The sticky June heat rained down on the two of us, but we didn’t mind. No, the humidity didn’t bother us either. No, only this game was bothering me. Not her, but me. She loved the game, for she was winning. The running, the chasing, the hiding, it all seemed endless. The day raged on, the sun never moving toward the west, the hour remaining forever at noon.

Her laugh somehow echoed without a surface for the sound to bounce off of. Ah, yes, that sweet, contagious, loud laugh was my only way to find her. But the orchard was so large, I knew there was no way I could locate her. I heard the shriek to my left, and when I ran that way, I heard it again behind me.

But I couldn’t be angry. I could never be angry, even if she were cheating in this game. There, there she was, in the clearing a few yards ahead of me. Now was my chance. However, when she heard my foot snap a twig, she sprinted off, like a prized deer that a skilled hunter still wouldn’t be able to strike down.

A dark green cutout followed her every movement, though even it struggled to keep up. Look, even her own shadow was failing in the sport. Her legs chugged on, never slowing down. Her curls bounced in joy, and no doubted-ly matched the emotion inside.

There are few things that I can recall about the girl to this day, but one thing still lingers in the back of my head with the comma rules from middle school, with the first twenty digits of pi: those spectacular eyes. I came close to grazing her shoulder at one point, but her slim frame slipped behind the trunk of the apple tree, though her face reflected mine in that small moment, but I took the perfect snapshot of that perfect face: pale, heart-shaped, lightly freckled. And the eyes. They were green and blue, but not turquoise. No, it would be a sin for the two hues to mix. They sat in those beautiful irises, like water and oil, one sitting on top of the other. Then, the face, too, disappeared, with her raven black hair bouncing after her.

The game would end soon, I told myself. She’d have to circle back through the clearing at some point, and I’d be here at the rim, ready to follow her off to another section of this endless orchard. I twisted a plump, red apple from one of the lower branches. But, when I went to chomp at the glistening surface of the fruit, I noticed that the skin of the apple was changing: it darkened to a warm chocolate, and then shifted to a leafy green. A pale blue swirled in. The eyes. I couldn’t take a bite now; it would be like killing her.

Instead, I placed the apple in the center of the clearing, and waited. I watched that apple, wishing she would see it, and be drawn to it as I was drawn to her. But no, the endless day raged on, the shining sun finally taking its toll on my pale skin. Red splotches began to tattoo up and down my arms.

Then I heard the singing. It was a low, throaty sound, but beautiful all the same. The siren’s song flowed through the silent sky, and beckoned for me to follow, and I complied. However, no matter which way I turned, the music stayed at the same, low volume.

Why did she tease me so?

I reached another, smaller, clearing. This was where the singing raised in volume. I didn’t see her, standing with her hands on her hips, singing notes that an angel could never reach like she were popping a piece of gum into her mouth. No, I only saw multiples of myself. Not reflections, but actual multiples. Some were sitting on the ground, and the rest stood. One was swinging leisurely from a low-hanging branch on an apple tree to my right.

None of them advanced toward me

The singing stopped abruptly. I turned around to return to the clearing, but noticed a well further down the separation between the rows of trees. I fished into my pockets, and found a few coins with no real value. I nervously neared the well with the limestone base and bright red roof that matched the fruit around me. I took the penny from my right hand, and lightly dropped it into the well.

I wish for her.

But nothing changed, and I realized that a mere penny was too low in value for such a strong wish. I open my clenched fist, and counted the coins: a quarter, two dimes, a nickel, and a collection of pennies. I threw them all down with their companion, and shut my eyes tight. I wished, prayed, and hoped for that one word: Her.

When I open my eyes, it is no longer midday, but midnight. Strings of tiny exposed light bulbs weaved in-between branches and tree trunks, and antique lanterns hung from the thicker branches. I found my way back to the clearing, where the iris-apple still sits in the center, untouched. I went to pick it up, but when I glanced upward, I saw the mass collection of constellations and galaxies in the night sky. Purple clouds swirled and danced with the twinkling stars, creating an image straight out of a painting.

I decided to lay there with the apple in my hands, and gaze at the stars, and attempt to count the millions up there. And just as I lost count, a rare shooting star ran across the sky.

Her, I think to myself. Maybe with the wish in the ground and in the sky, it would finally come true. But she didn’t come. No, the girl never returned. And, as I began to recount the stars, I realized I wasn’t just counting those small lights, but the amount of tears I forbade from falling from my eyes. The eyes that could never be like hers.

1,000… 1,001… 1,002.

And as I write this, I realize my hope is gone. The girl of my dreams is just that: a girl of my dreams. She is not tangible, but a wish. Not from a well, or a falling star, but one that my heart made.

But I’ll never forget those dreams of apple orchards.