I love teaching writing classes, and one of the classes I taught last year was called “I Want to Write a Story.” I had taught this class for children, and we had a ball! Their creativity overwhelmed me–in a very good way!

After that, I was asked if I’d like to offer the same class for adults. I eagerly accepted. I used some of the same techniques that I did with the children, but I also challenged myself to do the class assignments right along with my students.

In one class, we brainstormed a story idea. Each student contributed a different part of the story. Two chose the main characters and built on their individual traits (including names), and one chose the location and time period of the story. It was homework assignment–not one we completed in class. Everyone worked on their individual short stories and brought them with them the following week. We were amazed at how each of us brought their story to life.

I was so happy to be accepted as a student as well as their teacher! Below is my story, “Bus to Normandy.” Being that we will soon celebrate Memorial Day at the end of this month, and the anniversary of Normandy Beach next month, I felt this was a fitting time to post it. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this!

Bus to Normandy

Written by Jeanne Hardt

Copyright 2024

Agnus fidgeted with the strap of her designer purse. She kept her handbag snug to her body—she was no fool. She had heard detailed accounts of women her age being targeted and robbed on tour buses.

“I should have stayed at my hotel in Paris,” she mumbled under her breath and peered out the window.

It might have been wise for her to dress less expensively, but she hated to look poor. She had a reputation to uphold—a family legacy of wealth to maintain. Wealth that had not been easily attained. Her family had earned their money honestly, and she deserved the recognition of their accomplishments.

She lifted her head a bit higher, breathed deeply, then looked down at the rings on her fingers—diamonds and rubies. Perhaps she should have left them in the hotel safe.

No. She had handled her finances properly and had no shame in showing the benefits of her keen intellect at managing money.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

She startled at the sound of the male voice and snapped her head upward. A tall, gray-bearded man stood in the aisle and hovered above her. He wore less-than-adequate attire—a pull-over shirt and blue jeans.

She eyed him up and down. “Yes?”

“Mind if I sit here?” He pointed at the vacant space beside her. “I was sittin’ in the back, and I’m gettin’ a mite carsick—or bus-sick might be better said.” He lightly chuckled.

If she’d had good sense, she would have remained in the middle of the two-person seat as she did after boarding the bus. No one had even considered sitting beside her then.

The bus veered slightly around a corner, and the man grabbed the back of the seat and snorted a laugh. “Nearly put me on my tail.”

She grunted at his crudeness.

“So…” He pointed again. “Can I sit?”

She sighed and tightened the hold on her purse. “I suppose so.” Although she was already practically touching the side of the bus, she pressed herself over until her shoulder butted the window.

The man dropped down onto the seat and held out a hand. “I’m Graham.”

She stared at his hand for a moment, then released her hold on her purse long enough to give his hand a limp shake. “Agnus.”

“Mighty fine to meet you, Agnus.” He cast a wide grin. “And I truly appreciate your lettin’ me sit here. If I’d stayed in the back, I would’ve lost my lunch. No one would’ve liked that, I reckon.”

“Reckon,” she whispered. “I can tell by your voice that you’re American—just as I am, but you’re from the South, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Paducah, Kentucky. Born and bred.”

“Hmm.” He looked to be about her age, but aside from that, she doubted they had anything in common. She returned her attention to the window and the passing landscape, wishing she hadn’t been curious enough to ask his origin.

“What about you?” he asked. “Where are you from, Agnus?”

She lifted her head high and kept her gaze outward. “Baltimore.”

“Oh, so you’re from the South, too.” He let out another one of his obnoxious chortles. “Though that often comes up for debate. Some folks don’t like to think of people from Maryland as bein’ Southerners. Lotsa folks from there don’t often show Southern hospitality.”

She whipped around in the seat and faced him directly. “Excuse me?”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sure you’re not one of those kinds of people.” He flashed a sheepish grin.

“You’re quite outspoken, sir.” She pursed her lips. “I always do my best to be kind. I let you sit here, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” He stroked his gray beard. “Maybe we should start over.” His head moved from side to side, and he peered around them. “I suppose I’m just excited to be here, and I do tend to be outspoken—sometimes unfiltered. I was told us old folks can get away with that—comes with our age.” He elbowed her in the ribs.

“Well, I never—”

“I did it again, didn’t I?” He rubbed his hands up and down his pantlegs. “You seem like a nice lady, Agnus, and anyone who’d come on a trip to the Normandy beaches has to be patriotic. I admire that. My grandfather was one of the many men who stormed the beach back in forty-four and lived to tell ’bout it. I saved for months to be able to come on this tour.” His head slowly pivoted around, and he faced her again. “Did you know someone who fought in the war?”

“Not directly, no.” Her face warmed as she said the words.

“You’re turnin’ red.” He grinned and pointed at her cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just fine that you’re goin’ there to pay your respects.” He eyed her skirt. “You seem a mite overdressed, though. It can get windy on the beach, and you don’t want your dress blowin’ up to your ears. That would be quite the sight.” He jiggled his brows.

“Good heavens.” She scowled at the man. “You shouldn’t even be thinking such thoughts. I’ll have you know, I don’t appreciate your flirtatious remarks.”

“Oh. I’m not flirtin’. Just yackin’. I didn’t come here lookin’ for a woman. You’re too old for me, anyways.”

“Too old?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m seventy-one, and I have plenty of life left in me. I came to Paris to enjoy the fine art, music, architecture, and French cuisine. I did not come to be tormented by a Kentucky redneck.”

“Redneck?” Graham heartily laughed. “I haven’t been called that in a dog’s age. So… you didn’t come here specifically to see the Normandy beaches like I did? I suppose I should’ve thought—seein’ the way you’re dressed and all—that you might have gotten on the wrong bus. It’s sad…” He frowned and shook his head.

“Sad? What’s sad about the way I’m dressed?”

“It’s not that. It’s just sad that you don’t seem to appreciate what we’re about to see.” His shoulders slumped, and for the first time since he crept up on her, he looked utterly despondent.

“We’re going to see beaches,” she said, straight-faced. “Sand and water.”

“You’re wrong.” He looked her in the eyes. “We’re gonna see history. We’ll walk where soldiers bled and died, fightin’ for our right to be free. Just think what would’ve happened if our country and our allies failed?” He pointed at her. “You wouldn’t have all them fine clothes, ma’am. Heck—we wouldn’t even be on this bus. We might not even exist. Our world was saved on the beaches of Normandy.”

His words resonated in her mind. She swallowed hard. Her insides quivered, and a cold chill cascaded down her back. Sometimes she hated herself for being so judgmental. “My heavens, Graham,” she whispered. “I never thought of it that way before.”

“Well, Miss Agnus, sometimes it just takes someone else to turn on that lightbulb in your mind.” He searched her face as if looking for admonishment, but she found herself speechless.

“Ma’am,” he went on, still watching her. “I’d be proud to have you at my side to walk them beaches together. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?”

“You want me to—even after the horrid things I said?”

He smiled—a genuine soft one. “You weren’t horrid. We’re just gettin’ acquainted, that’s all. I reckon we can learn a lot from each other.”

She smiled back at him. “I reckon you’re right.”

He grinned and chuckled. This time, she didn’t find it one bit disturbing.

She thought back to her grandson’s final words before she left on the plane for Paris. Don’t be afraid to experience new things, Grandma.

Little did she know that the new thing she would experience would be learning about the past—and from a Southerner nonetheless.

She softly chuckled—something that felt much better than complaining.