;;;
Nothing lasts forever.
Forever is a lie.
All we have is what's
Between
Hello and Goodbye.
;;;
It begins like this:
It is the first day of first grade and his mother gives him his own backpack to carry. It's his favorite color, blue! And it has his name printed in big black letters; Kanan. He puts on the new shoes his father got him at Target. They are black and white and they have laces because his father says he's growing up now and he really is! He can do a double knot- he's been practicing, crossing and going under and then making bunny ears and looping them.
The school bus is big and yellow and it reminds him of the little toy trucks his mother gets for his little brother, and he counts the wheels and watches to see if they go 'round and 'round, because sometimes he hears a song playing in his brother's nursery and it says the wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, and he needs to make sure they are not lying.
Liars have a timeout for ten minutes in the corner behind the couch which smells like lemongrass and something far nastier.
He went there once after blaming his brother for eating all the chocolate even though he's only three.
So he looks out- and the wheels really do go round and round. The song wasn't lying after all! Something builds in his throat, like those victory cries people do on TV after winning something, and he sticks his head out of the window and goes, "Yahoo!"
Because the world is a big, big place, and this bus goes fast, and maybe if they keep going forever he'll see everything the story books he read, talk about. Like an elephant! The only elephant he's ever seen was at the zoo and it was a stuffed animal. His father called it a souvenir and he called it cool.
So he joins all the other boys in the chant which goes, "Faster Faster Faster!"
Because he does not want to miss out on all of the world.
;;
His father says he'll be in school until he's an adult, so it has to be good. School has to have lots of kids and lots of friends, even though he's a bit shy when he meets people sometimes. His Mother told him what to say when he introduces himself, Hi, My name is Kanan, it's nice to meet you. And he revises it in his head the way Skelly Down the Street in fourth grade says he can memorize things.
The bus stops, and he does not get to see the world.
But the door opens like paper folds and everyone runs outside, pushing and pulling and yelling at other people. And he joins in. He laughs and waves at all of the kids around him, even though no one waves back. It doesn't matter that he didn't tour the world, this is better!
There is a sign that says first graders lineup here, and he remembers that he is in first grade, so he lines up behind a boy who is short and has strap shoes. Strap shoes are not for big boys, so he doesn't say hello.
The teacher leads everyone down the hallway, and he looks back to see if anyone else is wearing shoes with laces. A boy with the name Brad on his shirt has shoes just like hers, but his are blue and green.
He waves hello, but no one waves back.
;;
The teacher's name is Depa Billaba but says that they can call her Ms. Billaba. He says it out loud; Miss Billaba, over and over again the way his father said not to.
But Miss Billaba only smiles. Her eyes crinkle up and all of her body seems to laugh with her mouth. She puts her hand on his shoulders and asks, "What's your name, kiddo?"
He smiles up at her and says, because his mother said he had to say, "My name is Kanan. It's nice to meet you, Miss Billaba."
Miss Billaba says that Kanan is a wonderful name, and she has a book called the Chronicles of Narnia with a prince named Kanan. He thinks it's amazing, even though he can't really say Chronicles, yet. It's amazing that someone has named a character after him!
The seat in the front of the classroom becomes his and it is big and ancient like the .
Miss Billaba says that they have eleven grades to go after the first, and oh boy, he's excited because he gets to have twelve years (His mother taught him addition with flashcards) of this much fun?
He raises his hand, and wiggles it in the air so Miss Billaba sees him.
"Yes, Kanan?"
"Will you be our teacher forever?" Because his mother says forever never ends, and Kanan wouldn't really mind a forever like this.
Miss Billaba laughs again and says that; no, she won't be their teacher forever, and just for first grade, which is a year. But that's okay. A year is still very very long, and he thinks that maybe he can pretend it is forever.
She says that they're going to do pen-pals, and she asks if anyone knows what they are, so he raises his hand. Maybe Miss Billaba will call on him.
But Miss Billaba doesn't. She calls on a boy with a sticker on his shirt that says Zeb because he is also raising his hand. Zeb says that Pen-pals are people who don't know each other but talk to each other with letters.
Letters are usually yellow and crumbly and the writing inside looks like scribbles and the spaghetti his father cooks for dinner.
But he smiles very wide, because he's excited and Miss Billaba is nice and all the kids are there too.
So when he goes home that night he writes his letter and puts it in the mailbox so that the mailman can take it in the morning.
;;
His pen pal writes back! His letter is on the table as he come home from first grade the next day, and it says:
Hi Kanan,
Nice to meet you. I'm a girl and My favorite colors are rainbow and I have a cat named Junie. Do you have a cat? I like flowers and looking at the sky.
- flowergirl
Her name reminds him of the flowers in his garden that his mother calls tulips. He thinks he'll write back.
He starts his letter with Dear Flowergirl, because his father says to always start letters with the word 'dear'. When she writes back, her name is starsatnight, and then it becomes sunnyday. He debates changing his name too, but just- no.
So he writes and goes to school, and makes Miss Billaba laugh with all his questions, and when he comes home, his letters appear on the counter next to the kitchen and her name is different every time.
;;;
His Mother says that when he doesn't pay attention to it, time goes by very fast. It happens to him, happens to everyone. It happens every night when the sun goes down and the stars come out, it happens when the days start counting down.
It happens when the days count down to the end of first grade, to all the good-byes to Miss Billaba, and the last time he'll ever make her laugh.
He counts all the grades left and it is eleven. Maybe the next eleven years will last forever, because first grade was not forever at all; he can't even pretend. His mother says forever never ends and this one just did.
But he steps out of school and the sun shines bright, brighter than ever, and all of his classmates say they're going to the pool.
And he reaches home and his letter is on the counter again, and the girl is saying that it's summer vacation but she misses first grade because it wasn't long enough. She signs her name again, in the messy cursive print they learnt with Miss Billaba, and it is firstgradewasthebest.
;;;
Second grade goes by too.
He still sees Miss Billaba in the hall sometimes, where they say no running. But every time she is there, he takes off towards her to tell her about his day. She never scolds, never screams; not the way Missus Cooper does when he gets his answers wrong. Instead she laughs at him, and calls him a little rebel and he goes home to search it up in the dictionary, but the print is too small for him to ever find the words.
;;
She still writes to him every day and his letters still sit on the counter next to the kitchen when he comes back from school. She writes to him all through summer break and all through second grade.
Her name still changes every time, but he's grown Used to It, the way his father says. She tells him about her evil classmates and her father's secret doctor appointments she isn't supposed to know about. She tells him about getting lost in the fairs next to her house and eating so much popcorn she fell sick.
She's there, always there. Sometimes he will imagine her in the breeze, or in the stars. He will remember her every time he catches the rays of light when her name was windowrays, and the rainbows in the rain.
She becomes his best friend; because she is always waiting for him at home on the counter, and her letters will always come.
Second grade is over after another year, and Missus Cooper says she will miss them, even though he thinks she might be lying. But it's okay because when he goes home, his mother gives him a hug and his father says he's proud of him, and the letter on the table says that she is happy second grade is over and first grade was better. The letter on the table says that she's glad they're friends because all the other kids are meanies.
So he writes back because he agrees; second grade was bad; it sucked the way Skelly Down the Street says when he hates something.
Summer does not suck though, he goes to the pool with his father and his brother who is four now, and runs around the block again and again and again because he never runs out of road. He comes home to the dust in the light and his letter is on the counter again.
Maybe this can be forever, because it never seems to end.
;;;
There is another third grade and then fourth grade, and the teachers are nice but they don't talk to him the way Miss Billaba did. He still sees her in the hall sometimes, but his mother says that he can't run anymore because he has to set an example for the little kids, whatever that means.
But he waves and says hello, and Miss Billaba still gives him that laughing smile and says, "Hello, Prince Kanan!"
And now there are eight years left in the forever he is hoping for. As he looks forward, it never seems to end, but as he looks back, he knows how fast the years pass.
Everybody is growing up.
His little brother is in Kindergarten now, and he is going to first grade next year, so he tells him that first grade was the best, even though first graders are supposed to be babies now.
Mom and Dad fight now more than ever, but fights always come to an end, he learns about them in history and he knows that fights can never last forever with people like George Washington around.
And the boys hate the girls now and the girls hate the boys, and he doesn't really hate anyone so he just pretends he does. Because he knows girls aren't bad; his best friend is a girl that he writes letters to and she's not a wimp like the other boys say girls are.
He debates showing them his letters to her, but just- no. They are too full of untold things that hide between the lines.
;;
When he graduates from elementary school, it's on a nice day. He hears a bird chirping when he gets his diploma- he thinks it's a house finch because she always tells him that they are the most common in this part of California.
He still speaks with her; everyday, but things are getting harder. The letters are never on the counter anymore- they are in the mailbox, and he has to get them instead of Mom, even though she used to. But in her sprawling cursive-print, she tells him that she is proud of both of them for getting this far, and makes him cross-his-heart-and-hope-to-die swear that he will not stop talking to her even though the pen pal program ends in Elementary.
And of course he won't. He knows now that school will never be forever, but he still has hope to find it. He has a list of things that might be- his letters with this girl, his mother and father, Miss Billaba.
So when he turns the block to his house, and his brother is laughing in the yard, and his mother is ignoring his father, he wonders what chasms lie between people and what light is on the other side.
;;;
It happens when they say that Miss Billaba has
Died.
It happens in a car accident with a drunk driver, when it ends.
He doesn't really have words for the moment he realizes that she was not forever, she was never forever even though he believed.
All the skies are
Dark.
The funeral is
Blurry.
But he can't tell if it is from the tears that sting his eyes like pine needles or the fact that Miss Billaba is gone and she will never come back. She will never wave at him in the hallways or call him Prince Kanan, or call him little rebel for running even though he knows what it means now.
So he writes a letter, and this time it isn't to her. It is to Miss Billaba, to all the dead people the world has forgotten, and he gets everyone in his grade to sign this card.
He presses it at the foot of her grave, and writes her name in the darkest black he has because she deserved so much more.
And that night, when he gets her letter, he sees tear stains all over her words because she cries for Miss Billaba too.
She cries because she knows her too- through all the stories he's ever told her.
And in the dark, he cries with her, even though she is not here. He cries for the old and for the new, and for the last time he sees his laughing eyes.
He cries-
And then it's over.
;;;
The magic fades
too fast,
the scent of
summer never lasts,
the nights turn hollow
and vast,
but nothing remains...nothing
lasts.
;;;
Sixth Grade happens and everything seems to dim. He finds himself walking through the Elementary hallways, just to get a glimpse of Miss Billaba even though she's not there anymore.
But he finds her in everything else; he finds her when he picks up the Chronicles of Narnia for the first time and cries when the book ends, because it is like he has lost part of the secret that was her.
But he presses it into his bookshelf anyway, and he thinks he'll wait for the day he forgets all of it; so that he can read it all over and feel all the secrets for the last time.
He writes to the girl and she writes back. On one day, her name is Narnialover and he knows that she has read it too, just for one last time; so that she can know him.
But her letters are like light in the dark that seems to fall now, they often talk about the beauty of all the little things, and list out everything he has to be thankful for.
She pulls him out of the dark that has enveloped him, slowly and then all at once. He adds her to the list of infinite things that he is grateful for, because the world is always a better place with her in it.
;;
Sometimes when he walks to the cafeteria he counts the steps between Room 206 and when he gets there. He counts because if he doesn't he feels empty.
Incomplete.
Skelly Down the Street is in ninth grade. Ninth. Every day, all the neighborhood children gather around him to listen to horror stories about high school, and he finds himself dreading the next day, because the countdown begins again. He goes to sleep at night even though his parents are still fighting and his homework is still watching him from the desk, and he prays that night lasts forever.
And it doesn't- of course it doesn't. The sun rises and the next day happens and Miss Eckenrode smiles at him over her coffee when he gets to school.
But that doesn't stop him from hoping- praying every night, that sixth grade- not even middle school- will last forever. He tells her all about it; she knows about him and his search for forever, she tells him that she will help him find it from wherever she is.
And now she tells him that maybe he is close now, because she had a dream about it last night, and he remembers that his mother used to say never to ignore dreams before she started fighting with his father.
But sixth grade ends anyway, even though he always looks back from the bus stop to make sure everything is still there, and even though he starts sitting down in corners to wonder if everyone is okay- his mother, his father, his brother, and the girl whose name changes with the sky. It comes in what his his mother calls panting, and stinging pine needles in his eyes. No one knows but her, and she pinky promises to keep it a secret.
So when sixth grade ends, and Miss Eckenrode waves goodbye, he realizes that no one, not even the most important person in the world can stop time.
;;;
Seventh grade begins after his parents divorce.
The worries still go on, and he still writes letters to her.
The summer between sixth and seventh seems endless until it is over. It is filled with juice pops and sunburns, and letters again and again and again. And when it is over, his parents say that they are getting a divorce, and that they tried to make it work for both of them, but they couldn't.
They.
Couldn't.
And it happens in his mind- againandagainandagain. It replays this moment, it will always replay this moment because they were supposed to be forever.
Forever.
So he tells the girl whose name keeps changing on the day her name is shadowedsky. The ink runs, and the paper tears and the scribbles at the edges seem to come alive. And she listens- she will always listen, and she says that she is right here, that she is not going anywhere. And he reaches through whatever ties them together, pulls her close so that he can hug her, but she always seems to drift away.
;;
It happens to her too. Her mother dies of Cancer, she says. And it is not like the divorce his parents went through. Because they are still there, and her mother is not.
Her mother- her mother that survived a scorpion sting and campaigned for animal rights- she is dead. And as he tries to make out the words of the letter she has sent him, through all the tears that have fallen and the smudged letters, he writes back and tells her the same thing- that he will always be here, and he's not leaving. Because he has lost two forevers now, and she is the last one left, and he can't let this slip away too.
He comes back to his mother's house on some days, and teaches his brother that if he runs on the sidewalk around this block, it will never end. But he always gives up about half way, and he wonders if that is what happened to the other two forevers as well.
;;
But even though her mother is gone she is still light. She does not fall into darkness the way he does, she cries a few days, but she is always back with something else to believe in.
And he wishes he could do that too, he wishes that the world would stop fading to this greyscale and begin to brighten again, but when he comes home from school, instead of watching the light through the windows, all he notices are the shadows on the floor.
;;
Under the sun it is all numb. The black at the edges of his vision spreads over eyes, and everything blurs again. But this is not like the pine-needle sting of tears. This is less real, less there.
It feels like falling, and falling, and swimming colors.
It feels like being at a hospital and realizing that he fainted because of the sun, and having a heat stroke. It feels like waking up to the numbness that he seems to wake up to every day.
;;
The bedside table has the kit-kats and tootsie rolls, and a card that says Get Well soon in Sprawling Cursive print, he knows who it is from because hers are always hand-written, and messy, and have kind- real words.
So he reaches out- farther, farther, and opens up his card and smiles at the way she begins all her sentences with lowercase letters, and talks about the beach yesterday and volleyball season at her school.
He'll write back, he thinks.
;;
The day he gets back to school, the bus is still bright and yellow, and the wheels still go round and round and Old Joe, the driver, still whistles somewhere over the rainbow every time they stop.
Nothing has changed- but then everything is different now. His brother sits with him because Mom asks him to, and his leg bounces up and down, up and down, up and down. He looks around, at his friends, at Old Joe, at little Celia that waves at the bus every time she sees it. Anywhere but him.
He tells him he can leave but he stays anyway.
;;
On the day eighth grade ends, Dad and Mom and his brother come to school to pick him up. They say that it's too important to go home on the bus, so he goes out for ice cream instead. And he takes three scoops of Butter-scotch and vanilla because it reminds him of the girl that lives in the letters she writes to him everyday. And he lifts the spoon to his mouth-
And puts it back.
This happens for sometime. Back and forth and back and forth, and the clock reads five o'clock and the vanilla and butterscotch begins to melt and he wonders what the point of any of this is. It is not like anything has changed, like his parents have gotten back together, or he finally gets to meet the girl with a new name every day. It is not like he has more friends than one, or like he has good grades or plays basketball the way all the boys do.
So he sits there, and everything is moving. Of course, not to anyone else, but in his mind he can see it- a waving hand or a kicking leg or a twitching smile. It is always moving.
In physics they say he can only see things when there is light, but what happens to his dreams when the light begins to fade?
;;;
On the first day of ninth grade she tells him that she is moving to California in a year. And this is great! This is the best news he's had in such a long long time! He can finally go to places with her, and hear her name because they are all the kinds of things people wait for for years.
And it is happening. But one year might be forever again, even though it ends. Time always seems to flow when it shouldn't.
But it doesn't matter anymore- nothing matters but this because she is the only one that has always been there. She is the only one that helps him in his search for forever.
He used to look for flowers in the wind and now he doesn't. He used to smile at the jokes from his father but now they are not funny anymore. He used to run around the block and see if it lasted forever, but now his strides have reduced to a walk.
;;
She is different the way the stars are at night.
She cries for people she does not know and smiles for jokes that never happen.
And he knows it. He knows it because he knows everything about her, he knows that she's always noticing all the little things everyone else misses. He knows that she's the sticky kind of person, the way he was as a child.
She is there in the wind and in the storm and in the cold that seems to happen more often. She is there as forever seems to shorten, summer, winter, autumn, spring- she gives no order to everything that happens because they are just that- things that happen. Her name is different everyday, because she finds something new to fall in love with every time she looks out.
She is all smiles, all tears, light and dark together. She gives and gives and gives so much, and she keeps secrets that are unknown to even her, dreams things that people can't dream.
She is many things, but she is first and always his best friend. And he thinks that if he was winter, and people were autumn— she'd be that moment between summer and spring.
She is bendable light- she shines around every corner of his day.
;;
In ninth grade his grades drop further and he comes home with a C average more often than not. But he finds that he does not care anymore- not about his grades, not about anything. He often retreats to the corners again, when it is hard to breathe, when there is nothing. There, he ponders what life really is- what forever could be.
And he comes up with this- Forever is everything that never ends and it does not exist.
;;
He skips the school's homecoming that year, and maybe he will skip it the next as well. He sees no point in dancing under multicolored lights and drinking cherry punch. He has everything he needs right here- in his room.
If she were here it would have been different; she would have forced him to go, force him to dance and drink punch and laugh easily. But she is not here so he does not go. He will wait for her.
Right now he reads the Chronicles of Narnia again, even though he promised not to read it until he forgot. But he finds that he can't forget- he finds that the memory of it all is ingrained into his mind the way Miss Billaba is.
But there is nothing now- none of Miss Billaba's warmth, or his smiles. He is many years past the last time he saw this woman, and the memory of her smile begins to fade. So he drops the book, and lets himself wonder what the point of it all is, if nothing lasts forever.
;;
He is invited to a few birthday parties over the year- and of course he does not go. He does not go anywhere much now, he spends his time writing letters, and breathing the smell of smoke and wisteria from the paper.
In truth, Kanan cannot really remember the last time he had a birthday party. Maybe when he was seven, and that is about it. He is envious in some ways, that he did not have as much fun as other children, he does not have as much fun. But then he reminds himself that nothing lasts forever, and one day it will stop.
He comforts himself by breaking into the extra stash of Twix bars he has under his bed, but even that doesn't seem to wash out the emptiness.
;;
The summer between ninth and tenth is filled with days in bed and missing dinners.
The letters between him and the girl that is forever there, even though he has decided forever does not exist, grow shorter and the distance between them is days now. It is his fault. He writes less and less, because he is tired sometimes, hungry other times. Sometimes he just does not feel like writing back, and the distance between his desk and his bed seems like an ocean.
But she always responds- she is always there to give him the light, but he realizes he does not want it- not yet. He needs the dark for sometimes, so that when he comes back for light, he will hold on tighter than ever.
;;;
Sooner or later, every last
echo fades.
Even the loudest
thunder
in the
deepest valley.
;;;
In tenth grade, her name becomes the august girl.
She will be moving here in a few months, and he finds himself counting off the days to when she will come. He is ready for the light now, but the darkest dark grows darker, and he can't seem to grasp the light from her words.
;;
Everyday it's something new. She tells him about the sparrow nest below her window and the beach on a sunny day.
She tells him about how beautiful it is; how blessed she is to be able to see and experience so many wonderful days.
Those letters; even though they are meager words, become his anchor. Her words ground him because he realizes that the world isn't a bad place at all. It is beautiful, if he opens his eyes and looks beyond himself. If he notices the plants trailing up corners of an alley or if he picks up on the scent of blooming flowers in the sulphurous air from a factory.
She teaches him how to see the beauty in things, and he thinks that without those letters, he would have never been able to realize that there was so much more to the world than just— him.
Because now, he doesn't feel numb when he wakes up. He doesn't feel cold, or isolated. He wakes up and he sees the snow decorating the street and it falling from the sky, from the endless blue above him. She is his saving grace and he is forever grateful.
He's healing, and it's because of her. She's shown him the world through words etched on blank paper and she's brought light into a place which should have been dark. So when he picks up his letters, everyday, he thinks that the sun glows a little brighter.
;;
The sidewalk burns up under the sun. He remembers those days- the ones he would spend watching and watch the people go by.
It used to feel like waiting for someone, though he never knew who. It used to feel like sunburns, and the man that sits by his window everyday, every hour, every second. For a while, Kanan thought that he was a statue, simply there, carved in stone. But no one is simply just- there. There is always something behind wherever you are- at home, in your bed, pressing your face into the sidewalk- there is always this gravity that keeps you wherever you are.
So he waits now- for real. He waits and watches the people go by, and the window man, and the cracks between the sidewalk that go on forever. He waits for her, the girl he knows only through her words. He waits one minute as it turns into one hour and then two. He counts the seconds to when a girl walks up to him and says- Hello, is your name Kanan? Because even though they have known each other for ten years now, he does not know what color her eyes are and neither does she.
She could be anyone in this breeze, under this sun, on the sidewalk. She could be that girl over there with green eyes and red hair, or the girl by the fence with all her friends. She could be so many people- the possibilities are endless.
But time goes by, and the sky grows darker, even though the window man still stares out of the window and the cracks between the sidewalk still seem endless. It becomes nine o'clock, and she never shows up.
;;
He asks her about it in his next letter to her- where were you? I was waiting. And she says the same thing- that she was also waiting for him. But how? He is sure, absolutely, completely, positively sure he was in the right place. She tells him that maybe there was a mix up, and they should try again, but this time she sends him her phone number so she can share her location with him.
He wants to laugh- why had they never thought about this earlier? They could speak more, so much more over text messages. He will hear her voice over the phone calls, and see her eyes in her profile pictures.
But when he calls- calls and calls and calls, the voice somewhere between one side and the other says- this phone number does not exist.
;;
He tries again, of course. He tries again for an hour that begins to stretch longer before he is too tired for anything else. Somewhere he wonders why any of this is happening- why they couldn't meet and laugh and hug and see each other the first time.
But he reminds himself- the way he reminds her when she gets too carried away- patience. He will find her.
;;
This time, when they try to meet, it is on the fourth of July. All the families- every single one- gather at the park at the center of town. He is sure he will see her today- so, so sure. He feels it first in his fingers, the electricity that seems to flow between him and the ground, and every next step.
He looks around, for the girl in a cap that says- Tardy Again, and the lights that always surround her.
But she is not there- somewhere in the night, he finds a girl with a cap that says- Chicago, but it is not her, it will can't be. He searches the footsteps for converse prints, but he never finds any.
And when the first firework lights up the sky- under the sudden brightness and in the chorus of delighted oohs and aahs, he cannot hear her voice anywhere.
It is not that he knows her voice- no. He thinks that if he hears it, he will be so mesmerized by it he will know. Because she is special, she has always been special, and people like her, though there are none, will always have this thing in their voice that reaches out.
And no voices here reach out- not to the stars, not to the sky, not to the showering light. So he sits down with his father, and wonders how, how they have missed each other again.
;;
This time, she is the one that asks him. Where were you?
He tells her- Cat Hollow Park.
And she says that she was there too, at the far side of the park in the trees next to the lawn. Vaguely, he wonders if he went there- but he doesn't know.
He couldn't have gone- not if she was there, because he missed her again last night. So he goes there today, and sits on the road just to see if it feels like her-
And it doesn't.
;;
In her next letter, there is a small piece of paper in the envelope. It has the word- another world, printed across the back diagonally, the way they are for photos. He wonders if this could be one.
He flips it over- and every single bit of him jumps.
This is her.
This is her- with green eyes and freckles and long brown hair. This is her- tanned from days on the beach and slender fingers giving a peace symbol. She is all lopsided smiles, and dimples in her cheek.
He realizes she is laughing, and the meadows sing.
So he presses her picture into all the empty photo frames he never used, and presses her onto the wall above his desk, so that she'll always be smiling at him. He sits down and stares at the picture a bit, even though it is far more than that- just a picture.
Vaguely somewhere, he wonders how she will be in person if he can feel her ocean of laughter through a picture. Because now he knows that he will never miss her in the crowds, now that he knows the way she is.
He writes a letter back to her with his own picture, even though he stops to close his eyes and smell the smoke and wisteria that comes from her picture on the wall.
He thinks that they will meet- that they might just have to wait.
;;
In her letters she tells stories more and more now- she tells him about all the futures she has ever dreamed- and her words are like a small spark of brightness in greying skies. Not to him- no. He is better now since she healed him. It is that to someone- he does not know who, just someone.
School is opening a few days after his birthday- eleventh grade- he cannot believe that the forever he hoped for is ending so soon.
He throws his mind, like a stone, two years later, but there is only a vast greying cloud- he cannot imagine anything without the august girl.
He asks her about it, and she answers vaguely- I think it'll be fun. Or, It's gonna be great!
His birthday happens, and she sends him a long, long card he will come back to several times later, saying that she is so proud of who is, and to never change. She tells him that even though the worries come sometimes, the world is a beautiful beautiful place, and to never lose faith in it even if everything turns to dark. She tells him You're my best friend, you'll be my best friend forever! I love you.
She signs her name:
Love,
~ the august girl
;;
That is the last one.
;;
Hello, Kanan.
This is the August girl's father. She often told me how much you meant to her, so I thought you deserved to know- more than anyone else.
My daughter's name changed like the wind- not only in your letters, but everyday. On one day it became wind-grass, on another it was open-door. She did not believe in holding onto one thing when there were so many new things to catch. She let go of her real name- really, truly became all of her other ones.
In tenth grade, she had me call her- the august girl. I will tell you why in a moment, But I want you to know her real name, she asked me to tell you.
Her name was Hera. Hera Syndulla.
But her names changed, and she changed too.
In the summer between tenth grade and eleventh, she was diagnosed with stage three cancer. It was leukemia, and she went under so many chemotherapy sessions, stem cells transplants- she fought. She fought as hard as she could against her cancer, but it only grew worse. She drifted to stage four- and she knew it was over.
The doctors told us that she had about one and a half years to live, and she made the most of it. Her smiles had a fierce sort of backing- like they would be her last, because they really were, her eyes held a different kind of light. Your letters pulled her, pushed up when all the colors were black, and for that, I want to thank you. Thank you for keeping her alive. Thank you for giving her a chance to dream. Thank you for giving her the will to live past her expiry date. She made it thirteen days past her due- so close to September, but not.
It happened the day before yesterday, August 28th, and if you could eulogize her at the funeral, it would mean so much to all of us. The address is 224 Jameson street. If you can't make it, I understand.
Thank you,
Cham Syndulla
;;;
a little bird moves a mountain of
sand one grain at a time
it picks up one grain
every million years and when
the mountain has been
moved the bird puts it all back again
and that's how long
eternity is and that's
a very long time to be dead
;;;
She enters your life like a dandelion seed in an autumn breeze. Drifting towards you; indistinct and slight on a cold draft under a gleaming sun.
It's small and unnoticeable, but the seed of her friendship roots down firmly over your heart and you don't realize that the ache in your chest is your longing to meet her, talk to her, hold her hand, hug her and smile with her because it can't be, can it?
But it is.
And then you are talking.
You spend hours on letters to The August Girl. You spend hours telling her every single thing in your life. And she listens. She always listens. And she always helps.
She becomes a constant in your life. A little forever that you keep cradled to your soul.
She is your friend and your safe zone because whenever she writes to you, you feel like the dark layers around you are ebbing away. You feel like you can smile more.
Laugh more.
And you might feel like you can do anything; like if her hand is in yours, you can touch stars.
She becomes your world.
So when the letter comes; that wretched piece of paper slips between your fingers as you fall to the ground.
Because no.
She can't be
gone.
She can't be dead.
Because you
can't
live
without
her.
And in that moment you think of how selfish you have been. You never knew; you never even tried.
And you wonder if this is the way the universe repays you. If this is people mean by karma; through this crushing guilt: this unfathomable grief.
And then you're falling. You are on the ground and tears are slipping thick and fast from your eyes and sobs rack your body.
You cry like you never have before, because this is what people mean by grief.
Grief; true heart-wrenching grief is so underrated. It is used like any other word; scattered across books and pronounced throughout movies like it's a common thing, even though such raw sorrow is so rare to find. It is crushing and heavy and it hurts so much, you never knew it would hurt this much.
There is something so frighteningly tangible about it and you feel like you're starting over; like you're in the dark place you were in before her.
Except it is so much darker and the silence is like something you will never escape.
And it hurts, it will always hurt- it will never stop hurting.
And some twisted part of you is glad.
Because she was there for you. Every. Single. Time.
And you weren't.
You.
Were.
Never.
There.
And now you regret it.
But then there is a small part of you which offers solace, because it isn't you. It's her.
And she's telling you not to blame yourself. She's telling you that it wasn't your fault; it was hers. Because she should have told you. She could have spared you all of this pain.
But for once you don't listen to her words.
;;;
;;;
Healing takes time.
He realized that when he met the august girl; and healed after years of slow conversation. There are times he feels like giving up— he feels like that darkness is too consuming for him to escape it —because there's no one there anymore.
Everyday it's a battle to get out of his bed. He feels numb again. It's like she never existed.
But she did.
She did, she did, she did. Because now that she's gone he's grown sicker and sicker; mentally. The dark place that once was, is darker than ever, and he wonders how he ever managed to bring light into something as desolate as this.
But he didn't.
He never brought light into the darkness of his mind. It was her, it was always. And she's gone now.
The sky is too blue for days like these, where darkness is his only companion, even though it's suffocating and sucks away his will to live.
He hasn't read those letters in three years. Three years of trying to forget her messy handwriting and yellowed parchment. And her smile and her laugh and everything about her.
He wants to read them. And he will. He will, he will, he will.
But he can't, not yet.
The lingering scent of jasmine filters through his open window. How ironic, that it feels so dark even though his house is bright and sunny. Even though there are flowers blooming all along the lane and children playing up and down the street.
So when the doorbell rings he doesn't expect it. He doesn't have friends because no one in college wants to hang out with a socially anxious loner like him.
No one except for her.
But every time he thinks about her, he reminds himself that she's gonegonegone and she's not coming back.
He straightens the collar of his shirt and opens the door.
And he freezes-
Because it's her.
It's her right in front of him, more beautiful than she was all those years ago in those pictures, and she looks so alive.
He looks at her hard- so that he can memorize everything about her incase she leaves again. That lopsided smile; the dimple on her right cheek; the few freckles dotting her nose; and then those glistening green eyes.
And then he sees her outstretched hand, and it's like she's introducing herself all over again and he wants to cry and ask her if she's forgotten all of those years of writing, all those years of friendship.
But she can't have.
And in his mind it's going no no no no, because he doesn't know what to do if she doesn't recognize him—or remember—because he can't lose her again.
But he takes her outstretched hand and she tells him that her name is Hera Syndulla and she has just moved into the house from across the street. And he wants to tell her that he knows. He knows that her name is Hera and that her favorite color is purple and that she hates dogs and loves cats and thinks that the stars are the most beautiful things in the world.
But he
doesn't.
He tells her that his name is Kanan and that it's nice to meet her because it really is, even though she doesn't remember him or recognize him.
And he asks her to come in for a snack and she's talking like she always would—how he imagined she'd speak if he ever meet in person—and then she sits down and he hand her a milkshake and French fries because it used to be her favorite thing to eat in the afternoons, and he still remembers.
She smiles at him and then her brows furrow and she asks him how he knew that she liked them, and he wants to tell her that he knows everything about her.
But he doesn't.
He shrugs and says; lucky guess, even though it really isn't, and that he thinks about her odd habits everyday since she died and he started doing them himself.
Conversation flows more easily than any other conversation he has ever had and he thinks that even though it's been years and that she's supposed to be dead, and even though she doesn't remember him; she hasn't changed one bit.
She talks about her childhood at one point and he listens carefully, so that when she says that she used to write letters to a boy in California, he can jump in and say that it was him. That the boys of her letters was—is—will always be him.
But she never tells him about any letters. Infact, her childhood seems entirely different from the Hera Syndulla in his letters.
And he doesn't know if the august girl and the Hera Syndulla in front of him were ever really the same person. Perhaps they were; they share the same name and face and passions and flaws. But they don't share the same memories;
They don't share the same fate.
And now he wonders if the universe is playing some sort of cruel elaborate prank on him; or perhaps just if the impossible has become possible. And he thinks that maybe, maybe the august girl never really belonged to his world; or his time; or his reality.
Because it is all so tangible and easily different; so easily changed. And if somehow they were linked across worlds and parallel universes to heal until they were torn from each other's grasp like a tragedy in writing.
But now there's redemption. Now he has a second chance to heal; and to see her again and he will take that chance because every time he sees her— talks to her—it only makes him need her again- her kind words, her dreaming. And every time she leaves it's like he is suffering from withdrawal.
So when he looks across the table at the girl in front of him, he thinks that; yeah, he fell in love with her all those years ago, and maybe he can finally do that again.
;;
It ends like this:
She leaves his doorstep with a smile and a flourishing wave, and he feels more whole than he has in four years, and he smiles for the first time in those dark days.
And as she crosses the street to her house, and tosses him a blinding smile, he thinks that he catches the scent of wisteria mingling with smoke, but it's gone as soon as it was there.
;;;
Maybe the thing about life
is that
nothing lasts forever
but the memories
and sometimes
that's okay.
;;;
FIN
Okay guys. First of all, let me apologize for super OOC characters, but these two were the closest I could find that fit the quotes symbolizing the four parts are not mine, only the last one is- they're all said by amazing authors and written in wonderful books. One more thing- I know the Narnia reference is wrong, because originally, when I wrote this the names of the characters were Caspian and Sky instead of Kanan and Hera, but I thought I'd make this an AU.
Okay. That's it for now! Have a great day, and do review and follow!
-accretiondisk