Tales of The Author: Train Ride

Sunlight gleamed in the dewy grass as the day broke through the morning fog. The Author smiled to herself, studying the view out the train window. Her shoes sat on the floor under her seat and her jacket over her legs as a blanket. She sat as still as she could, as the Friend was sleeping with his head on her shoulder. 

They're heading a few towns over to go to a concert with the Friends favourite band. The train was supposed to take two hours, but an issue with the tracks had caused a delay. The train filled to the brim with people in varying states of annoyed. Some are angry, some are upset. Everyone is tired. 

In the seats behind them, there's a father and his two children. Both of which have long run out of content on their tablets. With no cartoons left to watch, the father is desperately trying to amuse the two girls. 

The other people in the train car sit restless in their seat, waiting for the outburst they all know is on the way. 

The Author isn't very amused by the fact that two crying children might ruin her peaceful morning, so she digs through her notebook for some clean pieces of paper. In her rummage, the Friend lifts his head from her shoulder. 

"What are you doing, Tip-tap?" His voice is a low murmur. The Author starts folding the papers. 

"We're about to have a situation of 'loud children'" She whispers her response, not to reveal her plans. Her fingers make quick work of the paper, folding them into two origami butterflies. 

She perches one of them on the tip of per pencil holding it above the edge of her seat. Just high enough to be visible to the girls behind her. 

"Daddy look! Butterfly!" 

The two girls squealed happily at the sight of the butterfly perched over the seat. Their father, while confused, seemed relieved. The Friend grabs the other butterfly and holds it up in view as well. 

"More!" The younger girl exclaims when she notices the second butterfly. 

The Author and the Friend hold the butterflies up for a minute longer, before dropping them so that they sail down to the girls. The two girls grab the butterflies delicately, and when the Author peeks up behind the seat, the father catches her eye with a grateful look. He doesn't waste any time, diving into character and pretending that these butterflies are in fact, magical butterflies. 

"We dodged a bullet, good thinking Tip-tap." murmurs the Friend, getting comfortable again. The Author nods. 

The butterflies distract the girls, and soon the train starts moving. The rest of the train trip is a blur of joy-filled giggles, and glistening landscapes as the Author types away with the Friends head on her shoulder. 

Tales of the Author: The origins of Tip-tap

The Author sat in her usual spot at her favourite café, writing on just about anything. Her coffee cup was long empty, and she'd stuck sticky notes to just about any clear surface. The Author was working on a story for a youth 14-18 writing class she was part of, a fantasy. The words covering her table had the job of being her inspiration, but most of them acted as distractions.

The Author sighed and rolled her shoulders. She was coming onto the second hour at her table.

"Your keyboard is very silent despite your quick tapping."

The Author looked up at the figure standing by her table. She recognised him as a boy from one of her classes that sits a few steps behind her. The boy held out a mug with steaming contents toward her.

"Oh, hi... I've never thought about that. What's in that mug?"

"It's hot cocoa, with rainbow marshmallow. I hope you don't mind, and the barista said it's what you usually get. Can I sit?"

The Author stared over at Ella. Ella is the daughter of the woman who owns this cafe. She usually works as a barista in the cafe. Ella laughed and sent the Author a wink. The boy had a goofy smile on his face, like many other boys his age do.

"Sure... But why did you ask Ella what my favourite drink is?"
The Author waited for a response as the boy took his time sitting down, hanging his coat on the chair.

"Because I wanted an excuse to come sit next to you. I see you scribbling in class all the time. I guess I wanted to come to ask you what you're writing?" He ended his statement like a question. The Author smiled at him.

"But we've only just started talking, how do I know I can trust you with all of my writing and amateur author secrets?" The Author giggled.

"Well, Tip-tap, I'm trustworthy. You're just going to have to take my word for it." The boy seemed to have filled himself with confidence.

"Tip-tap?"

"Yeah. Tip-tap. That's your name now. It's what I'm gonna call you. Problems with it, Tip-tap?" The boy winked at her.

"I mean, no. But what am I going to call you? We can't have a non-mutual nickname situation." The boy laughed.

"We are going to be great friends, Tip-tap. You'll figure out a good name for me eventually. Until then, you could just call me, oh I don't know, my name?"

The Author laughed. She pulled out her most dramatic tone before she replied.

"Your name?! Isn't that illegal? How in the world could I call you your name  without both of us getting imprisoned for high treason?"

Both of them laughed. The Author turned her laptop slightly to the side, letting the Friend look at what she's been writing.

What he said was true. They were very much going to become great friends.

Tales of The Author: Monday Mornings

The Author had always felt like Monday mornings were an unclear time of day. She'd sit in her car and watch everything pass by the windows during that hour every week, the one that felt both short and infinite.

Her perfume was finding its way through the air, unbothered by the warm air streaming from the ventilation. The hum of the engine, the windshield wipers, the light fog and the morning dark all played their part in the feeling of calm spreading through her body.

The Author kept both her hands on the steering wheel, paying attention to the road while the Friend was sleeping in the passenger seat. They'd spent the weekend with the Friend's sister, celebrating her birthday.

The party was fun, but all the socialising with people she doesn't know had the Author feeling tired. The two of them had gotten up at an ungodly hour to drive back in time for work. The smart move would have been to head home the day before, but none of them thought about that until it was way too late to drive.

The Author was driving away from the sunrise, and she watched with slight awe as the fog lifted and beams of sunlight slowly hit the trees in a soft, orange glow.

She hadn't noticed the Friend was awake until she saw his hand reach out and turn on the radio. Both of them jumped in their seats at the high volume, which the Author quickly turned down.

"What a way to wake up..." the Friend muttered before the both of them laughed. They settled into a comfortable silence between them, listening to whatever was going on on the radio. Though both of them were heading to work, it was a beautiful and calm moment, driving through the serene landscapes of a tired Monday morning.

Tales of The Author: The Pier

The Author sat cross-legged at the pier with a notebook in her hands. The sun peeked over the housetops, and the Author turned her face toward the warming rays, letting them thaw the cold away from her cheeks this early morning.

Just an arm's length away from the Author, we find the Friend. His back leaned against the concrete wall separating the city from the open water. His eyes were closed, his breaths heavy. The Author smiled to herself, he's asleep. She looks out over the houses along the beach. A long line of apartment buildings next to offices, but right at the edge of the water, a row of small, red huts.

Just like he always does when it's time for a day at the pier, the Friend called the Author early in the morning, far before sunrise. He yelled "the pier" through the phone and then hung up again. The Author had with a sigh of annoyance looked at the time, placed her head beneath her pillow and tried to fall back asleep. This technique has never worked because the Friend always calls again five minutes later. The Author has never gotten out of bed after the first call.

When the Author arrived at the pier, her notebook was safe in her tote bag, and her thin scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck and chin. As she climbed over the thick concrete wall, the Friend was already on the other side, waiting for her. When she put her feet down, the rocks on which she was standing decided that it was the perfect moment to become slippery. The Author lost her footing, causing her and the Friend to fall over each other in a pile of laughter.

After gathering themselves, they reached the spot on the rocks they call their own. Sitting down on a warm wool blanket, they'd swept another one around their shoulders.

And on that wool blanket, they sit. The Author with her notebook and the Friend with his head on her shoulder. The Author's pen flying over the paper as she struggled to put into words every part of the sunrise.

Though she was cold, and the Friend was sleeping beside her, the Author loves every second of being on the pier. These are the moments she feels fully present. The deep breaths of the Friend combined with the sounds of a city waking up making her aware of the world, somehow.

After a while, the Friend woke up. Cursing himself for falling asleep and missing the sunrise. The Author simply laughed, leaning her head on the Friends shoulder.

"Can I read what you wrote?" The Friend Looked hopeful, but the Author teasingly shut her notebook.

"If you hadn't fallen asleep, you already would know."
The Author smiled, and the Friend made an exaggerated, hurt face. They both laughed, and the  Author handed her notebook to her Friend. Together they sat and enjoyed the sun before picking up their things and walking away.

Tales of The Author: The Square

It was just another day, the author was sitting on a wooden bench in a white tent in the square. A soft wind rocked the trees, and the rain was pouring down. The sound of the droplets in tune with the steady click-clack of fingers on the keyboard of a laptop. Where she was sitting in the tent, it was dry. The tables around her quickly filled with people escaping the weather. 

There was an odd feeling in the air. Anticipation, longing, nervosity. The author took a greedy breath, her lungs filled with the atmosphere. Sweat, pizza grease and hot sugar being the main components. It's time for the town square celebration, the author had wolfed down several sugary doughnuts before she started writing. 

"Hiya tip-tap, how's the writing going?" the voice came from someone right next to the authors left ear. She looked up to find a friend. 

In his hands, the friend carried two paper cups.  He handed one to the author, who smiled when she saw the name written on it in uneven black letters. "Tip-tap" was both her nickname and an inside joke. The friend has first called her that after hearing her write intensely on her laptop. He claimed that tip-tap had to be the perfect nickname for her. Since nothing is her as much as the sound of her fingers on a keyboard.  

"Words a' plenty." the author took a sip from the paper cup. 
"Heat, delicious."

"I'd think so, it's very you to forget your coat in this weather." The friend laughed, a very melodic sound. The author shuffled to the side, making room on the wooden bench for the friend. He sat down close to her, and together they shared their excitement. Something is supposed to be happening soon. 
An excited chatter rose from the front of the tent, making the author and the friend look towards the stage. As the rain stopped, it's time. 

On the stage stood two people in black blazers and shiny shoes. With guitar and piano, they cleared the middle of the square. The author and the friend stood on their bench, looking over the heads of the crowd. They saw the square clearly, and as if from nowhere, there was dance. 

The author joined in the crowd's amazement. The music and shimmering costumes enchanted the square. It lived up to every expectation set before they started. 

When the show was over, the crowd dispersed. The author closed her laptop and put it in her backpack. The friend lingered, and when the author had picked up all of her things, they walked toward the author's car together. 

"How about a spontaneous wish?" the author asked when they reached the car. She threw her bag in the back seat and turned to the friend with hopeful eyes. He pretended to contemplate before his face lit up. 

"I'm always up for a spontaneous wish, Tip-Tap." Together they ran across the square to the fountain catching the water trickling out of the cliffside. The author fumbled through her pockets and found two coins.  The friend held out a marker towards her.  She grabbed it and wrote a wish on her coin. When the friend had done the same, they balanced on the marble edge of the fountain. They flicked their coins into the water. 

"Don't fall!" The friend laughed, the edge was slippery, and the author swayed dramatically before grabbing onto the friend to keep her balance. 

"I won't fall, but I might push!" she laughed, the friend barely had time for a startled yell before the two of them fell into the fountain. Already drenched to the bone, they splashed water on each other. A water fight to life or death. 

Their laughter echoed over the now-empty town square, and the author thought to herself that this moment was one she would cherish for a long time.