How To Bend The Rules

‘Just made it, that was a bit of luck!’ I said to myself as I hopped on to the number 46. The bus sped off as I steadied myself and looked for my ticket.

After rummaging through my pockets for a few moments I found it.  

But then my luck started to run out. I staggered towards the machine to punch in my ticket, but the machine wasn’t working. No problem, I thought. I’ll speak to the driver. The bus was moving quite quickly by this time, so I made my way carefully to the front, lurching from one side to the other, and muttering apologies to the people I disturbed. And then I looked up and saw the sign

NON PARLARE AL CONDUCENTE - DO NOT SPEAK TO THE DRIVER

Oh no! I was in that place again. That place that no British person likes to be. I was stuck between two rules. Which one should I obey? Which one should I disobey?

I remained motionless, well almost motionless, as I swayed from one side of the bus to the other. The driver seemed to be determined to break some kind of land speed record. I was paralysed –Should I carry on my journey without paying, or should I interrupt the driver and distract him, as he hurtled along the road?

My solution was to stay where I was, my feet firmly planted near the exit door, stuck inside some kind of loop.

Speak to the driver – No – Punch your ticket – Can’t – Speak to the driver – No – Punch your ticket – Can’t - Speak to the driver – Can’t – Punch your ticket– No, Can’t, No, Can’t, No, No, NO!

There seemed to be no way out of this loop, no loophole. And so I remained that way until the bus arrived at my stop. At last the spell was broken, I was free, I could get out, I could get on with my life, I could   …   I could see the ticket inspectors.

I had some explaining to do, and so I did what I always do when I am embarrassed, I started to talk, and talk, and talk.

‘I’m sorry but you see, I went to punch the ticket as I always do, I always pay, I never get on the bus without my ticket, well maybe once I did but that’s because I got distracted because I bumped into an old friend, but anyway that’s not important right now, the machine you see, the machine wasn’t working, but I had my ticket as I said before, but I couldn’t punch it, so I er.. well  I went to speak to the driver but then I saw the sign that said I couldn’t and so I couldn’t punch my ticket or speak to the driver and so  I didn’t know what to do, and I was thinking about it when I sort of, well, you know, arrived.’

I could see the inspectors moving away from me, little by little, as I told them my story. They understood every word I said, but not one word made sense to them. I had been stuck between two rules, and I needed to share.  But all credit to them. They phoned the driver (wasn’t that against the rules?) and my story was verified. The machines weren’t working. I was innocent. I was free. I was in the clear. Phew!

We British have a thing about rules. We don’t like to break them – not unless we really have to. Maybe sometimes we have to learn to bend the rules just a little, when there is a danger that they might break us. However most of the time, we like rules. They make the world an easier place to live in. And when there aren’t any rules strange things can happen.

When I lived in England, my brother was a train driver, and he went from Southend-On-Sea to London and back every day. In his cabin there was a device that enabled you to see what was happening along the entire length of the train. Normally there was nothing much going on, just people reading the newspaper, children crying. You could hear the excited chatter of teenagers – the usual things. But one day was different. My brother looked into the device and saw a couple making love towards the back of the train.

This was strange enough, but what was even stranger was that the carriage was full, and nobody said anything. The passengers hid behind their newspapers as the train rolled on.

When the couple had finished their sweaty tussle, they sat back and lit up a cigarette. Before they could take their first puff, five or six people put down their papers and started to protest. ‘You can’t smoke in here,’ they said in unison. ‘Look, it says, "No smoking", can't you read?' and then they pointed to a sign nearby.

‘Rules are rules, after all.’

The Green Book Part Three (Alternative 3)

The Green Book Part Three [Alternative 3]

I didn’t have much time. I ran into the living room and put the book on the table, in front of the TV. And then I went outside. Dad would be home soon and I wanted to see what he did when he found the book. I looked through the window. I could see everything perfectly there.

Dad arrived ten minutes later. I heard him coughing as he walked up to the door. He took off his coat, and then he went into the kitchen to make some tea.

‘Hurry up Dad,’ I thought. ‘Hurry up!’

Finally he went into the living room. He was just about to turn on the TV. But at that moment he stopped. He had noticed something. He had seen the Green Book. He picked it up and opened it.

I didn’t want to disturb him, so I waited. He sat down on the sofa. He didn’t turn on the TV. He normally did that when he got home. But now he just started reading. He was reading the book, and little by little a smile began to appear on his face. A smile! The first smile I had seen on his face for a long time. He was reading the story, but I’d like to think that at the same time, he was also reading another story. He was remembering that little boy he once was. He had forgotten who he was. But now he was beginning to remember.

I waited for a while longer. It was nice to watch Dad sitting there, reading my favourite book. Of course it was also my dad’s favourite book, because it was the only book he had ever read. Watching him, sitting on the sofa, reading the story, helped me to understand him. It was hard for him, without Mum, and he didn’t know how to free himself from this feeling of sadness. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Maybe the book will help him a little,’ I thought. After a while, I went into the room quietly. At first, I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him. Then he heard me when I sat down, and he looked up.

‘What book is it?’ I asked. I knew it was ‘The Railway Children.’ But I wanted to see what he said.

‘It’s…It’s the green book, you know, the one I told you about. How did it get here?’

‘Oh, I found it in the garage. Do you like it? The book I mean.’

‘Yes, I think I can finish it now,’ he said smiling – Another smile!

‘What’s it called?’

‘The Railway Children,’ said Dad.

‘That’s my favourite book,’ I said. ‘My favourite story. We can read it together, if you like.’

Dad looked at me again. It was the kind of look that only a mother or father can give you. It was like he knew something, but he didn’t say anything. ‘Yes, Michael, yes …that’s a great idea,’ he said.

I closed the book, put it back on the shelf, and jumped out of the story. And then I looked around the room. It was 2014 again, and there was my dad, sitting in his armchair. Now he was an old man, and I was no longer a twelve year old boy.

I say that Dad was in the room with me, but in a certain sense he wasn’t. There’s a name for what he had. Alzheimer’s. Death without dying, life without living.

My father couldn’t remember the green book anymore. For him, the green book was full of blank pages.

I sat for a while with him in silence, remembering for the both us. Trying to fill up those pages by myself. But soon it was time to go.

‘Dad, it was great to see you again,’ I said. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll come back soon, I promise.’

Dad looked at me and smiled. Now he smiled a lot. So many memories had gone and so had all the hardness in his face. His face was much softer now.

‘I’m sorry!’ he said. ‘I want to say, I just want to say, that …

I love you!

But … But I’m not quite sure who you are!’

I stood there. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know where to look. Something incredible had just happened. For the first time in my life my father had told me that he loved me.

And now finally I knew. It had always been there.

Love.

Love had always been there.

And it wasn’t hiding anymore.

It wasn’t hiding behind all those other things. Fear, Regret, Jealousy, Hate, Resentment. For my father, all those things had gone, but love had remained. And now it was free. It was free to say what it had to say, and I could hear its voice.

My father wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a man of many words. But on that day he gave me the lesson of my life. A lesson I will never forget. With three simple words, he taught me everything I needed to know. This is what he taught me:

Love should have no hiding place.