Brief Five

Doctor Alistair

Doctor Alistair was an old man when I was a young apprentice. He was a good doctor and a good man. He was good to me. He didn’t pay much but he was good to me. Always had a smile on his face, even when the work got rough.

The work got to him. Doctor Alistair had worked hard all his life. A little too hard perhaps. He did it because he loved his work. And he did it because it gave him the opportunity to live by the golf course and drink vintage wine. Doctor Alistair loved his wine. I think he loved all other liquor as well but wine was, by far, his favorite. Some mornings, I thought, he had it at breakfast. It steadied his hands I think he thought. But it actually made them shake even worse. Sometimes a patient would throw me a nervous look as Doctor Alistair started at them with his unsteady hands, but the majority knew him and trusted him despite his shaking.

The shakes spread to his head right about the time my apprenticeship was nearing its end. He hated change Doctor Alistair did. He hated when it was time to welcome a new apprentice. He hated the unknown. The number of pills he had to swallow in the morning grew exponentially in the last few weeks. I would see them on his desk in his private office when I went down there to bring him the newspaper. It made me sad to think of leaving but I had no choice. I couldn’t be Doctor Alistair’s apprentice forever.

He had to give up his precious wine. But he was able to steal a glass or two now and again when we went to lunch some days. “Leo,” he’d say, “have a glass of wine with me, won’t you!” And I’d humor him and drink a glass with him. My head always spun afterwards during the afternoon work while Doctor Alistair always worked better during those afternoons. I’d even hear him humming away in his laboratory.

I left in the fall. I told Doctor Alistair that I’d come back and work with him one day. But I never did. I got enticed by the big city and the big enterprise and the big life. I met a man who came to work at our conglomerate one day many years later. He knew Doctor Alistair. He said Doctor Alistair had survived a massive heart attack. That was over three years ago. Poor, old, shaky Doctor Alistair.

Brief Four

Little Golden Piglet


I pushed the cart along slowly. I had overfilled it and it rolled heavily along the uneven ground. I knew I could probably do without a few of the things I had piled up into the cart but I didn’t want to discard them. What would people say? Look at that spoiled little brat, they’d say, getting rid of things, throwing things out of his cart like he doesn’t need them. I shouldn’t have cared what people would say, but I did. And I pushed the cart along with all the unnecessary junk. The man pushing his own cart beside me gave me a disapproving look as if he could read my thoughts. We had been pushing our carts alongside each other for a while now and I was beginning to think he was my friend. I shouldn’t have trusted him but I did. Though I pushed the cart along trying not to look at him or draw his attention.

The gorge came up completely unexpectedly. It sliced the road from left to right. The people who’s carts were lighter and pushing along quicker had no time to react and were quickly lost in the gorge disappearing from view. I pulled back in the last minute and managed to bring my cart to a halt just at the edge of the gorge. The front left wheel slid past the edge and my cart tipped to the left sharply spilling half its contents out on the road. I managed to steady the thing and straighten it back up. I looked around me for the man. He stood a few steps behind me, a safe distance from the edge of the gorge. He must have seen it coming and brought his cart to a careful stop in time. He stared back at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Was it fear? Or sadness? Or even….Was it disappointment? Was he disappointed I didn’t tumble in the gorge? I looked back and over to my other side. Some of the people who didn’t fall down the gorge were turning their carts around and heading back. Others just stood there with blank expressions on their faces. But why wasn’t anyone trying to go over the bridge?

It was a precarious old thing hanging dangerously over the gorge a few steps to my right. I turned my cart in that direction. I took a look at the man. He glared at me. I should have been scared but I wasn’t. I gave my cart a gentle push. It was lighter now that it was only half full and it rolled along quite well. I reached the bridge. I put the two front wheels of my cart onto the old, rotten wood. Was my cart too heavy still? Could I make it? I gave another push slowly, carefully. The bridge swayed and creaked under the weight. The cart was on the bridge now but my feet still stood on solid ground. I turned to look at the man one last time. He seemed to be gesturing at me. Pointing wildly towards the other side of the gorge. I turned to look at what he was pointing to but the other side was too far for me to be able to see anything. I gave the cart another gentle push and stepped on the bridge.

I squeezed the little golden piglet in my palm so hard it dug its little sharp feet in my skin. Where did I have it from? Did I find it? Or was it in my cart the whole time? I wouldn’t have known for my cart was overfilled with useless junk. It should have been hard for me to push it along with one hand but it wasn’t. Beside me, the woman pushed along with me. I had the feeling that I knew her but I didn’t know how. She smiled at me. I opened my palm and looked at the little golden piglet. It seemed to be grinning at me. I looked back over my shoulder. I could see a great deep gorge slicing through the road behind us. People were falling in from the other side. A man stood by the edge of the other side of the gorge. He was pointing at me. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss back there was all about but it was none of my concern. We weren’t headed that way anyway.