My Dear, Please

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
What happens when an orhpan recieves an old diary and is requested to do something every week.

Submitted: May 04, 2015

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Submitted: May 04, 2015

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Past

“Memories of the night”

When I was little girl I dreamt that I was flying,

Gone through the wind

Flash by the trees,

Feeling my hair ruffled by the breeze.

All the faces saw me pass

Some looked up with smiles

 Some so sad

Their eyes were cast down to the grass,

As they though back to the life they thought they´d had

they all accepted who I was

What they thought not,

Or did not see

Was that the one moving was not me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Bracelet

“How come you still wear that? It´s for babies.”

“How very old-fashioned of you.”

These comments had started in fifth year, when the girls started discovering the joys of makeup and skirts and the bys started to take notice.

I knew my golden bracelet was outdated. It was old and it did not quite shine as it once had, I guessed. Still, I never took it off It was a reminder of a life I´d never known. As if I could imagine my parents and they would come to life before my eyes.

It had been passed down to the eldest of every generation, and as the oldest daughter of my mom, who had been the oldest herself, it had come to rest on my left hand the day she died.

I had been four and did not remember all that well a life with my parents. Sometimes flashes of something came to my mind, and the dissolved as I reached for them. Some were clearer than others; I could recall with some semblance of clarity the day my little sister had been born.

I looked down at my left wrist and jiggled it a little bit. It had a delicate golden chain with an intricate braided design. On the very center of it was a pendant. It was suspended by one end of the chain on each side. It had a lemniscate engraved on top. What nobody in school knew was that it could be opened, and inside was a watch face with delicate golden hands that slowly circled around. On the inside cover was a miniature photo of my family that had been taken that day.

When they finally let us into the hospital room all my family crowded around the bed. The little rascal that I was could not really see anything past beige pant legs and jeans. If I really craned my neck I could see a sliver of my mom´s honey colored hair.

I pulled on their pants but no one really paid me attention. Finally my grandfather grabbed me under my armpits and brought me over to his chest. I looked towards my right and saw my little sister for the first time.

My mom had been lying down on the hospital bed with green tubes passing in front of her nose, dressed in a white hospital gown, and in her arms was a baby, a very small and red-faced baby. Asleep. Not really beautiful, most babies resemble a bald rat at that age really, minus the whiskers of course, but she already had earned a place in my little (only in size, mind you) heart.

The watch had been a permanent fixture in my attire since it had been in my possession, and my grandfather had taught me how to wind it up every night. Its

  1. Lemniscate

When I was in sixth grade, I thought that I would die. I was not ill, nor in danger. But I remember feeling suddenly afraid, afraid that a shadow would come in the night and gently take me into its smoke arms. Knowledge comes with a price, and I thought I knew too much.

It may also have had something to do with the fact that I had watched Indiana Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on my twelfth birthday and had never quite recovered from the trauma of seeing a head explode from too much information.

Some hours earlier in school we´d been discussing space. Before, us kids would have began to snore long before we reached any topic of significance but this time we grabbed each other´s hands and took a collective step into the abyss of philosophical questions. We found out later there is no easy way out of it, although people do find ways of getting distracted of what really matters in life.

Our teacher saw us so involved in the conversation that he urged us to move the tables to the sides of the classroom and sit on the carpet, so we could have a more open discussion without the distraction of moving chairs and not looking directly at each others´ eyes.

After a while our next teacher came but he too sacrificed his class for the good of the conversation and joined us on the floor. We kept talking until it was time to go home.

While we were on the topic of space the term of infinity came up, and I scrawled a little ball point figure on the soft part between my thumb and index finger. The lemniscate stared up at me, and for the life of me I could not get my head around it.

I did not get the fact that something could be infinite, it was just not an idea I could wrap my head around. That something could just keep going, on and on and never end. At the same time, I could not understand how it could. End, I mean. I kept imagining the universe like an onion, but instead of peeling the layers new ones were added. One layer was our Solar System, the next one was the Milky Way, then our galaxy system, then something even bigger until… until nothing and everything. It continues forever, each time with a bigger and more complex component. How could something have no end? I looked around, everything had a contour and a limit, but at the same time I and the table in front of me were surrounded by air, and what was the difference between me and air? Solidity perhaps, but in the end we both were particles, atoms. Understandably, I began to experience a killer headache by then.

When I got home I still couldn´t let go of it. I felt in a rush of understanding, like all the information in the world would be revealed to me if only I kept going. So I did. I began to think about life, and how we grow old. A year later the same teacher that had given his class away would ask us to define life, and to has one of the most grueling and nerve wracking things I ever had to do.

One thing led to another and I was now thinking about time (yes, time). I thought about looking for the definition on a dictionary but I did not think they would convey what I wanted time to define. Definitions can often appear to me as clinical, and cold. They do not express emotions, or connotations. So yes, even though I knew I was young and naïve in the ways of the world I thought I would make my own definition. One that would hold true to everything I thought time to be.

time (noun). It is…

It was then when I realized I could tell how time was measured, but not what it was. After a few minutes of spiritual retreat into my own experiences I emerged with something like this.

time (noun). It is the way we differentiate one moment from the next or the one before. It can be measured in seconds, or months, or any other quantitative attribute, or it can be measured in moments.

In that moment the definition rang true and I knew that it was true, it was everything that time meant to me at that moment. Time was how I knew I was still not in school or in the car or anywhere else but in that single moment and place in my existence.

I remembered a quote I´d read on one of those inspirational posters in school.

 “If you want to know the value of one year, just ask a student who failed a course. 
If you want to know the value of one month, ask a mother who gave birth to a premature baby. 
If you want to know the value of one hour, ask the lovers waiting to meet. 
If you want to know the value of one minute, ask the person who just missed the bus. 
If you want to know the value of one second, ask the person who just escaped death in a car accident. 
And if you want to know the value of one-hundredth of a second, ask the athlete who won a silver medal in the Olympics.” ? Marc Levy

Time means something different to every one of us, and even our definition changes as the leaves fall. It is something I´ve learned recently. If you want to put something into perspective, talk about time, and what is time doing in our lives but being borrowed from death.

I thought the secrets of the universe were really being unfolded in front of my eyes. My first thought was that I should write a book, a book that contained all the newfound knowledge that had been gifted to me. The second one was that I should hurry and maybe then I could apply to the Guinness´ World Records as the youngest girl to ever write a philosophy book. Because really, what twelve year old doesn´t want to be in the Guiness Book of World Records? I mean, after not getting a Hogwarts letter the year before it was the second best thing that could happen to me.

Then I remembered certain glass skull, and the way a head popped when it expanded too much. My train of thought led me to believe it was my last day on earth, and that I would soundlessly drift off as everybody slept. I thought god, or whoever was in charge of the wheel up there was going to claim me, and stop me from living a long life alongside those whom I loved.

Yes, I knew I was being pathetic, but I was genuinely scared for my future.

I tried to think rationally, and then it hit me. I wasn´t going to die, I was a grain of sand in the beach of the world. All the things I´d “discovered” that day were insignificant to all the knowledge in the universe, and I was not about to be claimed by my maker just for over thinking about some matters. I went to bed with dried salt on my face, but a little less fearful.

  1. Key

When I found a golden key under my grandfather´s nightstand I thought nothing of it. I gave it to him and he smiled and put it a little drawer of my grandmother´s jewelry box. “Thank you, darling, someday you will understand what this is for.”

“But why not now, grandpa? What is it?”

“I promise someday, now why don´t you help your mom with dinner?”

“What does it open? Is it a secret passage? Is it a door to Narnia?”

“No, better. Someday you´ll know. When you´re older.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Come on , sweetie. What is that?”

“It is the most amazing promise in the world, and It cannot be broken for anything.”

“Okay then, pinky promise.”

“But grandpa, you have to put your pinky like this for it to work.”

“And then you ho help your mom?”

“Yes, grandpa.”

He smiled a bit. And we pacted.


© Copyright 2018 Nicole Stump. All rights reserved.

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