Images Reversed

Some time back at North Arm Cove we were given a short story and asked to write from the other character's perspective. Here is my take:

So yes, Brad did seem like a bit of an arse back there. For all intents and purposes, he more-or-less just poo-pooed things and poured scorn over Lyn’s dreams. But don’t forget though- there’s always two sides to any story, and sympathies can be coaxed with a bit of tweakage. Try this:

The minute Lyn came home and proudly displayed her latest purchase, Brad inwardly sighed with resignation. Not again, he thought to himself in frustration.

'…and it’s got a 4 inch lense with a 15 megapixel resolution!' she finished excitedly, passing over the camera.

Brad took it in his hands and turned it over a few times.

'Hmm,' he said thoughtfully. 'Nice bit of gear- reminds me of the years I spent reporting on the IRA in Ireland. Don’t know though- aren’t printed photos a bit old school? Phones and all that- don’t they all have cameras nowadays?'

Lyn’s eyes flashed. 'I figured you’d go this way!' she snapped. 'Why can’t you support me in the things I love?'

Brad said nothing in response, knowing from experience that he would always be on the losing side. Never mind the hours he had spent traveling up and down the F3 to visit her dying mother on the North Shore. Nor the time he had raced all the way to Melbourne to collect her distressed daughter after her rental unit had gone up in flames thanks to dodgy insulation. And let’s ignore for a moment the countless afternoons he had slaved away in the kitchen preparing her one of her favourite meals ready for her to eat after a busy day at work.

The next few days were difficult enough. There were a myriad of chores to be done around the house, but now it seemed as though roles had been reversed, so engrossed was she in her new toy. Normally they were a good team- 'I’m the boss, as long as she lets me', so the saying goes.

But lately after breakfast she would grab he camera and zip out the door with barely a grunted goodbye. On one particular morning, she provided terse instruction as they ate. 

'Make sure you get those loads of washing done today. And remember about your column!' she called as she left

Brad looked over to the pile of washing sitting in the corner.  'Has she forgotten about my RDA?' he grumbled to himself. For a moment he wished he was back at work in the city- at least there’d be no chores there. Just then his mobile phone beeped, and he glanced at it, expecting the day's briefing. Drafts for Eco-Watch's international press release to be in by mid-day, it announced. Any staff not complying will be given the sack. AC.

Brad’s spirits sank. Not Alan again, he thought as he recognised the sender. This particular manager, whose office was in headquarters way over in Adelaide, was a difficult boss with a habit of barking out orders and who had absolutely no endearing qualities. Doesn’t he know it’s my day off, thought Brad in despair?

Still, it was beautiful weather- 'a good day to dry hard,' as his father used to say- and Brad got those loads done.  After lunch he sat down at his desk and got to work on that international press release. It was all about the degradation of the Barrier Reef and the potentially disastrous social climate in Newcastle. Strange combination, Brad thought as he scanned a number of reports from several major news vendors, but who was he to dictate proceedings from the hand that paid him?

After many discarded drafts, he finally reached 800 words. 'That should do it,' Brad finally thought, sending the document to the work email account just after mid-afternoon.  Not the most brilliant of pieces, he had to admit, but at least done his dash. Surely there’d be no sackage for him now?

With the sun just above the gum-tree line, he was busily cleaning up the cat’s vomit in the lounge room when his phone beeped again. Another message.

Be informed that your draft has fallen far below the firm’s standards. Please report to the main office tomorrow to commence dismissal proceedings.  Alan Cummings, CEO.

Brad’s stomach sank. What, he thought? How could they, he being a loyal employee and all? And what would he say to Lyn about all this?

Lyn came home from her photography ventures and went straight to her computer with barely a sideways glance. Typical, thought Brad bitterly. Evidently her outing had been a success, as she busily uploaded photo after photo. Feeling sad and forgotten, he opened the kitchen pantry door. 'What do you want for dinner tonight, love?' he called hopefully.

Lyn mumbled something about Moroccan Chicken in response. Immediately Brad’s spirits jumped. A great suggestion, he thought; the soft, pillow-like nature of the couscous and the aromatic scent of the cumin spices had always been a winner. Rustling about in the kitchen, his woes were momentarily forgotten.

As he was humming away a funky rendition of 'White Cliffs Over Dover', Brad heard an excited squeal from the study. His heart leapt- finally, a bit of spirit from Lyn! A moment later she came out and plonked herself and laptop on the kitchen bench.

'Oh Brad,' said Lyn breathlessly. 'I won the ‘Winter Warmers’ photography comp! Pan Macmillian want to publish a limited edition 500 picture collection of my photos! And NBN wants to do a story!'

Brad swallowed, filled with conflicting emotions. Disappointment would still follow once he told her his news, of that he was sure. But she had got so far, he thought- why rain on her parade just now? 'That's great!' he said, doing his best to share her enthusiasm. Giving his sweet Lyn a small smile he turned back to the stove, all the while the old adage about 'one door closing and another opening' ringing through his head...