May 28, 2008
By Angela Carlson, St. Charles, IL

There is a place I go to forget you. I go alone. As I walk, feet scuffing against the cracked pavement and water seeping through the holes in my shoes; my feet become chilled just like your heart. The ocean water laps against the destroyed rocks creating tiny pools for my legs to dance in. I drag my hand against the man made wall, stone scratching at my skin. Moving my hand up and down like a child, I begin collecting dirt beneath un-kept bitten fingernails. I approach a weathered wooden chair, legs burning from resisting the wind and also thoughts of you. Sitting momentarily relieves me. I allow my head to fall back, lightly pressing against the wall as water droplets pound my mind. Staring straight ahead, I let the salted air dance with my eyes. The ocean softly ripples telling me everything will be alright. Like the movement of water, my life will go on. “Why did he have to go?” I ask myself. “Why him? Why now?” My mouth stutters questions that have no answers. “If I could spend just one more day with you Grandpa, I would tell you that I love you. I love your flannel shirts. I love working with you in the workshop. I love pretending to eat Grandma’s meatloaf with you. I love you.” The chair creaks and squeaks when I rise. It begs me not to leave, but I have to begin the lonely journey back to no one.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!