Stop/Go

Sometimes the germ of a story festers, lingers, nags in the back of my mind. I can try and write it, rewrite it, rewrite again, and it is still not quite right. 'Stop/Go' has had four or five different iterations, of which this is the most recent. The initial concept came from a dream, over a couple of decades ago. That dream manifested itself into a song which itself had a few versions (one here) Indeed, if you download that whole ep you'll get another version of the short story free: almost as if I'm remixing the story like I might a song.

Anyway, here you go: make of it what you will ...

 ↭Stop/Go↭

It’s all I have; this huge metal lollipop, one side red STOP, the other green GO. But you’ve done well for yourself, I see. It’s a fine car you have there. I presume it’s yours, anyway. You’ve certainly done better than me. From where I’m standing, at any rate. 

You were in my dream the other night, you know; it’s just coming back to me. Strange how that happens; triggers, a few days on, cosmic forces we don’t understand. Ma said we were made for each other. You were the prettiest in the class; clever too. That was fourteen years ago. Lives take different paths.

I can’t remember how it ended – the dream; we were back in school, and I woke up with that same uneasy feeling I had when we were 10 and Robert Sidebottom asked you out. He’s in and out of Strangeways these days. Troubled; that’s how Ma describes him. I’m at least one step ahead of him, anyway.

And now here we are, basking in the sun: you in your convertible, me in my bucket hat, both of us getting high on the fumes of freshly-boiled tarmac. I’m not entirely sure you recognise me. If you do, you’re not letting on. Why would you? My face is dirty, I haven’t shaved for a couple of days … I’ve grown since we last met: on the bus home from school, your Ma trying to get us to chat, me too shy. Maybe I should stick my pole in the sandbags and reintroduce myself? 

We’d have all the time in the world; I could keep the traffic here for hours. Kenny, round the corner, is waiting for me to turn my sign round. He can’t turn his until I give him the shout. If I tell him I’m turning but don’t, we’ll both be on STOP. Nobody would move. That would give me forever to talk to you. Do you think we might be friends again? I haven’t got much money – can’t afford any car, never mind one like yours – but I could make you laugh. Just like when we got told off during Miss Makinson’s story time. That’s got to be worth something? Maybe we could go on a date, get married, have kids, just like you said back in infants?

Now that car behind you is sounding his horn at me. That’s not a good move really, is it? Don’t irk the most powerful man in the world. One false move and I’ll shout to Kenny, we can both be on STOP, and then what? Gridlock: streets then villages, towns then cities, ports and airports … the world! All at the mercy of little me with my big metal lollipop. 

So what should I do? Let you go, or keep you waiting for my sign to turn to green. Maybe I should let the fates take charge? I might toss a coin? Heads for STOP, tails for GO. Ready? Three … two … one …

text and images copyright John Hartley 2026. All rights reserved.