ALTERNATE TITLE: “for my darling, sam”

There was a heavy fog in the morning. The dew on the grass was still crystals. The rain smell lingered on the street, stuck to it like glue. I walked my way through the alleyway past the tiny woman sweeping the streets. Her every stoke of the broom scraping the ground. The trees swayed slightly. Dancing in the barely sunlit, cloudy sky. Overcast grey. My favorite backdrop for a day. It was just past five o’clock. The baker has been at work for hours now, neatly folding the croissants to create the beautiful pastries. I resisted the urge of stopping and smelling the fresh baked bread. I was invigorated with purpose. Rushing out of the alley to the quiet streets, a biker passed me on the opposite side of the road, staring at me and my bookbag. I wondered what compelled him to wake this early to bike. He wasn’t wearing any protective gear. He clearly wasn’t biking to get any where. I was bursting at the seams. My bag was held together by re-stitched threads and prayer. It had been years, but I hadn’t felt the need to replace the bag. It held some sort of sentimental value, I believe. I hoped. I was carrying something important, so I brushed past the thought.

When I got to the bottom of the hill in the middle of town, I stared up to the sky. The rain wasn’t forecast to linger this long. Yet, it looked like it may soon pour cats and dogs. I could not lose my thoughts. I went up to the gate to the park on the hill. There was a guard sitting in his post, sipping on coffee from the 24 hour shop two blocks away. His sunken eyes and dark circles stared at me as I spoke.

“Can I enter the park?” I asked with bated breath.

“The park opens at sunrise. I don’t see any sun.” He slowly allowed to crawl out of his mouth.

“By the looks of it, you haven’t seen the sun in years.” I snipped.

He chuckled.

“Does that mean I can go in?” I was more assertive.

“What do you need to do? Why are you here?” He asked back, a bit more joy lined his voice.

“I am giving an offering to the tree.” I pulled up my bag to show him the outside. He couldn’t see inside.

“Tell you what. I’ll open the gate for you. But be aware of the groundskeeper, okay?” He talked to me like I was an eight year old girl.

“I’ll be wary of him.”

His massive frame rose out of his chair as he stumbled to the gate. His keys rattled against his pudgy ass as he took steps. His feet looked to be a size six mens, yet his body was somewhere between a hippo and an elephant. How could feet that small support such weight? He patted me on the top of my charcoal beanie as I entered the park. It was like a bear pawed me before striking. He closed the gate behind me as I walked up the massive hill to see the tree. The grass on the hill was wet from the rain. My boots squelched with each step. I kept my gaze fixated at the tree on the top of the hill. The sun wanted to pop up from the horizon. But it was muddled. As I climbed, I rose above the fog at the base of the hill. It made climbing a bit more reminiscent of better times. Of childhood.

I made distinct steps in the grass. I know that the groundskeeper would get upset. But I couldn’t help it. There was not path way that led directly to the top of the hill. I kept brushing past the thoughts of it all. I needed to make it to the top. As I approached, I could hear the sound of a scythe brush the grass back and forth. I thought he must be at the top of the hill. I wondered if I could avoid him. I stopped in my tracks as I saw in front of me, a lone little frog. The grass at this level had already been cut. So he had no other place to hide. He turned to me and looked up. I felt a wave of anxiety and pressure. It gripped me. The frog continued to stare at me. I didn’t know frogs made habitat in this park. The frog turned eastward and jumped away out of my line of vision. The wave of anxiety didn’t stop. I looked east to find him, and instead of him, I could see the purple break of the sun. It was barely peaking over the thick cloud of fog at the base of town.

I turned back to my purpose. I got closer to the hill and the sounds of the scythe changed to the distinct sound of trash bags. From my memory, he also had to trim the tree at the top. But I never knew if he did that before or after cutting the grass. I guess I will know soon enough. The sun illuminated my steps, the grey sky was starting to clear up. It must have been somewhere near six o’clock. I had been walking for so long, the journey kept creeping me back closer and closer to the base of the hill. Back to the gate. But I needed to push forward.

The sounds of the bags stopped. I stared back at him. He was more shadow than man, even with the sun barely making its presence felt. His frame was thinner than the top of a table. Slender and scant, like he had barely eaten all of his life. He squinted at me. I am sure he was trying to make heads or tails at my appearance. Wondering if I snuck into the park, or was let in. Maybe asking if the park was opened now. He turned his head at me. I stared blankly.

“I wanted to talk to the tree.” I managed to sputter out.

“Talk.” He managed to spit back at me.

“Yes. Maybe make an offering?” I meekly let out of the side of my mouth.

He dropped the bag he was holding full of fresh clippings. He strode toward me. He had long feet adorned with leather shoes. He towered over me, like he was taller than the tree. He raised his brow over me.

I reached into my bookbag and pulled out a sandwich I was planning on eating on the hill. Egg salad from mother. He looked at it, I could hear his stomach growling.

“Eat it. I’ll go to the baker after I’m finished.” I stared at the floor.

He unwrapped the sandwich, took a long whiff, and took a bite. He chewed for a long while. Disintegrating the bite into less than grain. He took a massive swallow. I took a peak back up at him. He remained staring at me, with one bite taken out of the egg salad sandwich. He patted me on the top of my beanie as he turned around toward the bag he dropped earlier. I caught a glimpse of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth as he turned.

I let air out of my nostrils and opened my bookbag. I pulled out the manuscript from the bottom of the bag. It was slightly tattered from my jostling through town. I tried to re-arrange the script to be closer to book form. I took note of all of pages, delicately flipping them and restoring to as close as library quality as possible. The wind was calming. I finally re-arranged the book, but was missing the cover page. I reached into my bookbag and found it folded at the bottom. Though folded, it wasn’t crumbled like some of the other pages. I unfolded the page and placed it gently on top of the crudely bound manuscript. It read “For my darling, Sam.”

I took the manuscript and placed at the base of the tree, next to the biggest root. I looked east at the rising sun. Now the sky held the distinctive colors of amber and red. The sun was more than halfway over the horizon. I sat next to the manuscript and smiled. I was meant to eat my egg salad here. But somehow this felt more nourishing. I sat still for just a moment, drinking in that view. I put my hand on the freshly cut grass, still feeling the mud underneath. I wondered if life would ever be like this again.

I sprung up from the ground. The park would be opening soon. I dug a slight hole and buried the book halfway down, peaking above the ground at the base of the tree, facing east. I looked down as I stood over the book. I turned back to the town, looking down at the gate as they opened. I then took a step down the hill.