The Waiting

(Note:  I recently took an online Creative Writing class through Gale Courses, offered for free via my library's website.  While on "hiatus," I will share with you my final assignment, a 500-word fictional short story.  The main character's name, Tham-boon (pronounced Tom-Boon') , means merit-making.  Feel free to skip this one.)



THE WAITING

by Liz Frances


The waiting is the worst.  He makes his living waiting for people, but this particular moment of waiting will decide his fate for the next two years.  Tham-boon drives foreigners who are on temporary assignment in his native Thailand.  His work swells and recedes like the tides.  Just as he learns the needs, wants, and quirks of one family, their assignment ends.  Now he must start the process all again.  What will his life be like with the next strangers?  Will they be demanding or generous, intolerant or kind?  He examines his dark, thirty-year-old face in the rear-view mirror, running a hand across his newly-cut hair.  He is anxious to make a good impression.  He awaits their initial encounter with trepidation and curiosity.  


Tham-boon remembers his impatience as a boy, wanting to grow up quickly, wanting to be somewhere else.  His life was uncomplicated then; the time he spent in school was simply a test of endurance until he could go to the place he loved best, the water's edge.  Every free moment was spent with the sand between his toes or a fishing pole in his hands, allowing the salty air to restore his spirit.  Sitting with his line in the water was a very different kind of waiting.  The waves spoke to him in ways the teachers could not. The waves taught him to hear the unspoken words, the greater truths of a simple life.  He learned the nature of the tides so well, the neap and spring tides, that their rhythms echoed inside of him.  When the tides swelled, his optimism swelled with them.

He always hoped his mom would have a good day selling her bamboo baskets from her modest stall at the market.   Their fate often depended on the whims of the tourists.  Some stopped to browse, others strode past without a glance.  But he had a hand in their fate as well.  He knew if he listened well to the ocean and learned her language, he could catch the fish they needed for their family meal, and they would not go hungry.  

He loved nothing more than the gentle smile on his mother's face when he came to her stall with a good catch.  They would heat the little gas stove behind the stall and steam the fish with a squeeze of lemon or a splash of coconut milk.  They would sit on their haunches next to the stove and share the fish with a bit of rice, always keeping an ear out for customers.  Their fingers probed the bones of the fish to find the tender flesh, flavored with the pride of his accomplishment. 


Many events and years have taken Thom-boon far from the simple life of his childhood, and shoved him into a busy, adult life in the city.  His fishing pole has been replaced by a steering wheel.  Today he waits to meet the foreigners he will drive for the next two years, becoming an adjunct of their everyday lives in their temporary home.  His hours of driving and waiting will simply be a test of endurance, however, until he can escape the car's confines.  Then he will once again find his way to the water's edge.