Post by Absinthe on Jul 21, 2005 20:30:09 GMT -6
I was listening to The Beatles the other day and I came upon the song "In My Life" (some of the lyrics preceed the story). Anyway, I had the urge to write after listening to that song, so I sat down with a pen and a pad of paper. This is what came out of it. . .
Two Young Souls
“There are places I remember, all my life.
While some have changed,
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain.
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living.
In my life, I’ve loved them all”
“In My Life” – The Beatles
It had been years since she’d last been in this town. The smell of country living wafted in through the open car window. The familiar scents of horse barns, cow manure, fresh cut grass, and campfires tickled her senses. Perhaps the air still carried these smells or maybe it was simple nostalgia on her part. Either way, the old riding clubs and dairy farms have given way to movie theaters and factories. The soft-spoken neighbors tolling away in the garden and roasting marshmallows in the backyard had been replaced by tenements and more asphalt than nature. The small town where she thrived as a small child had become a concrete gateway to industrialization.
As she drove through the place that had become utterly foreign to her, she prayed that the glen, at least, had remained unchanged. The visions of that once sacred place sustained her through a city she did not know. She hoped that the old oak tree had been left unmarred by technology’s hands. She had spent many a lifetime beneath that tree or among its branches. It was the school where she learned about friendship, love, and loss.
She smiled as she remembered meeting her best friend at the age of six years old in that home away from home. He had been a porcelain angel that dropped from the sky – quite literally. She had escaped to her sanctuary, where her father’s drunken tirade could not reach her, when a carrot-topped, freckle-faced, wide-eyed little boy had been unceremoniously dumped at her feet by a dying branch. A moment of laughter and a bold handshake later, a friendship like no other was forged. Two years later met the pair declaring undying love. The boy, who remained all arms and legs, carved a testament to their eternal adoration in the form of initials enclosed by a heart and a promise to be married someday. The girl smiled and blushed daintily, all pure intentions and hopes for a better future.
Six years after that found a pair of downtrodden teenagers, huddled beneath the protective cover of their tree, seeking refuge from rain and more devilish things. The girl’s angelic face was wet with tears, a purple-blue token of disobeying her father prominent bellow a swollen left eye. Droplets of blood from a split lip mingled with rain and tears, dropping onto his strong arms, left rivulets of crimson. Holding her trembling form tightly to his chest, he promised to always protect her. His heart, racing in fear and anger, beat out a soothing rhythm, effectively melting away her pain. Moments later, tentative lips met quivering ones in a kiss so tender as to not disturb her freshly cut lip.
Another three years brought these two souls entangled in a sea of limbs held tightly with promises of safety, love, and a life far from childhood and the crimes of the father. The boy and the girl clung to each other desperately, completely unaware of the tragedy that would leave her broken three days later. News of an accident tore her world apart and only after a heart-wrenching funeral could she bare to return to where it began to cry the tears reserved only for him . . .
The young woman in the car was no longer the beaten, love-struck little girl, though the boy in her memories would always be a source of comfort. This is why, when she pulled aside where the glen was meant to be, a hollowing pit of disappointment welled up within her. The vast expanse of grass littered with trees was gone, a concrete parking lot in its place. The old oak tree, which held every happy moment of her past, had been chopped down in favor of a seedy pub and an adult bookstore. She stared in disbelief at the atrocities that had replaced everything she once held dear. Slamming her fist upon the steering column with a curse, she struggled to choke back a sob.
“Mummy, what’s the matter?” The small voice from the seat beside her startled her out of her sudden despair.
“It’s gone. Everything is gone,” she whispered more to herself than anything. A small laugh sounded from the passenger seat. She looked over in alarm, immediately calming at the child’s words.
“You always tell me that as long as something is in your heart and in your memories, it is never gone,” the little carrot-topped, freckle-faced boy spoke. He was all arms and legs. “Remember? You said that Daddy used to say that all the time. As long as you don’t forget, it is never gone.”
A small smile played upon her features as she started the car and began to drive away from the place that had changed so much. She realized in that moment that what sat in the seat beside her was a far better reminder of the boy she loved than an old oak tree.
Many years later, as the son prepared to bury the mother, the mortician pointed out an interesting tattoo on the woman’s shoulder – an old tree with the initials of two young souls joined in one heart carved into its bark to remain entwined for an eternity . . .
Two Young Souls
“There are places I remember, all my life.
While some have changed,
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain.
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living.
In my life, I’ve loved them all”
“In My Life” – The Beatles
It had been years since she’d last been in this town. The smell of country living wafted in through the open car window. The familiar scents of horse barns, cow manure, fresh cut grass, and campfires tickled her senses. Perhaps the air still carried these smells or maybe it was simple nostalgia on her part. Either way, the old riding clubs and dairy farms have given way to movie theaters and factories. The soft-spoken neighbors tolling away in the garden and roasting marshmallows in the backyard had been replaced by tenements and more asphalt than nature. The small town where she thrived as a small child had become a concrete gateway to industrialization.
As she drove through the place that had become utterly foreign to her, she prayed that the glen, at least, had remained unchanged. The visions of that once sacred place sustained her through a city she did not know. She hoped that the old oak tree had been left unmarred by technology’s hands. She had spent many a lifetime beneath that tree or among its branches. It was the school where she learned about friendship, love, and loss.
She smiled as she remembered meeting her best friend at the age of six years old in that home away from home. He had been a porcelain angel that dropped from the sky – quite literally. She had escaped to her sanctuary, where her father’s drunken tirade could not reach her, when a carrot-topped, freckle-faced, wide-eyed little boy had been unceremoniously dumped at her feet by a dying branch. A moment of laughter and a bold handshake later, a friendship like no other was forged. Two years later met the pair declaring undying love. The boy, who remained all arms and legs, carved a testament to their eternal adoration in the form of initials enclosed by a heart and a promise to be married someday. The girl smiled and blushed daintily, all pure intentions and hopes for a better future.
Six years after that found a pair of downtrodden teenagers, huddled beneath the protective cover of their tree, seeking refuge from rain and more devilish things. The girl’s angelic face was wet with tears, a purple-blue token of disobeying her father prominent bellow a swollen left eye. Droplets of blood from a split lip mingled with rain and tears, dropping onto his strong arms, left rivulets of crimson. Holding her trembling form tightly to his chest, he promised to always protect her. His heart, racing in fear and anger, beat out a soothing rhythm, effectively melting away her pain. Moments later, tentative lips met quivering ones in a kiss so tender as to not disturb her freshly cut lip.
Another three years brought these two souls entangled in a sea of limbs held tightly with promises of safety, love, and a life far from childhood and the crimes of the father. The boy and the girl clung to each other desperately, completely unaware of the tragedy that would leave her broken three days later. News of an accident tore her world apart and only after a heart-wrenching funeral could she bare to return to where it began to cry the tears reserved only for him . . .
The young woman in the car was no longer the beaten, love-struck little girl, though the boy in her memories would always be a source of comfort. This is why, when she pulled aside where the glen was meant to be, a hollowing pit of disappointment welled up within her. The vast expanse of grass littered with trees was gone, a concrete parking lot in its place. The old oak tree, which held every happy moment of her past, had been chopped down in favor of a seedy pub and an adult bookstore. She stared in disbelief at the atrocities that had replaced everything she once held dear. Slamming her fist upon the steering column with a curse, she struggled to choke back a sob.
“Mummy, what’s the matter?” The small voice from the seat beside her startled her out of her sudden despair.
“It’s gone. Everything is gone,” she whispered more to herself than anything. A small laugh sounded from the passenger seat. She looked over in alarm, immediately calming at the child’s words.
“You always tell me that as long as something is in your heart and in your memories, it is never gone,” the little carrot-topped, freckle-faced boy spoke. He was all arms and legs. “Remember? You said that Daddy used to say that all the time. As long as you don’t forget, it is never gone.”
A small smile played upon her features as she started the car and began to drive away from the place that had changed so much. She realized in that moment that what sat in the seat beside her was a far better reminder of the boy she loved than an old oak tree.
Many years later, as the son prepared to bury the mother, the mortician pointed out an interesting tattoo on the woman’s shoulder – an old tree with the initials of two young souls joined in one heart carved into its bark to remain entwined for an eternity . . .
other than that I loved it... wait didnt i say that already? well i do... its a good story!
