Fragments of Memories
Here's a quick drabble I wrote inspired by fragments of a childhood memory of mine. It was the first moment I really thought about how every single stranger on the street has their own hopes and aspirations. Their own story to tell.
Years ago, I remember standing on a balcony in the heart of the city with my friend, watching the world go by. Having nothing better to do, we decided to play a game. In this game, we looked down at all the people bustling about on the street below, and tried to guess what they were thinking. At first, our assumptions were pretty rational and straight forward - the slightly overweight man going for a run we guessed was thinking ‘Must get fit… I’m tired… But I must get fit…’ and the young man with the dog that was making a mess by the side of the road was thinking ‘Jeez, must you really take a dump right there? I’m gonna have to clean all that up now…’
But as we played our game, we began to realise that much more unusual things could be going on in people’s minds; they could be living extraordinary lives, filled with excitement, adventure… or tragedy. Every single person on that street had his or her own story to tell. They all had their own personal hopes, dreams and fears.
And so we went into far more detail with our game. The girl in the Spongebob t-shirt, for instance. She could be waiting for her friend so they can go shopping, but could secretly be wishing she were home studying, because she knows she’s behind on her grades. She hates broccoli, but loves strawberry ice-cream and sleeping until lunchtime on weekends. She has a dog called Buster, who’s young and boisterous and drags her round the park at full speed every time he sees a rabbit. But she loves him anyway; even when he chews up her slippers and drools on her homework. She wants to be a dentist, even if all her friends say it’s a bit weird. That’s why when she gets home, she’s going to study really hard, but for now just a little bit of shopping couldn’t hurt, right?
The couple with the child of about 5 are taking their son for a day out. They promise to buy him ice-cream and Pepsi as a very special treat. They’ve been giving the boy a lot of ‘very special treats’ lately, to make up for all their arguing in front of him. Their marriage just isn’t working out, and they’ve been growing further and further apart lately. They almost can’t stand living with each other any more, and would get a divorce… if it weren’t for their son. Would their separation tear his life apart? It’d surely make him feel like he was being split in two, wouldn’t it? And so because of their concerns, they continue to buy him gifts and take him on trips, desperately clinging to every fragment of family life together, not knowing when it’ll all be over for good.
The woman with the briefcase started out with nothing. She was born into a working-class family on benefits and living on a council estate, but she was very bright as a child. She passed every exam with flying colours and tried her hardest to earn the best qualifications possible. Her parents couldn’t afford to send her to a decent university, so she worked in a fast-food restaurant for a while until she took a job as an assistant at a large company, and worked hard to climb her way up the ranks. A few years later, she now has a very high-up position, and is a very important asset to the company. She works hard and aims high, hoping to be CEO one day. But from her imminent success she has a fear of failure; she’s seen what it’s like at the bottom, and has no desire to go there ever again.
We played our game for about half an hour, making fanciful guesses about the lives of passers by: the teenager trapped in a downward spiral of drug addiction, the tourist lost in the big city, the aspiring pianist. Our guesses were probably completely wrong, but there was a chance, a very, very small chance, that perhaps our guesses were right. The thought filled us with a strange excitement.
Looking back, I occasionally wonder what happened to the people from that day, and whether the stories we created for them were anything close to the truth. Where are they now? If I passed them on the street I’d never know - I don’t remember their faces. Today, to me, they’re just wandering stories, lost in a fragment of a memory.
Years ago, I remember standing on a balcony in the heart of the city with my friend, watching the world go by. Having nothing better to do, we decided to play a game. In this game, we looked down at all the people bustling about on the street below, and tried to guess what they were thinking. At first, our assumptions were pretty rational and straight forward - the slightly overweight man going for a run we guessed was thinking ‘Must get fit… I’m tired… But I must get fit…’ and the young man with the dog that was making a mess by the side of the road was thinking ‘Jeez, must you really take a dump right there? I’m gonna have to clean all that up now…’
But as we played our game, we began to realise that much more unusual things could be going on in people’s minds; they could be living extraordinary lives, filled with excitement, adventure… or tragedy. Every single person on that street had his or her own story to tell. They all had their own personal hopes, dreams and fears.
And so we went into far more detail with our game. The girl in the Spongebob t-shirt, for instance. She could be waiting for her friend so they can go shopping, but could secretly be wishing she were home studying, because she knows she’s behind on her grades. She hates broccoli, but loves strawberry ice-cream and sleeping until lunchtime on weekends. She has a dog called Buster, who’s young and boisterous and drags her round the park at full speed every time he sees a rabbit. But she loves him anyway; even when he chews up her slippers and drools on her homework. She wants to be a dentist, even if all her friends say it’s a bit weird. That’s why when she gets home, she’s going to study really hard, but for now just a little bit of shopping couldn’t hurt, right?
The couple with the child of about 5 are taking their son for a day out. They promise to buy him ice-cream and Pepsi as a very special treat. They’ve been giving the boy a lot of ‘very special treats’ lately, to make up for all their arguing in front of him. Their marriage just isn’t working out, and they’ve been growing further and further apart lately. They almost can’t stand living with each other any more, and would get a divorce… if it weren’t for their son. Would their separation tear his life apart? It’d surely make him feel like he was being split in two, wouldn’t it? And so because of their concerns, they continue to buy him gifts and take him on trips, desperately clinging to every fragment of family life together, not knowing when it’ll all be over for good.
The woman with the briefcase started out with nothing. She was born into a working-class family on benefits and living on a council estate, but she was very bright as a child. She passed every exam with flying colours and tried her hardest to earn the best qualifications possible. Her parents couldn’t afford to send her to a decent university, so she worked in a fast-food restaurant for a while until she took a job as an assistant at a large company, and worked hard to climb her way up the ranks. A few years later, she now has a very high-up position, and is a very important asset to the company. She works hard and aims high, hoping to be CEO one day. But from her imminent success she has a fear of failure; she’s seen what it’s like at the bottom, and has no desire to go there ever again.
We played our game for about half an hour, making fanciful guesses about the lives of passers by: the teenager trapped in a downward spiral of drug addiction, the tourist lost in the big city, the aspiring pianist. Our guesses were probably completely wrong, but there was a chance, a very, very small chance, that perhaps our guesses were right. The thought filled us with a strange excitement.
Looking back, I occasionally wonder what happened to the people from that day, and whether the stories we created for them were anything close to the truth. Where are they now? If I passed them on the street I’d never know - I don’t remember their faces. Today, to me, they’re just wandering stories, lost in a fragment of a memory.