanting to leave, lovers not wanting to part themselves, adults dreading waking up so early the next day. All that annoying routine and interaction she avoided. The sun was beginning to set and the park was emptying out. She felt safe enough to emerge from the cover of her gunnysack. No one had noticed her there yet and she didn’t want to ruin it. She liked this place, knew the ins and outs. She knew which restaurants would give you free food at closing, when the grocery stores threw away their just expired food and the routes of all the cops and security officers. She too was beginning to fall into a routine. The familiar itch of wanderlust started to unnerve her stomach. Maybe she was just hungry. She had noticed earlier a family throwing away a bag of half-eaten chips. A temper tantrum from their toddler had abruptly ended their picnic.  The parents had angrily tossed away all the yummy snacks they had bought in an attempt to teach the child a lesson. A lesson in what? She thought of them with disgust as her stomach growled. In her travels, she had seen so many starving children that she wandered what kind of person would throw away food to teach a child a lesson. Was the lesson we are so filthy rich that we can afford to do this and who gives a damn about the family living in poverty a block down the street. Uh, well, she was starving and she had no shame in taking their leftovers. It was dusk now and she wondered why the writer was still there. She had watched him most of the day as she had before. He arrived today late in the afternoon looking agitated. Now a childlike enjoyment was on his face and she wandered what he was writing. Was he a student, or maybe he wrote kids books. Maybe he was a poet writing about the love that was inevitably tugging at his heart causing torment and elation. Whoever he was, this park was no place to be at sundown. Like most city parks, it filled quickly with scoundrels looking for their next target.

He was scratching fervently away when he suddenly became very aware of the sound his pencil made against the grain of the paper. He looked up and was astonished to see that the park had nearly emptied out. There was a chill in the air and he thought he saw three men huddled near the fountain about 20 yards away. He gathered his belongs quickly and looked for the quickest route out of the park that would keep him away from the men and get him home fast. He was eager to finish his book and beginning to feel paranoid as he thought he noticed the men walking towards him. He tried to pretend as if he didn’t see them, tried to tell him it was his imagination, but he could hear their footsteps closer now. Their snickers grew louder, their steps grew faster, and before he knew it, one of them had jumped in his path. Shoving him backwards, he snarled. “Where ya go in such a hurry?” He looked around seeing if there was anyone that would hear him if he shouted out a panicked yell for help? The other two men were on either side pushing him back and forth, as if he was the ball in monkey in the middle. A fourth, he hadn’t even noticed, grabbed him from behind, torn his bag from his shoulder and tossed it to his accomplice in front. So many panicked thoughts raced through his mind. Would they hurt him, would thy leave him dying and bleeding for some unsuspecting kid to find the next day. Would they take his entire bag along with his notebook and his hard work making him miss his deadline? Somehow, this seemed much worse than physical pain they could enact on him.

She sighed. She was annoyed with him that he had carelessly stayed in the parked so late and inadvertently placed himself into this dangerous situation. She liked him. Of course, she didn’t know him from Adam but she had seen something in his eyes that was familiar. She had watched him all day and had created a story for him. She had formed a deeply personal connection with him that she new was completely imaginary, but nonetheless it still stung her to think of him in peril. He was out numbered and she feared the situation would take a turn for the worse if she just stood by and watched. She spent her days trying to remain as invisible as possible and knew that she would lose her coveted spot in the park if she were to make herself known.

His mind was still racing trying to think of an escape, a diplomatic way out when an unassuming figure walked by and bumped into the main assaulter. In the commotion the person dropped something and was bending down to grabbed it. As the body turned, he noticed a slender jaw line and soft lips of a female. What in the world was she doing?! Was she an idiot, or blind and completely oblivious to the fact that he was being mugged and now their wrath would be turned on her. She was bending down to pick up something she had dropped near the main assailant’s foot and as she stood up, he fell to his a*s. Just as quickly, she produced a long stick and landing the tip hard in his chest. The two men on the left and right of him lunged at her as her back was turned. She swiftly stepped to the side spun and swung at the closest man which carrie his momentum to the ground then swung around again and struck the third in the solar plexus with the stick. He slumped to the ground unable to breath and she landed a swift kick to his head. The second person began to get up again and his head met with the same kick. The fourth still held on to him unsure of what to do. The man dug is his pocket, found a switchblade and held it to his throat. His eyes were wide with fear as he realized she wasn’t going to back away she lunged at them grabbing the hand with the knife and in a series of swift movement had turned the tables and now held the knife in her hands. The four men lay on the floor either unconscious or writhing in pain. She calmly closed the knife and stuck it in on of her numerous pockets and began to calmly walk away.

He trotted after her. “That was amazing! That was some Jackie Chan kinda movie s**t! I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!” She didn’t even seem to notice him. She walked over to the trees he had been sitting by and began to gather up her meager belongings. “Where did you learn that?” That was straight out of a Chuck Norris movie. Did you see the look on their faces!” He paused, she wasn’t even acknowledging him or the fact that maybe they should hurry and leave before the men decided to get revenge. He looked her over. She had filled a bag with a few books, a cup and blanket. She was a hobo. A damn hobo just saved my life. Her entire appearance was a contradiction. She wore baggy nondescript clothes but the way they hung on her body made the outfit seemed planned. Her fingers were long, slender, and very clean. She had short unkempt hair that she hid under a cap. She seemed proud and humble at the same time. Finished packing she quickly began to walk away. “Hey, you must be hungry. Can I get you something to eat?” He wanted to repay her and hoped, no matter how uncomfortable, that she would take him up on the offer. He figured that if she turned out to be stark raven mad he could just pay the check, leave, and never see her again. It seemed that never seeing him again was exactly her plan. She looked at him and said no thank you, but right on cue her stomach let out the loudest growl he had ever heard. She pause and seemed to be wrestling with the decision in her mind. She mumbled under her breath had a short argument with herself. Then she turned to him. “Okay, that wou…ah… thank you.”

“Well, then. Where would you like to eat?”

She shrugged and looked embarrassed to be the one to decide. “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away”

He nodded and they walked in silence, both wondering if they would regret this. He tried to prepare a conversation in his mind. What exactly could he talk to a hobo about, the weather, the neighborhood, where to get the best coffee? She knew exactly what to talk about and as soon as they were settled at a table began to spew forth questions. Was he a writer, what was he writing about, where did he work, did he have a dog. She wanted to see just how correct her image of him was. It had been a long time since she had a conversation with another person. She fumbled for the correct words, stuttered horribly and asked such personal questions that he blushed bright red on more than one occasion. She liked him. He was witty and intelligent, well spoken and knowledgeable. More than once, she had to hang her head to hide the embarrassment of her ignorance that years away from society had left her. The conversation, however one sided, laid a heavy longing for companionship on her being. Inevitably, came the awkward goodbye. She wanted to say see ya around, but knew that wasn’t so. He had made a kind gesture of gratitude. She would be moving on to the next town. Making her way to the ports with Ireland as her final destination. She had never been there. She headed towards the bus stop trying to decide where to head to next, it was late and she knew she’d be waiting a while. Ten minutes passed while he paced the sidewalk. Finally, he gave in against his better judgment. She was just stepping onto the bus when she saw him racing towards her.

“Wait!” He paused a little out of breath. “Where are you staying tonight? I disturbed your spot. Why don’t you some crash on my couch?”

Often she took the kindness of strangers but made sure never to stay in anyone’s company too long. Life was just so much easier without other people to worry about. She took him up on the offer planning to leave before he woke in the morning.

She liked his apartment. It was cozy and well lived in. On his coffee table were a few picture books on Great Britain.

“Have you been there?”

“Me? No. I always wished I could.”

“You should go. I was there, long ago.”

He looked at her surprised. “Really?” He asked half mocking.

“You should go tomorrow.”

“Um, yea. Well, easier said then done. I have a deadline in a couple days and way too many responsibilities here…and bills. I doubt I could afford it…” He let his words trail off as he gathered a pillow and blankets for her and pointed to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure why he had brushed off the idea of the trip. He had done very well for himself and could very easily afford to take an extended vacation. Plus, he could write anywhere. It just might do him some good to take a trip.

She looked around his apartment and shrugged, curled up on the couch grateful for a soft bed and was quickly asleep. It must have been a well-needed change because the next thing she knew she was being lured awake by the smell of eggs and the clicking of his keyboard. Realizing she had probably overstayed her welcome, she tried to sneak to the bathroom and leave him undisturbed but she knocked over a pile of books by the couch and he discovered her attempted escape.

He spun around in his chair. “I finished!” he said with a big smile on his face and an air of familiarity that seemed comfortable and strange. “Do you want to come with me to turn it in? You were kind of my inspiration.”

“Okay. That would be interesting. I’ve never been to an editor’s office before.”

After eating and freshening up as best she could they headed to the garage. She tried to guess which car was his. Finally, they approached a blue Scion.

Reviews

[BeanHead:)]

that was really interesting.
i have actually never seen someone with so many different unique ideas for stories. and all of them are different genred. so if you ever become a writer, you would be terribly talented!
the good thing about this story was that it had a hobo, and you included 2 perspectives in the story . the hobo's perspective was really unusual. it was as if you had been in that persons shoes before and knew all to well what it felt like to be them! (Y) great job!