Fantasy And Reality: A Love Story

• Jacqueline Twerd, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2010

My short story:

There are two types of people in this world; the realist and the fantasist. The realist, a conservative, no nonsense stick in the mud, rarely known to believe in anything to do with fate, luck, or destiny; they are simply the modern day Scrooge, most likely on the scale of 5 to 1 to meet other realists to live out realistic lives in their realistic little houses. Fantasists on the other hand are a whimsical bunch, they believe in the passion of romance and the beauty that surrounds them, they choose not to question the mysteries of fate and are the wanderers of the world, searching to meet others like them to live, dream and ultimately love. So what would, could or should happen if a Realist were to meet a Fantasist? Is it fate or a chance meeting that could only happen once in a million years? You decide.

Open your eyes to just a golden sunny day and you know you’re in the shoes of a dreamer. Now imagine the scent of jasmine in the air, wafting through a rose stained window that lived in the brick wall of a sweet two bed roomed house on Jacaranda Avenue. Through that window you hear a creaking sound just ever so lightly as it is opened, pasting the vibrant outburst of honey suckles and blue bells in a exceedingly cracked Wedgewood jug that only you would find charming in its current state, finally into room of color, vibrancy and patchwork quilting; the home of a fantasist. Enter Grace Andrews; a modern day miracle; the Miss Honey of Matilda if you wish. Behind those blue sparkled eyes were memories of pain and suffering that only she could lock and bury away under the positive affirmations she had for herself and the beauty she so easily could see in everything and everyone. She was as lovely to look at as she was lovely to talk to, there was a certain spell she cast that attracted people to her that opened their eyes to the world, her world.

Grace worked at the local Newspaper as a popular Freelance photographer; she liked how she could capture her world in an everlasting image, and then amend the imperfections to enhance that beauty. There was nothing Grace couldn’t bring the beauty out of, except maybe for a certain realist that worked as the very unpopular printer boy. Enter Henry Markel. Just closing your eyes would bring you deep into Henry’s world. Everything was dark and quiet and that is just how Henry liked it, or at least had learned to live with it. There were no sweet smells or charming little houses wafting through his world, there was only his rent controlled one bedroom apartment above the dank stench of Indian curries constantly coming in from the restaurant below.

Henry lived what he called ‘the simple life’. The simple life according to Henry consisted of the glazed white crockery that was stacked ever so neatly in his white washed cupboards, the linen in his closet that being made of 100% cotton would be the only wildly interesting thing about them and the TV dinners he ate every night that represented his life completely. There was nothing special that attracted people to Henry; in fact he was the stick in the mud that people pretended to ignore and step over from time to time; the gum under their shoes. An ordinary day was to Henry what a day full of mystery and unknown beauty was to Grace. It was a Tuesday; bored thoughts filled the head of Henry’s bored mind while thoughts of Grace’s plans for an afternoon tea at the local Art Gallery café made her vibrant, a light Henry couldn’t help but notice as she entered.

Now the reason these two had never met had to do with their occupations. Grace never used the printer room and frankly had never even stepped into the same space as Henry and wouldn’t if she had never been asked a favor by one of the staff to retrieve a print layout for them. Henry on the other hand spent so much time in the printer room he was better friends with the printer than he was with the Newspaper staff and rarely left if not to leave at the end of the day. There was no doubt of an awkwardness between the two, if Grace had not tripped over the printer’s cable and if Henry had not caught her they wouldn’t have got a word in edge wise, it may even be fair to say a printer brought them together but a realist and a fantasist would have to argue on that point now wouldn’t they?

Grace, a person who was used to people being drawn to her, found it strange to be drawn to Henry in all his ordinary grandeur. Henry found it peculiar how for the first time in 5 years of working in the printer room his mind could drift off work and that his heart was capable of beating harder at the thought of Grace instead of when he purchased his evening TV dinners. They talked; and as they did they found themselves opening their eyes to different worlds. Grace was fascinated and intrigued by the grey, sullen world of Henry and the simplicity of his character as Henry found for the first time that his world lit up into color, culture and the beauty he never thought could exist.

Even after five minutes of conversation their lives were changed, that continued even after Grace said goodbye as sweetly to Henry as he smiled back to her when she turned away, even after he found her phone number folded so beautifully into a paper crane on his desk, even after he bought colored linen and crockery for his closets and cupboards and even after Grace waited patiently for Henry to work up the courage three days after their meeting to call her for a date that Saturday. A realist and a fantasist had both felt love, and experienced a small piece of life at the same time together in that everlasting moment and continued to do so even after they said those magical, simple, binding words of ‘I do’.