MAKING CONNECTIONS

#135 - I tore out a sheet from my notebook and wrote my name, email, and Substack URL on it, folded it over, and handed it to him saying, “Give this to your mom, okay? I hope to hear from you.”

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MAKING CONNECTIONS

Snow fell in flurries across the tarmac. Commercial jets and 747 cargo planes took flight one after the other during any lull affording them the time and safety to do so.

I was in Anchorage waiting for my connecting flight.

A young boy, maybe seven, made his way around the departure lounge checking the views from the different angles available, every so often lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes to catch a plane lifting off into the white-out void.

I took out my notebook to put words to paper. I always start a story this way.

He passed near enough for me to see a copy of an old Classics Illustrated comic book in a plastic baggie tucked under his arm.

He stopped and turned around. I looked over at him.

While reaching out to shake my hand, he said, “Hi. I’m Theo Savoie. What’s your name?”

I smiled at him and shaking his hand, said, “I’m James Ron. Pleased to meet you, Theo.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Looking down at my notebook, he asked, “Umm - Am I disturbing you?”

I thought he was remarkably poised and outgoing.

I said, “Not a bit. I’m writing a story.”

He asked, “Yeah? What’s it about? Hardly see anyone handwriting anymore.”

“Yes, that’s true.

“Well. I just started it. It’s about a boy at an airport looking out the window with a pair of binoculars.”

With a questioning look and a tilt of his head he looked at me.

I asked him, “What’s that under your arm? Are you reading it?”

“Yes, it’s ‘Treasure Island.’ My granny gave a bunch of these comics to my mom. I have to be careful with it.”

“Yeah, it could be valuable. It looks in good shape. I read them when I was your age.

“You aren’t traveling alone, are you?”

“No. My mom’s over there,” pointing across the lounge to the seating by a window.

I looked over.

She held a baby in her arms. She had her eyes on Theo, watching us. She smiled.

“That’s my new sister, Melissa. We just saw my dad in Fairbanks. It’s his first time to see Melissa. He’s stationed at Ladd Army Airfield at Fort Wainwright. He flies a helicopter. We’re going home to Augusta.”

“Wow. That’s terrific. I bet it was good for y’all to see each other.”

“Yeah. I miss him.

“I can write. Mom says I have imagination. I’d like to write a story.

“I get ideas but not whole stories. I don’t know where to go with it.”

“Yeah, that can be tough, for sure.

“Well. What do you want to write about? Do you have an idea you’ve been thinking about?”

“Yes. A farmer’s son, back when cowboys and Indians were still around. Some bad guys stole a young girl from a neighbor and were going to trade her to the Indians for buffalo skins. The son went to a friendly Indian he knew to see if he would help him find the bad guys and the girl.”

“That’s a good idea. Why not start with writing down what you just said?

“Sometimes you can see where it goes, and sometimes you don’t. The important thing is to start. That’s the main thing. No way around it. It takes time.

“Like, write down what you just told me. Let the story tell you what happens next, and don’t worry about it. It isn’t the finished story.

“And don’t worry about spelling or grammar. You can edit later. You know. Fix it. Your story will come together.”

I could see I had perhaps said too much. I’m not used to talking to a youngster.

“It doesn’t have to be a long story, you know. I like writing short, short stories.

“Just get started,” I said. “That is when the fun begins. It is almost like magic.

“Don’t mind if it doesn’t make sense right away. It will, and you’ll get better. It’s like practice, right? You’ll get better.

“You’ll discover the way to go. Keep your words simple, no need to be fancy unless that’s your style. You’ll see as you go.

“Do you have a computer at home?”

“I have a laptop. Mom uses it to teach me. I get on the internet sometimes. Mom homeschools me.”

“I see. That’s great. Start up a new document and write down what you have. I’ll bet you that by then you’ll have a good idea where your story is going.

“You don’t need to write on paper. I just enjoy it to get my first thoughts together, then I go to my laptop.

“And editing is easy. Can you imagine what the Oldtimers had to do to write a story? It’s much easier now. Copy, Paste, Delete, Move stuff around. Yeah, it is easy now.”

- The Intercom came on announcing that “boarding for United Airlines Flight 792 to Narita, Japan, will begin shortly.” -

“That’s me. I’ve got to go.

“Hey, Theo, I’d like to read your story when you are done. Would you send it to me?”

“Yeah, I guess. If my mom will let me.”

“That’s cool.”

I tore out a sheet from my notebook and wrote my name, email, and Substack URL on it, folded it over, and handed it to him saying, “Give this to your mom, okay? I hope to hear from you.”

“Okay. Thank you.” We shook hands again and he headed off to his mom.

I got in line for boarding.

While in line I looked back in their direction. Theo’s mom was looking at me. With my note open in her hand, she smiled and nodded her approval.

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