Ferry Lane

 

The fifth prompt from Hornsby Shire Libraries is a painting by Sydney Long, 1902.

Ferry Lane

'Neil, can you pick up your glasses after school today? Dr Trisha has confirmed this morning they are ready.'

'Sure, mum,' Neil dashed out, his sports shoes dangling from his school bag, and guitar for his hobby class strapped to his shoulders. 'I'll keep them in my locker today,' he trudged along grumbling; so he did after his last period, and set off to pick up his glasses.

'Hey, Neil,' Dr Trisha greeted cheerfully, 'how're things going? Your glasses are ready; I'm sure you'll love the blue frame. Give it a go!' Neil always thought her to be a bit eccentric, her eyes appearing slightly warped behind the thick glasses set in a large frame. 

'All good, doctor,' Neil replied, in the-sooner-the-better tone, 'but, wait! Where are you gone?'

'Don't be silly Neil, you're supposed to see better with the new pair,' Dr Trisha laughed affectionately, and added, 'now move on, mum would be worried.'

Neil left, walked down the cobbled path of the Ferry Lane, and down the steps, a sense of premonition gripping him by the moment. It's just 4 and nobody around, he thought doubtfully. In the thick of the hubub of quotidian noises - children cheering, birds chirping, footfall and shuffling of people wandering - Neil felt he was in a spectre-space with nobody! What did the doctor do to him? 

'Ouch! Mind your step boy,' an irked voice floated. 

Heart thumping, he grabbed the nearest railing and gingerly treaded down the steps, trying to the best of his abilities to not bump into the invisible beings. No matter how much he squinted or blinked, he still saw only the walls, streets, and stores. Looking helplessly around, Neil felt a soft fluffy thing brush his shin gently. He jerked aside and was startled by the following powwww pow pow pow of a poodle.

'Are you lost?' Offered a kind voice.

That was the last straw. Terrified, Neil clambered back a couple of steps, and cracked up.

'Wraiths, apparitions! The malicious doctor has turned the city to a bunch of phantoms!' He cried frantically, flailing and streaking towards his way home, but not without knocking down a couple of passers-by and earning their muttered imprecations. 

'Stop!' Someone groaned, but he didn't until he reached the main road. He was going batty, cars without drivers, trains above without passengers, chattering without the people.

Across the road, the park was teeming with children, chilling after school. He could see the skateboards dropping in on half-pipe, flying in the air in an ollie or vert-trick-Madonna all by themselves, followed by huge uproar of the crowd around. But where's everybody gone?

The evening serenade had started in his local club, but there was nobody, only the sound of music and merriment. 

He ran as fast as he could, he had to see his mom, she couldn't be gone without him!

Lost in his thoughts and consternation he picked up speed and BAM... and a CRASH!

Neil lay on the footpath flat, flat on his face, his stray curls all over his face, hands and feet aching, his glasses knocked off and flung far away, and a blurred corpulent boy in school uniform looming over him like a monster.

'Aaaaagh!' Neil sat and tried to scramble away from him as if he'd hit something hot.

'You okay, boy?' The comforting tone brought Neil back to his senses.

'You all are here. I'm out of the spectre-world🌎. Dr Trisha isn't evil after all!' Neil was insane with the respite, he hugged his head, laughed his socks off, and rolled and jumped to his feet. Up and about, he raised his forearm for a fist-pump with the boy, who was by then discombobulated by his idiosyncrasies. 

'Mike,' somebody called the boy from behind. 'Let's race to the ramp, we're getting late, mate!' The boys rolled their skateboards, and the rogue glasses crunched under one of those wheels. 

'Oh no!' Mike looked back, apologising profusely. 

'That's all right,' Neil answered, nodding fervently, 'who needs them!'

'That's rich!' The boys left him, bewildered.

'Neil, what took you so long? Dr Trisha was worried. Apparently she'd given you a wrong pair, and she wants them back, says it's urgent! It was part of her research and experiment on some heat map thingy...'

'I fell, and the glasses broke,' Neil replied, crestfallen. 

'What? You're never careful, are you?' Mum chided him.

Neil simply hugged her warmly, adding in a querulous voice, 'I was, wasn't I?' 

Tears of relief trickled down his dusty cheeks as mum ruffled his bunch of curls lovingly, and asked, 'It's okay Neil, we'll explain Dr Trisha.'

'It's not the glasses, mum, I thought I lost you! You won't leave me ever, will you?'

Dona, Sydney, Aug'21 

Find the previous one here at Goldminer.

The picture was reminiscent of empty streets under raft of restrictions due to COVID-19. A bit of digging revealed that the painting was indeed related to a similar bout of preventive measures to contain bubonic plague. Learn more about the painting at: Ferry Street, Sudney Long, 1902. 

I wanted to paint a different story, of course.