Tim, Primavera, and the Forest
***This is an excerpt from a story that I am writing. It's told from the point of view of two characters and their diary entries. It's pretty self-explanitory. Hopefully this will continue to go in a positive direction...***
Hey.
Hi!
I’m Timothy. You can call me Tim.
And I’m Lauren. But you can call me Primavera.
…Primavera? What kind of name is that?
It’s my nickname.
But it doesn’t have to even do with your real name. Not to mention that it sounds completely silly…
And this is coming from the guy who likes to run around with a cape on calling himself “Tree Man, protector of the forest”.
You weren’t supposed to know about that.
You get my point. Anyway, Tim and I have decided to start a project of sorts. It’s what one would call a collaboration of thoughts. What we basically are going to do is pool both of our diaries together.
I write in a journal. Not in a diary.
It doesn’t matter. The point is that the reason why we’re doing this is usually when you read a story you only see one side of things.
“Primavera” decided that if we were going to tell our story, it had to be told from both
sides. And as you can tell, writing it together starting from scratch wouldn’t exactly work. Heck, we’ve already had one feud over our nicknames.
It’ll be much easier if we just put our diary entries down. That way it’s already written and there’s nothing to worry about.
Let’s begin, “Primavera”.
Good idea, “Tree Man”.
For the last time, drop the Tree Man thing.
You wish.
Moving on…where do we start?
It was October 26. I know that for sure.
Okay, so our story begins on October 26 and the days have begun to drag a chillthrough the paper thin air.
*cough* overdramatic *cough*
Shut up.
October 26
It is this day that I have realized that I don’t have a single friend in the world. I can’t really talk to anyone, and even though I don’t sit alone at a lunch table or anything like that, it’s always like I’m the girl who plays the role of Miss Invisible.
The thing that really made me realize just how alone I really am was when I decided to take a walk in the woods. My family’s house is right next to a huge forest. In the fall, it looks like God decided to pick up his paint brush and splatter every single massive tree with a shower of red and gold. It’s pretty breathtaking, and it sometimes seems like I am the only one who tends to notice that stuff anymore.
I didn’t used to be allowed to go in the woods because there were rumors that a bunch of hobos and homeless people lived there. As I got older though, my family decided that as long as I could pack a punch I should be fine. Besides, of all people to attack, I wouldn’t be one of them.
Before leaving, I grabbed my sketchbook, pencil, and a small case of watercolors. I stuffed them all into my backpack, threw it over my shoulders, and headed out. One thing I didn’t bring was my phone. It wasn’t because I forgot—just the opposite.
Even if it was midnight and I was still wandering those woods, no one would bother to call me. No one would care. I know this from personal experience. I got lost in the woods one day, and I tried calling everyone. No one picked up. At about 9:00 at night, still no one had bothered to call me back.
When I finally found my way home, I found Mom and Dad sitting at the couch watching TV. They decided that I had faked the frantic voicemails I sent to them as some sort of “teenage prank” and decided that they weren’t going to fall for it. Even though I had never done anything like that before, they still didn’t believe me.
There’s nothing worse than coming home to your parents paying more attention to some stupid electronic than you. I went in my room and cried for awhile, but then stopped. It’s every 13 year old’s dream to have parents who couldn’t care less whether they were out partying or whatever…right? It was after that incident that I realized that I was more alone than I thought I had been.
Today was the first time I had been in the woods since that incident. I didn’t bother to leave a note or anything. As long as they didn’t care, I didn’t care. Hey, what do they say? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That expression doesn’t really make all that much sense if it’s applied to me,
though.
I’m the only person in my family who draws, loves the outdoors, and thinks there’s something to look forward to other than getting a paycheck from work. It’s like my parents are burnt out bulbs, and I haven’t even started shining yet.
I soon reached my favorite spot of the woods. It was a wide clearing surrounding by massive oaks. The branches from the ancient trees stretched over each other, forming a canopy of sorts. Only one spot of the blue afternoon sky was able to be seen amidst the clusters of green.
This was where I did the majority of my sketching. Everything looked different depending on what tree you were in, or even if you were in a tree at all. Once I climbed up all the way to the canopy, and drew from a bird’s eye view. It was pretty scary, but the end result was definitely worth
it.
After I sketch something, I use my watercolors to bring it to life. Sometimes I follow the colors, but other times I let my imagination slip in. Along with the usual fall portraits, there were watercolors that looked like things from a fantasy movie.
Today, I was sketching from one of the branches of the larger oaks in the clearing when I heard a movement. I didn’t think much of it, assuming it was a squirrel. Heck, I was in the middle of a forest! Of course there were going to be woodland creatures. I turned around, hoping to incorporate it into my sketch somehow.
What I saw was a pair of human eyes staring right back at me. I froze, realizing that those rumors of the hobos were actually true. The green eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter as I tried to keep myself balanced on the branch.
“Who…who…” I was finally able to squeak out. The eyes shifted forward, revealing shaggy hair and the face of a boy. I nearly fell off of the tree in relief. It was just a boy. Surely he couldn’t hurt me.
The face soon revealed a lean, lanky body as he swiftly leaped down from the tree that he was crouching on. With a tug of his green sweater, he raced off into the woods with one last swift glance, a tiny smile on his face as he swiped his mop of jet black hair to the side. I watched him go, mouth open. I now have only one question that I want answered.
Who was the boy with the green eyes?
October 26
If I were stuck up, I would say that I rule this forest. I am the only person who knows every single inch of it like the back of my hand. I know whichtrees are what species, and what direction the creek flows. It’s me that cleared up the rumors of the homeless people and tramps. People would laugh if they found out that it was only one 14 year old boy.
Of course, I know better. I know that the woods aren’t for one person. They’re for everyone and everything that cares about it, that girl included. I’ve been watching her for awhile now, ever since she’s started sketching the forest. When she got lost, I followed her the whole time to make sure she got home safely.
She’s like a breath of fresh air, with her bright lipsticks and cheery clothes. She should stick out like a sore thumb, but she fits in quite nicely. I usually don’t like it when other people are here, but for her I’ve made an exception. Even after all of these months, she’s never noticed me. Not until now.
I didn’t keep my usual distance today, and decided to sit in a tree a bit behind her. This way I could see all of her sketches. I never knew that someone could be such a great artist and interpret the forest in so many different ways. When I accidentally cracked a twig, though, she saw me.
“Who…who…” She squeaked, her baby blue eyes wide. I responded with a smile, shook my hair out of my face, and ran off. Though usually I stay in the forest a few hoursafter she left, I decided to go home. I needed to think about what just
happened.
I had a lot of explaining to do. It wasn’t every day that you turn around to find a guy watching you the way I was. I wanted to explain to her that I wasn’t a stalker or a crazy person. I’ll figure that part out later, I guess.
The minute I got home, I went straight to my room and flopped down on my bed. I wanted to think, but my parents were arguing so loudly that it took all of the energy to block them out. I grabbed my pencil and paper and slipped out of my window. Had either of them seen me, they wouldn’t have cared. It didn’t matter to me, though.
I only want one question answered, and I decided that by writing this maybe I could get some insight. I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but it’s always worth a shot. That’s what my English teacher, Mrs. Mel, says. She’s another bright spot in my days full of bullies and fights. Without the bright spots and the woods, I’d probably be long gone by now.
The question that keeps plaguing me is one that has to do with one of my bright spots. Will the girl ever come back after what happened today? I hope so. I’d love to once again see her smile as she uses her pencil to bring the woods to life in her own way…
Hey.
Hi!
I’m Timothy. You can call me Tim.
And I’m Lauren. But you can call me Primavera.
…Primavera? What kind of name is that?
It’s my nickname.
But it doesn’t have to even do with your real name. Not to mention that it sounds completely silly…
And this is coming from the guy who likes to run around with a cape on calling himself “Tree Man, protector of the forest”.
You weren’t supposed to know about that.
You get my point. Anyway, Tim and I have decided to start a project of sorts. It’s what one would call a collaboration of thoughts. What we basically are going to do is pool both of our diaries together.
I write in a journal. Not in a diary.
It doesn’t matter. The point is that the reason why we’re doing this is usually when you read a story you only see one side of things.
“Primavera” decided that if we were going to tell our story, it had to be told from both
sides. And as you can tell, writing it together starting from scratch wouldn’t exactly work. Heck, we’ve already had one feud over our nicknames.
It’ll be much easier if we just put our diary entries down. That way it’s already written and there’s nothing to worry about.
Let’s begin, “Primavera”.
Good idea, “Tree Man”.
For the last time, drop the Tree Man thing.
You wish.
Moving on…where do we start?
It was October 26. I know that for sure.
Okay, so our story begins on October 26 and the days have begun to drag a chillthrough the paper thin air.
*cough* overdramatic *cough*
Shut up.
October 26
It is this day that I have realized that I don’t have a single friend in the world. I can’t really talk to anyone, and even though I don’t sit alone at a lunch table or anything like that, it’s always like I’m the girl who plays the role of Miss Invisible.
The thing that really made me realize just how alone I really am was when I decided to take a walk in the woods. My family’s house is right next to a huge forest. In the fall, it looks like God decided to pick up his paint brush and splatter every single massive tree with a shower of red and gold. It’s pretty breathtaking, and it sometimes seems like I am the only one who tends to notice that stuff anymore.
I didn’t used to be allowed to go in the woods because there were rumors that a bunch of hobos and homeless people lived there. As I got older though, my family decided that as long as I could pack a punch I should be fine. Besides, of all people to attack, I wouldn’t be one of them.
Before leaving, I grabbed my sketchbook, pencil, and a small case of watercolors. I stuffed them all into my backpack, threw it over my shoulders, and headed out. One thing I didn’t bring was my phone. It wasn’t because I forgot—just the opposite.
Even if it was midnight and I was still wandering those woods, no one would bother to call me. No one would care. I know this from personal experience. I got lost in the woods one day, and I tried calling everyone. No one picked up. At about 9:00 at night, still no one had bothered to call me back.
When I finally found my way home, I found Mom and Dad sitting at the couch watching TV. They decided that I had faked the frantic voicemails I sent to them as some sort of “teenage prank” and decided that they weren’t going to fall for it. Even though I had never done anything like that before, they still didn’t believe me.
There’s nothing worse than coming home to your parents paying more attention to some stupid electronic than you. I went in my room and cried for awhile, but then stopped. It’s every 13 year old’s dream to have parents who couldn’t care less whether they were out partying or whatever…right? It was after that incident that I realized that I was more alone than I thought I had been.
Today was the first time I had been in the woods since that incident. I didn’t bother to leave a note or anything. As long as they didn’t care, I didn’t care. Hey, what do they say? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That expression doesn’t really make all that much sense if it’s applied to me,
though.
I’m the only person in my family who draws, loves the outdoors, and thinks there’s something to look forward to other than getting a paycheck from work. It’s like my parents are burnt out bulbs, and I haven’t even started shining yet.
I soon reached my favorite spot of the woods. It was a wide clearing surrounding by massive oaks. The branches from the ancient trees stretched over each other, forming a canopy of sorts. Only one spot of the blue afternoon sky was able to be seen amidst the clusters of green.
This was where I did the majority of my sketching. Everything looked different depending on what tree you were in, or even if you were in a tree at all. Once I climbed up all the way to the canopy, and drew from a bird’s eye view. It was pretty scary, but the end result was definitely worth
it.
After I sketch something, I use my watercolors to bring it to life. Sometimes I follow the colors, but other times I let my imagination slip in. Along with the usual fall portraits, there were watercolors that looked like things from a fantasy movie.
Today, I was sketching from one of the branches of the larger oaks in the clearing when I heard a movement. I didn’t think much of it, assuming it was a squirrel. Heck, I was in the middle of a forest! Of course there were going to be woodland creatures. I turned around, hoping to incorporate it into my sketch somehow.
What I saw was a pair of human eyes staring right back at me. I froze, realizing that those rumors of the hobos were actually true. The green eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter as I tried to keep myself balanced on the branch.
“Who…who…” I was finally able to squeak out. The eyes shifted forward, revealing shaggy hair and the face of a boy. I nearly fell off of the tree in relief. It was just a boy. Surely he couldn’t hurt me.
The face soon revealed a lean, lanky body as he swiftly leaped down from the tree that he was crouching on. With a tug of his green sweater, he raced off into the woods with one last swift glance, a tiny smile on his face as he swiped his mop of jet black hair to the side. I watched him go, mouth open. I now have only one question that I want answered.
Who was the boy with the green eyes?
October 26
If I were stuck up, I would say that I rule this forest. I am the only person who knows every single inch of it like the back of my hand. I know whichtrees are what species, and what direction the creek flows. It’s me that cleared up the rumors of the homeless people and tramps. People would laugh if they found out that it was only one 14 year old boy.
Of course, I know better. I know that the woods aren’t for one person. They’re for everyone and everything that cares about it, that girl included. I’ve been watching her for awhile now, ever since she’s started sketching the forest. When she got lost, I followed her the whole time to make sure she got home safely.
She’s like a breath of fresh air, with her bright lipsticks and cheery clothes. She should stick out like a sore thumb, but she fits in quite nicely. I usually don’t like it when other people are here, but for her I’ve made an exception. Even after all of these months, she’s never noticed me. Not until now.
I didn’t keep my usual distance today, and decided to sit in a tree a bit behind her. This way I could see all of her sketches. I never knew that someone could be such a great artist and interpret the forest in so many different ways. When I accidentally cracked a twig, though, she saw me.
“Who…who…” She squeaked, her baby blue eyes wide. I responded with a smile, shook my hair out of my face, and ran off. Though usually I stay in the forest a few hoursafter she left, I decided to go home. I needed to think about what just
happened.
I had a lot of explaining to do. It wasn’t every day that you turn around to find a guy watching you the way I was. I wanted to explain to her that I wasn’t a stalker or a crazy person. I’ll figure that part out later, I guess.
The minute I got home, I went straight to my room and flopped down on my bed. I wanted to think, but my parents were arguing so loudly that it took all of the energy to block them out. I grabbed my pencil and paper and slipped out of my window. Had either of them seen me, they wouldn’t have cared. It didn’t matter to me, though.
I only want one question answered, and I decided that by writing this maybe I could get some insight. I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but it’s always worth a shot. That’s what my English teacher, Mrs. Mel, says. She’s another bright spot in my days full of bullies and fights. Without the bright spots and the woods, I’d probably be long gone by now.
The question that keeps plaguing me is one that has to do with one of my bright spots. Will the girl ever come back after what happened today? I hope so. I’d love to once again see her smile as she uses her pencil to bring the woods to life in her own way…
Insignificant
I hate silence. Silence is like a cloak of darkness, and only sounds can bring back the light. Right now I am sitting in a massive cloud of silence. But I’m not alone. He shares it with me. This isn’t the kind of silence that I would like to participate in though. It’s cold, awkward. It’s the kind that makes me squirm in my seat, and it’s taking all of my willpower not to do so.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask. “What did I do wrong? I didn’t mean to do whatever I did, if I did anything. Did I do something? Did I-“
“You just don’t get it, do you?” His voice is like a cold breeze, so cold that it chills my heart. His eyes are like shards of ice. They are colorless, lifeless. “I couldn’t care less about you. Nobody does. If you died right now no one would shed a tear. They wouldn’t waste it on you.”
His words attack me like icicles sharpened with a knife. But the pain isn’t on the outside. It’s on the inside, in my soul. No one could care less about me. No one could care less about my useless life. If the world was a big machine, I would be like the spare part that didn’t need to be there.“But…someone has to care. I can’t be totally invisible to everyone. I’m not invisible to you. At least, I thought I wasn’t.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “It’s not that you’re invisible. You stand out too much. Nobody could help but notice you. You’re the bane of everyone’s existence. If you just blended in more, we probably wouldn’t have that conversation.” And with that he stands up and walks away. His hurried footsteps break the silence. Soon, the only thing left of him is the sound of his footsteps, and even those soon fade into nothingness.
“Am I so insignificant?” I wonder aloud. But my question is already answered before I ask it. Deep in my heart I know that I’m nothing to everyone. I am insignificant. Insignificant…the words flash in my mind like a neon sign. And something tells me that it’ll be flashing in my mind forever.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask. “What did I do wrong? I didn’t mean to do whatever I did, if I did anything. Did I do something? Did I-“
“You just don’t get it, do you?” His voice is like a cold breeze, so cold that it chills my heart. His eyes are like shards of ice. They are colorless, lifeless. “I couldn’t care less about you. Nobody does. If you died right now no one would shed a tear. They wouldn’t waste it on you.”
His words attack me like icicles sharpened with a knife. But the pain isn’t on the outside. It’s on the inside, in my soul. No one could care less about me. No one could care less about my useless life. If the world was a big machine, I would be like the spare part that didn’t need to be there.“But…someone has to care. I can’t be totally invisible to everyone. I’m not invisible to you. At least, I thought I wasn’t.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “It’s not that you’re invisible. You stand out too much. Nobody could help but notice you. You’re the bane of everyone’s existence. If you just blended in more, we probably wouldn’t have that conversation.” And with that he stands up and walks away. His hurried footsteps break the silence. Soon, the only thing left of him is the sound of his footsteps, and even those soon fade into nothingness.
“Am I so insignificant?” I wonder aloud. But my question is already answered before I ask it. Deep in my heart I know that I’m nothing to everyone. I am insignificant. Insignificant…the words flash in my mind like a neon sign. And something tells me that it’ll be flashing in my mind forever.
The Lost Letter
Alexandria,
Hey, it’s me, Chris. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m that guy you left all alone in Pennsylvania while you flew off to France. It’s not going off to live your life that I’m mad about. You could go to China for all I care. The thing that gets me really worked up is the fact that you just left a note on your bed explaining what was going on. In case you’ve forgotten what the note was, here it is.
Hey,
I’ve gone off to live my life in the beautiful country of France. I’m sick of it here and I need to move on. I really couldn’t care less if I never saw anyone again. This isn’t the place for me. I think at this point, we all know it will be better if I left. It for whatever reason you need to contact me
my new address is enclosed at the bottom.
Later,
Alexandria
PS: Chris, I’m so, so, sorry. Please don’t take this personally.
I can’t understand for my life why you couldn’t tell me personally that you were leaving. No, you decided to take the easy way out and just jot a few words at the bottom of the note for me. “Please don’t take this personally.” Well, how else am I supposed to take it? I was your best friend. Not only did you trust me, but I trusted you.
A friendship isn’t a one-way thing, you know. You can’t just take things these for granted. I know that you’ve never had a friend before you met me, but you should have known better. I’m not even sure if I can call you a friend after this. It’s the ultimate betrayal, Alexandria. Why did you do this, to me? What did I do to deserve this?
-Chris
...........
I woke up to a knock at my door. “What?” I asked sleepily, slowly pushing myself into a sitting position. I waited for a response, but received silence. Closing my eyes, I slid under the covers once more. Before I could even get comfortable, there was another knock. This time, I got up and marched straight to the door, throwing on a faded terrycloth robe.
Yanking the door open, I glanced down the hallway. Surprisingly, no one was there. Wondering if it was a dong and ditch, I nearly closed the door again. Before I could, though, I noticed something thin and white at my door step. To my surprise, it was a letter. I nearly laughed out loud. The apartment I lived in had a mail service that brought stuff to your door step. It was something that I was still getting used to.
I snatched up the letter, not bothering to see who it was from. I’ll make some coffee, I decided. Then
I’ll deal with it when I’m thinking more clearly. I closed the door behind me and headed into the kitchenette. After a brief struggle with the coffee
maker, I poured myself a mug of black coffee. I drank it straight, not bothering to add any sweetener. I grimaced at the taste, but forced it down. I was in a bit of a financial crisis right now, and didn’t bother to buy little things like sweetener anymore.
As I sipped, I reflected on my decisions to move to France. It had been rather last minute, and I didn’t even remember to say goodbye to Chris. I winced at the thought of that, hoping that he wasn’t too angry at me. The main reason for my departure was simply because I wanted out. I couldn’t take my rather isolated life in the town I lived in.
I wish I could’ve talked to Chris. Now it’s too late. I shoved the thought out of my mind and instead tried to look at the future. I was currently
painting and playing the violin as a living. The money wasn’t that good, but I was determined to be the best at what I did. Admittedly, it seemed pretty impossible. There were tens of millions of violinists and painters. I was one of many.
Something inside me told me not to give up, though. There was a raw ambition that burned inside of me all the time, and seemed to nearly consume me when I picked up the violin or the paint brush. Though my art was appreciated by many, it was my violin that truly gripped the few that would listen. I had seen people laugh, cry, and even dance to my music.
I had to keep going. I just had to. I had gone so far, and there was no way that I was turning back now. I stared once more at the envelope. My eyes
widened as I stared at the return address. “Chris?” I whispered as I set my coffee mug down. I snatched up the enveloped, practically tearing it in half as I desperately tried to get to the letter inside.
“Chris, Chris,” I repeated over and over as I read the letter. “Oh, God, Chris, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears started pouring down my cheeks as I clutched the letter to my chest. “I’m sorry I was so heartless.” I whispered. I sank down to the floor, whimpering. For awhile I just lay there with the letter, reading the words over and over again.
When I finally got up, I shoved the letter in my nightstand drawer. I took a deep breath as I tried to keep myself together. Chris was part of the
past. I had to keep going. If I answered this letter, everything that I had done would have been for nothing. Something in the back of my head told me that I was wrong, but I ignored it.
Half an hour later, I packed my violin and artist’s canvas, ready to try to earn some money on the streets of France. After a walk about a few blocks, I set my stuff down. Usually, people would throw money into a worn old hat at my feet as I played violin. If I got lucky, they would strike up a conversation with me about some of the art I would have on display. If it was a really good day, they would buy a piece or ask me to paint one for
them.
Today, though, I was completely out of it. I kept forgetting what song I was supposed to play on my violin, and I eventually stopped trying to play it
all. I set my violin back in its case and stared at the world going by. I closed my eyes as I tried not to cry. I’m more alone here than back home, I thought. Everyone hated me, but at least they knew my name. Plus, I had Chris.
That evening, I sat on the couch, clutching my violin like it was my lastpossession. Before knowing what I was doing, I began to play. I poured out all of my desperate loneliness into the song. The violin cried and wailed, echoing the pain of my heart. It was the most, beautiful, haunting sound that I had ever heard, and it had come from me.
Suddenly, I was struck with an idea. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, I started scribbling down the notes that I had just played. Soon, I had a
full-length composition. I played the song once more, and once more I was overcome by its lonely beauty. My eyes widened as I realized that this could be my lucky break. A million violinists could play a piece perfectly, but rarely could they play a piece of their own.
The next day, when I played my piece in the public, not only was my hat overflowing with cash, but a crowd had formed. People stopped what they were doing and just listened to my music. They didn’t say a word. I didn’t notice, though. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned it was just the violin and I. as I played the song of my heart, I felt another song echoing in my soul.
“Excuse me.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I stopped playing and glowered at the man who had just interrupted me. As I stared at his scruffy appearance, I realized that I had seen this man before. Suddenly, I realized that this man was Frank Cornelius, one of the top music producers in the world.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, nearly dropping my violin. “It’s you…oh my god…you, you, you…”I gave up on words, staring at the music legend. Surely this wasn’t real. There was no way that the song I had just played had caught the attention of this man. Thank you, Chris.
“That song…that was just…fantastic. It was simply fantastic. It is very rare that you hear such pure and raw emotion. We need more people like you in the music industry. I believe that your talent could sell out arenas. You would be known as the musical genius of the century! Oh, by the way, what’s the song called?"
This question threw me off. I didn’t really think of it having a name. I thought of how I had left Chris by boarding a plane that took me across the sea to France. I also thought about how he had lost me. “It’s called ‘Lost to the Sea’,” I replied.
“That is a simply perfect title! I’m Frank Cornelius, by the way. But you already knew that.” He smiled and stuck out his hand. I shook it, a wide smile slowly spreading across my face. This was my lucky break. I was truly on my way to stardom.
A week later, I had my bags packed and ready for the flight to Los Angeles, where the recording studio was located. I didn’t have much to pack. The only reason why I didn’t have one suitcase is that the other was full of sheet music. Along with‘Lost to the Sea’, I had written six other songs. I would show all of these songs to the company. If I liked it, Frank Cornelius would produce my first album.
“Gosh, it’s amazing how one’s luck can change.” I told no one in particular. I lifted up one suitcase in each hand and exited the door, kicking it shut. I trudged down the hall. Before I went down the stairs, I looked back once more. My eyes widened as I saw that another letter was left on my doorstep. I dropped my suitcases and picked up the letter. I checked my watch. I was going to be late to the airport if I didn’t hurry. I stuffed the letter in my pocket, grabbed my bags, and rushed down the stairs and out the door.
After waving down a beat up old cab and having a brief conversation with the driver, I pulled the letter out of my pocket and opened it. I winced as I realized that it was from Chris. Stupid me, I should have answered that last letter, I berated myself. I stared at it for a good while, toying with it. Finally, I tore open the envelope and grabbed the letter enclosed.
“
Madam?”The driver interrupted me. He had a thick French accent, and it made the words roll off his tongue in a beautiful manner. He almost seemed to speak poetry, contrary to his grubby appearance.
“Yes?”
“Are you ok? You seem a bit…ah…worried.”
“It’s nothing,” I lied, hastily throwing the letter aside.
“You know, I went through a breakup, too. Her name was Fleur. Ah, what a beautiful woman. She sang like the canary sings and danced like a ribbon in the wind. She was so graceful. Alas, I did not love her like I should have. It’s only now that I love her. But she is gone. She married to some rich archbishop who treats her like a queen.”
"I said,” I growled, cutting him off. “It is nothing.” With that, I snatched the letter and began to read it, trying to prove to him that I wasn’t as nervous as I seemed.
Alexandria,
You never seemed the type to ignore people who you cared about. In fact, you were anything but. Either I don’t know you as well as I thought I did or you don’t care about me. Well, guess what, Alexandria? Two can play this game. I am never going to talk to you again. You’ll have to make the first move. Only then will I consider responding.
Of course, you’re probably too busy stuffing your face with crepes or some other awful French pastry to even bother to reply. Or perhaps you have a bunch of guys at your feet. You’re pretty enough toattract a crowd, you know. Well, whatever you’re doing, you can do it knowing
that you’ve lost your best friend.
-Chris
I stared at the letter, tears filling up in my eyes. “It’s not like that, Chris.” I whispered, glaring at the cab driver when he raised his eyebrows knowingly. Throwing the letter aside, I pulled out a piece of paper and pen and began to write.
Chris,
First of all, I would like to apologize. I have been very busy lately, and have actually just met with producer Frank Cornelius dealing with my violin
and I am flying to Los Angeles to meet with the record company and see if I can get signed. This is going to be an amazing experience, but I will be quite busy so please do not be offended if I can’t respond to you right away.
Gosh, I sound so formal, don’t I? It’s almost as if I’m talking to a business partner other than a friend. You can call me Alex, you know. Just because I moved overseas doesn’t mean that we have to drop the nicknames we use for each other. I mean, think about how weird it would be if I called you Christopher. You don’t even call yourself Christopher. Alex is just fine.
Oh, Chris, I wish I could explain why I left. I don’t really know why I did, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you first. It was self-centered and
ignorant on my part. I don’t care about having any other friends than you. I don’t need any other friends but you. I hope you get this letter in good
health—oh, great, there I go being all formal again.
-Alex
I folded up the letter and kissed it for good luck. I wouldn’t blame Chris for being so angry. I mean, I did abandon him. I felt
terrible for it, and hoped that I could somehow win him back. I settled back in my seat, daydreaming about how Chris would react when he got the letter. I hoped that he would realize how much he meant to me.
The cab pulled up to the airport, and I thank the driver, tipping him well. For once, I wasn’t feeling much financial pressure. I knew that I was home free, and if things went the way Frank said they would, I might never have to worry about getting sweetener for my coffee again. I strode into the airport, letter in my hand.
After going through Customs, I bought an envelope at the gift shop. “I’ll mail it in Los Angeles,” I muttered to myself. Suddenly, I realized something. “Oh, crap!”I felt around desperately in my pockets, but I knew that I had left Chris’s envelope—with his address—in the cab. “Crap, crap, crap!” I sank down to the floor, trying not to cry.
“Flight 247 to Los Angeles, California is boarding now.” The speaker intoned. I twisted my head around to the gate, where a line was starting to
form. Holding back tears, I got out my boarding pass and waited to get on the plane. I’m so sorry, Chris. I sank down in my seat, my head between my knees. Before I could control myself, I began to cry.
I’m so sorry.
Hey, it’s me, Chris. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m that guy you left all alone in Pennsylvania while you flew off to France. It’s not going off to live your life that I’m mad about. You could go to China for all I care. The thing that gets me really worked up is the fact that you just left a note on your bed explaining what was going on. In case you’ve forgotten what the note was, here it is.
Hey,
I’ve gone off to live my life in the beautiful country of France. I’m sick of it here and I need to move on. I really couldn’t care less if I never saw anyone again. This isn’t the place for me. I think at this point, we all know it will be better if I left. It for whatever reason you need to contact me
my new address is enclosed at the bottom.
Later,
Alexandria
PS: Chris, I’m so, so, sorry. Please don’t take this personally.
I can’t understand for my life why you couldn’t tell me personally that you were leaving. No, you decided to take the easy way out and just jot a few words at the bottom of the note for me. “Please don’t take this personally.” Well, how else am I supposed to take it? I was your best friend. Not only did you trust me, but I trusted you.
A friendship isn’t a one-way thing, you know. You can’t just take things these for granted. I know that you’ve never had a friend before you met me, but you should have known better. I’m not even sure if I can call you a friend after this. It’s the ultimate betrayal, Alexandria. Why did you do this, to me? What did I do to deserve this?
-Chris
...........
I woke up to a knock at my door. “What?” I asked sleepily, slowly pushing myself into a sitting position. I waited for a response, but received silence. Closing my eyes, I slid under the covers once more. Before I could even get comfortable, there was another knock. This time, I got up and marched straight to the door, throwing on a faded terrycloth robe.
Yanking the door open, I glanced down the hallway. Surprisingly, no one was there. Wondering if it was a dong and ditch, I nearly closed the door again. Before I could, though, I noticed something thin and white at my door step. To my surprise, it was a letter. I nearly laughed out loud. The apartment I lived in had a mail service that brought stuff to your door step. It was something that I was still getting used to.
I snatched up the letter, not bothering to see who it was from. I’ll make some coffee, I decided. Then
I’ll deal with it when I’m thinking more clearly. I closed the door behind me and headed into the kitchenette. After a brief struggle with the coffee
maker, I poured myself a mug of black coffee. I drank it straight, not bothering to add any sweetener. I grimaced at the taste, but forced it down. I was in a bit of a financial crisis right now, and didn’t bother to buy little things like sweetener anymore.
As I sipped, I reflected on my decisions to move to France. It had been rather last minute, and I didn’t even remember to say goodbye to Chris. I winced at the thought of that, hoping that he wasn’t too angry at me. The main reason for my departure was simply because I wanted out. I couldn’t take my rather isolated life in the town I lived in.
I wish I could’ve talked to Chris. Now it’s too late. I shoved the thought out of my mind and instead tried to look at the future. I was currently
painting and playing the violin as a living. The money wasn’t that good, but I was determined to be the best at what I did. Admittedly, it seemed pretty impossible. There were tens of millions of violinists and painters. I was one of many.
Something inside me told me not to give up, though. There was a raw ambition that burned inside of me all the time, and seemed to nearly consume me when I picked up the violin or the paint brush. Though my art was appreciated by many, it was my violin that truly gripped the few that would listen. I had seen people laugh, cry, and even dance to my music.
I had to keep going. I just had to. I had gone so far, and there was no way that I was turning back now. I stared once more at the envelope. My eyes
widened as I stared at the return address. “Chris?” I whispered as I set my coffee mug down. I snatched up the enveloped, practically tearing it in half as I desperately tried to get to the letter inside.
“Chris, Chris,” I repeated over and over as I read the letter. “Oh, God, Chris, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears started pouring down my cheeks as I clutched the letter to my chest. “I’m sorry I was so heartless.” I whispered. I sank down to the floor, whimpering. For awhile I just lay there with the letter, reading the words over and over again.
When I finally got up, I shoved the letter in my nightstand drawer. I took a deep breath as I tried to keep myself together. Chris was part of the
past. I had to keep going. If I answered this letter, everything that I had done would have been for nothing. Something in the back of my head told me that I was wrong, but I ignored it.
Half an hour later, I packed my violin and artist’s canvas, ready to try to earn some money on the streets of France. After a walk about a few blocks, I set my stuff down. Usually, people would throw money into a worn old hat at my feet as I played violin. If I got lucky, they would strike up a conversation with me about some of the art I would have on display. If it was a really good day, they would buy a piece or ask me to paint one for
them.
Today, though, I was completely out of it. I kept forgetting what song I was supposed to play on my violin, and I eventually stopped trying to play it
all. I set my violin back in its case and stared at the world going by. I closed my eyes as I tried not to cry. I’m more alone here than back home, I thought. Everyone hated me, but at least they knew my name. Plus, I had Chris.
That evening, I sat on the couch, clutching my violin like it was my lastpossession. Before knowing what I was doing, I began to play. I poured out all of my desperate loneliness into the song. The violin cried and wailed, echoing the pain of my heart. It was the most, beautiful, haunting sound that I had ever heard, and it had come from me.
Suddenly, I was struck with an idea. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, I started scribbling down the notes that I had just played. Soon, I had a
full-length composition. I played the song once more, and once more I was overcome by its lonely beauty. My eyes widened as I realized that this could be my lucky break. A million violinists could play a piece perfectly, but rarely could they play a piece of their own.
The next day, when I played my piece in the public, not only was my hat overflowing with cash, but a crowd had formed. People stopped what they were doing and just listened to my music. They didn’t say a word. I didn’t notice, though. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned it was just the violin and I. as I played the song of my heart, I felt another song echoing in my soul.
“Excuse me.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I stopped playing and glowered at the man who had just interrupted me. As I stared at his scruffy appearance, I realized that I had seen this man before. Suddenly, I realized that this man was Frank Cornelius, one of the top music producers in the world.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, nearly dropping my violin. “It’s you…oh my god…you, you, you…”I gave up on words, staring at the music legend. Surely this wasn’t real. There was no way that the song I had just played had caught the attention of this man. Thank you, Chris.
“That song…that was just…fantastic. It was simply fantastic. It is very rare that you hear such pure and raw emotion. We need more people like you in the music industry. I believe that your talent could sell out arenas. You would be known as the musical genius of the century! Oh, by the way, what’s the song called?"
This question threw me off. I didn’t really think of it having a name. I thought of how I had left Chris by boarding a plane that took me across the sea to France. I also thought about how he had lost me. “It’s called ‘Lost to the Sea’,” I replied.
“That is a simply perfect title! I’m Frank Cornelius, by the way. But you already knew that.” He smiled and stuck out his hand. I shook it, a wide smile slowly spreading across my face. This was my lucky break. I was truly on my way to stardom.
A week later, I had my bags packed and ready for the flight to Los Angeles, where the recording studio was located. I didn’t have much to pack. The only reason why I didn’t have one suitcase is that the other was full of sheet music. Along with‘Lost to the Sea’, I had written six other songs. I would show all of these songs to the company. If I liked it, Frank Cornelius would produce my first album.
“Gosh, it’s amazing how one’s luck can change.” I told no one in particular. I lifted up one suitcase in each hand and exited the door, kicking it shut. I trudged down the hall. Before I went down the stairs, I looked back once more. My eyes widened as I saw that another letter was left on my doorstep. I dropped my suitcases and picked up the letter. I checked my watch. I was going to be late to the airport if I didn’t hurry. I stuffed the letter in my pocket, grabbed my bags, and rushed down the stairs and out the door.
After waving down a beat up old cab and having a brief conversation with the driver, I pulled the letter out of my pocket and opened it. I winced as I realized that it was from Chris. Stupid me, I should have answered that last letter, I berated myself. I stared at it for a good while, toying with it. Finally, I tore open the envelope and grabbed the letter enclosed.
“
Madam?”The driver interrupted me. He had a thick French accent, and it made the words roll off his tongue in a beautiful manner. He almost seemed to speak poetry, contrary to his grubby appearance.
“Yes?”
“Are you ok? You seem a bit…ah…worried.”
“It’s nothing,” I lied, hastily throwing the letter aside.
“You know, I went through a breakup, too. Her name was Fleur. Ah, what a beautiful woman. She sang like the canary sings and danced like a ribbon in the wind. She was so graceful. Alas, I did not love her like I should have. It’s only now that I love her. But she is gone. She married to some rich archbishop who treats her like a queen.”
"I said,” I growled, cutting him off. “It is nothing.” With that, I snatched the letter and began to read it, trying to prove to him that I wasn’t as nervous as I seemed.
Alexandria,
You never seemed the type to ignore people who you cared about. In fact, you were anything but. Either I don’t know you as well as I thought I did or you don’t care about me. Well, guess what, Alexandria? Two can play this game. I am never going to talk to you again. You’ll have to make the first move. Only then will I consider responding.
Of course, you’re probably too busy stuffing your face with crepes or some other awful French pastry to even bother to reply. Or perhaps you have a bunch of guys at your feet. You’re pretty enough toattract a crowd, you know. Well, whatever you’re doing, you can do it knowing
that you’ve lost your best friend.
-Chris
I stared at the letter, tears filling up in my eyes. “It’s not like that, Chris.” I whispered, glaring at the cab driver when he raised his eyebrows knowingly. Throwing the letter aside, I pulled out a piece of paper and pen and began to write.
Chris,
First of all, I would like to apologize. I have been very busy lately, and have actually just met with producer Frank Cornelius dealing with my violin
and I am flying to Los Angeles to meet with the record company and see if I can get signed. This is going to be an amazing experience, but I will be quite busy so please do not be offended if I can’t respond to you right away.
Gosh, I sound so formal, don’t I? It’s almost as if I’m talking to a business partner other than a friend. You can call me Alex, you know. Just because I moved overseas doesn’t mean that we have to drop the nicknames we use for each other. I mean, think about how weird it would be if I called you Christopher. You don’t even call yourself Christopher. Alex is just fine.
Oh, Chris, I wish I could explain why I left. I don’t really know why I did, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you first. It was self-centered and
ignorant on my part. I don’t care about having any other friends than you. I don’t need any other friends but you. I hope you get this letter in good
health—oh, great, there I go being all formal again.
-Alex
I folded up the letter and kissed it for good luck. I wouldn’t blame Chris for being so angry. I mean, I did abandon him. I felt
terrible for it, and hoped that I could somehow win him back. I settled back in my seat, daydreaming about how Chris would react when he got the letter. I hoped that he would realize how much he meant to me.
The cab pulled up to the airport, and I thank the driver, tipping him well. For once, I wasn’t feeling much financial pressure. I knew that I was home free, and if things went the way Frank said they would, I might never have to worry about getting sweetener for my coffee again. I strode into the airport, letter in my hand.
After going through Customs, I bought an envelope at the gift shop. “I’ll mail it in Los Angeles,” I muttered to myself. Suddenly, I realized something. “Oh, crap!”I felt around desperately in my pockets, but I knew that I had left Chris’s envelope—with his address—in the cab. “Crap, crap, crap!” I sank down to the floor, trying not to cry.
“Flight 247 to Los Angeles, California is boarding now.” The speaker intoned. I twisted my head around to the gate, where a line was starting to
form. Holding back tears, I got out my boarding pass and waited to get on the plane. I’m so sorry, Chris. I sank down in my seat, my head between my knees. Before I could control myself, I began to cry.
I’m so sorry.