All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Sun Kissed Dandelions
The window fogs up with my breath as I gaze out at the rolling fields of sun kissed dandelions. I draw little hearts with my finger like a kid all over the foggy window, my thoughts on you. Aren’t they always? I recite the words you said that day in my head over and over.
‘I don’t think this is going to work, Mae.’ Why not?
‘It’s not you it’s me. I need to figure out what I want from life.’ You don’t want me?
‘You’re so amazing, you’ll find someone so much better than me.’ There is no one better than you.
‘I envy the man who gets you.’ That could have been you.
‘I hope we can still be friends?’ Why? What’s the point?
And what did I say? I said nothing. I let you ramble on, spurting out every ‘let a girl down easy’ quote there is, until finally I plastered a fake smile on my face and said I felt the same way. We parted on good terms, or so you thought. Maybe you realized later when I stopped returning your calls and text messages. And that’s how I ended up here, on a train to nowhere.
Subconsciously, I twirl the charm bracelet you gave me for my birthday around and around my wrist. You told me you loved me. You told me I was the best thing that ever happened to you. So why did you leave me? Did someone better come along? Did you ever really love me? Was I such a fool?
Suddenly nauseous, I stumble my way through the aisle of seats filled with men in suits and exhausted women with screaming babies, towards the tiny bathroom. I turn on the tap, letting the running water soothe me. I stare at the girl with the messy hair and dark circles beneath her eyes in the grimy mirror. I try to fix myself up, but it seems that since you left no matter what I do I always look like I haven’t showered in weeks.
I remember the day we met with perfect clarity. I was watching my little brother’s football team train from the worn out stands. I was the only one watching until you showed up. You were wearing your favourite blue shirt, the one that makes your eyes look so bright that I’m afraid I might fall right into them. You were polite. You were charming. I fell for you right then and there. Your brother was friends with my brother; I thought it was destiny. I guess I was wrong.
I take out my black felt-tip, which is forever in the back pocket of my jeans, and leave a message on the mirror. I’ve lost count how many messages I’ve scattered around the place. Messages on bathroom doors and walls, quotes carved into trees and old receipts buried in the dirt with a sentence or two scribbled down. With a sigh I step out of the bathroom just as the train is pulling up at it’s final stop.
I jump down onto the platform and swivel around to take in my surroundings. Small town, with a few shops and…I sniff loudly raising a few eyebrows of people walking by, but I don’t care because I’ve caught the tangible whiff of salty sea air. I follow the scent of sea salt and the crashing sound of the waves. When I find the beach, I take a seat in the sand trying to erase you from my mind by leaving messages in the sand and penned into the stones.
I found the first one on the side of a coffee cup left on a café table. After that I found them everywhere, maybe because I was always looking out for them or maybe because it was meant to be, who knows? At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but I slowly realized that it was the same girl writing these lost messages everywhere.
I collect them. I copy down the ones written on walls and gather the scraps of paper hidden all over the city. I keep them in a box under my bed. I know I haven’t found all of them and I doubt I ever will; some are just lost to the world. Most are encouraging messages for whoever reads them like ‘The clouds may cover the sky, but remember the sky is always there.’ But lately the messages are sadder as if she’s given up hope; all about some guy, I think.
I want to find her and comfort her, tell her to start writing because I doubt she has any idea how her words affect me and must affect so many others. I want to discover the girl behind the messages, but how can I do that? For now all I have are these notes that I read before I go to sleep and as soon as I wake up in the morning.
Today I’m taking the train to visit my granny. She lives in an old folks home about an hour away. Last time I visited I told her about the messages, not that I’m expecting her to remember my last visit, most times she doesn’t even remember who I am. Still, it’s nice all the same. I read to her and sometimes, for the briefest of moments, her hazy eyes seem to clear a little and she smiles at me with pride I never see from my strict, easily disappointed parents. And sometimes she says simply, ‘You’re my favourite grandson, Shane.’ I tell her she shouldn’t say that but she just drifts off back into her confused state, but I’m left with a warm feeling that travels throughout my body and lasts for the whole day.
I lean back in my chair and just listen to the general noise of the bustling train. Someone says something from behind me that sparks my interest.
“…Yeah, Don, I’m telling you it was written on the mirror in big black letters. People these days. How am I supposed to see my reflection if there’s words covering the mirror?” The woman continues talking, but I’m already up and out of my seat heading towards the bathroom. It could just be graffiti I remind myself, don’t get your hopes up Shane. But I can’t help it.
I burst into the bathroom and quickly lock the door. I glance at the mirror and know it’s her; I’ve started to recognize her handwriting now. The sadness seeps from every word and I feel like crying. I feel like weeping until there are no tears left in me. I pull out my notebook from my bag and jot it down quickly before heading back to my seat.
I’m falling apart without you… Why did you leave me? The clouds won’t part anymore; I’m surrounded by darkness…
After I get off the train, I walk in a sort of trance. Distracted, I just walk forward. Somehow I find myself on the beach about a kilometre away from my granny’s home. I’m not the only one there. A few solitary figures are scattered across the sand, gazing out at the turbulent, blue sea.
Picking up a few rocks, I try focus my thoughts on skimming stones. I find a really nice flat one buried slightly in the sand and when I turn it around I find a message. She’s everywhere and nowhere, I think. The message is short.
Please find me, I’m lost without you.
I know it isn’t directed towards me, but it feels like it is. Suddenly with a purpose I drop to the ground and start turning over all the stones and rocks I can find. For some reason I feel if I find enough of them, I’ll find her.
I hear the crunch, crunch of footsteps on the sand behind me and…
“Looking for these?” I ask the boy who found my message and was now hunting to find more. He slowly turns around and I hold open my hands showing him the handful of rocks I’d gathered and was in the process of scattering across the beach. He stares at me dumbfounded and I can’t help but like his big chocolate brown eyes, so different from yours.
“I…” he shakes his head and then his face lights up in a grin that makes me want to smile too, “You’re the girl who writes the messages…I found you.” He searches in his bag for something and pulls out a small box, which he opens before directing me to look inside. Tentatively, I lean forward and I gasp slightly because inside are all of my messages. Well, not all of them, there are certainly more floating around out there, but a lot of them. I tilt my head up to look at him with disbelief etched into my face.
“I found you.” He whispers with a shy smile. And I feel a little less lost, as if I’ve found the missing piece to a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to complete.
“You found me.”