An Ordinary Day
by SC
‘What a lovely bracelet!’
Olivia looked up to see who was disrupting her as she browsed through a new library book – a stranger, a woman in a flamboyant floral blouse. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely, with an almost-smile, and picked up her mug of coffee from the café table.
‘Peacock blue, to match your scarf, so coordinated’, the woman continued. ‘An unusual colour for stars.’
The conversation had broken her chain of thought so Olivia decided to resist the temptation to ignore her, and engage. ‘They’re starfish, not stars. I like it, it’s rather special. It’s a reminder.’
‘Ah. Was it a present? From somebody special?’
‘No, it’s a reminder of a story. Perhaps you’ve heard it before…..the one about the boy and the starfish?’ The woman shook her head, so Olivia continued.
‘An old man was walking along the seashore when he saw a boy picking up starfish that were stranded on the beach, and throwing them into the water. He stopped the boy and asked him what he was doing. “I’m rescuing the starfish,” the boy said. “That’s daft,” said the old man, “there’s so many. You can’t possibly save them all. What difference does it make?” The boy bent and picked up another starfish, then threw it into the waves as far as he could. “It made a difference to that one,” he said.’
‘What a great story. I’ve not heard that before. Thank you,’ the woman said. ‘I shall remember it too now. I’m so glad we met.’ She put on her mask, picked up her bag and left the café with a little wave.
Olivia drained her coffee, put the book into her backpack and went out into the park. She walked the long way round, through the avenue of limes, watching a boisterous game of tag in the play area, smiling at an elderly couple holding hands on a sunny bench, running her fingers over the writing on the peace pole. Kids clattered tricks on skateboards, two mixed doubles energetically whacked tennis balls about, and dogs raced around after bouncing balls hurled from slingers. Small colourful meadows of wildflowers had been a success again, and were abuzz. Autumn still held back.
Taking the 4-pint plastic bottle from her pack, Olivia poured water around the newly-planted silver birch by the pavilion. She couldn’t do them all, but this was her chosen one. Young saplings need special care to survive, let alone thrive, especially in hot summers.
After filling the backpack at the greengrocer’s with produce of the English harvest, including some late Hampshire strawberries as a treat, Olivia shook out a couple of old plastic shopping bags, and put the empty milk bottle in one. Then she walked home, along the main road and through the back streets, picking up all the aluminium drinks cans and bottles dropped in gutters and balanced on walls, emptying the dregs as she went.
She placed the glass in a box and rattled the metal and plastic into the green bin, then Olivia went to the kitchen to scrub her hands, put the kettle on for more coffee, and settle down with the new book. She’d scoured the Southsea charity shops for an author recommended at the book festival but they didn’t have any so she ended up searching the library catalogue and reserving one. It must have been popular, it had taken months.
That night, as she laid the bracelet back in its case, Olivia remembered, not just the story but the friend who had related it, She missed Ash – perhaps in the spring, when we’d learnt to live with this virus, she would take the train to Brussels, and they would drink beer and eat chips together again. In the meantime, she resolved to take coffee in the community cafe again next Saturday, just in case the woman was there and wanted some company.
It was March a few years back; there had been a big storm. She and Ash threaded through the Rock Gardens, past the spiky leaves of the exotic trees clacking in the wind, to see where the prom had collapsed and to glory in the wild winter sea crashing the stones around the castle. They were dismayed to find the shore littered with fat wobbly brown starfish, and Ash had insisted they go down onto the shingle, pick up as many as they could and chuck them back in. Olivia’s woolly gloves got soaked, her fingers froze, but it was an amazing moment.
Did it make a difference? It did to her.
Inspiration: I was inspired by the bracelet mentioned in the story.
SC lives and works in Portsmouth.