Do you know how "Anne with an E" starts with the song "Ahead by a Century" by The Tragically Hip? One day, two years ago, I found myself thinking: "what if 'Anne of Green Gables' happened in the 1990s?" As I delved into this idea, I began envisioning how it could unfold, and that's when this story took shape. Within it, you'll find some familiar plots from "Anne of Green Gables" and "Anne of the Island" retold in a '90s setting, alongside some new ones I thought could fit in between. Some of you might have already met this Anne and this Gilbert, in a short NYE story that was posted on twitter by Avonlea Bard.
I want to transport you back to a time of butterfly clips and scrunchies, blue eyeshadow and CK One, flannel shirts and overalls, Tamagotchis and Beanie Babies, angry chick rock and grunge, where the carefully curated mixtapes were the soundtrack of our lives. Every quote, whether from the books, TV shows, films, or song lyrics, is my little love letter to my favorite era. Yes, I'm a sentimental fool. As I'm not from Canada, I'm not entirely familiar with all the intricacies of Canadian high school traditions, exams, or university admissions. I hope you'll forgive any discrepancies and still enjoy the story.
I must admit - I'm both excited and scared to share this tale with you. Originally I wanted to do it when it would be ready, as in my head, it's completed. Two years and nearly 30,000 words in the draft copy later, I see it still needs a lot of work, and I hope (there's that word again!) that publishing it will help me with getting the words out (please don't tell me I'm completely delusional!). I can't predict when it will be completed, but I sincerely hope life won't get in the way too much!
"Am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do." "Sometimes I get over excited…" So I'll stop… and let the characters speak.
There are those moments in life that you can replay in your mind like a movie, with every detail etched in sharp relief. Gilbert Blythe had a few of those. He could recall the fresh scent of pine and the way the tinsel glittered on the Christmas tree the year he got his first Lego set, a little fortress. The way their old record player crackled softly in the background, its rhythmic pops and hisses harmonizing with each satisfying click of the pieces.
He remembered the sun-dappled leaves filtering through the branches of the tallest apple tree in their orchard, the thrill of reaching the very top followed by the sickening lurch in his stomach as the branch creaked beneath him. The wind whistled past his ears before the world dissolved into a tangle of limbs and a breath knocked from his lungs.
He remembered the bone-chilling shock of jumping into Barry's Pond that last summer in Avonlea. The exact shade of blue of everyone's lips. Moody's yelp echoing across the pond surface when Billy Andrews pulled him underwater. The way Charlie's voice broke as he begged Mrs. Sloane for "just five more minutes!".
Then there was the memory of his mother's embrace at the train station, her grip fierce and unwavering, as if trying to compensate for the tremor in her voice as she sent him off with his father to Alberta. The faint scent of her lavender perfume lingering in the crisp autumn air. The scratchy wool of her blue coat and the dampness of her cheek against his own were as vivid now as they were all those years ago.
He remembered running his fingers over the embossed lettering on the worn cover of the book he read to his father every evening. "Leaves of Grass", the words whispered under his gentle touch. After a few weeks he knew every groove by heart. The worn texture of the paper, thin and fragile as dragonfly wings, as if the weight of the words had softened it over time. A flicker of pride ignited in his father's eyes as he listened, nestled between cushions on the bed. Occasionally, a ghost-like smile against his pale face would tug at the corner of his lips, a silent encouragement that spurred Gilbert on.
Now, as he sat next to his mother, on their journey back to Avonlea, his cheek pressed against the same coat she wore the last time they saw each other, he recalled with a pang of grief the weight of the heavy soil clumping in his hand months later, the sickening thud as it landed on the wooden coffin. The echo of that sound seemed to linger, amplified now by the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks, each passing mile bringing him closer to home, to the familiar streets and faces of his hometown, but he wasn't the same boy that left that place a few years ago, being barely a teenager. The time spent in Alberta made him put away childish things and he wasn't sure how he would find himself back in the place he used to know so well. Many things felt unchanged, like his mother's perfume, the same blend of lavender and summer wildflowers that always made him think of home and lazy, sun-drenched days. Her hand though, usually warm and steady, was cold and frail in his grasp. The tears, the kind that came in hot, stinging waves, refused to fall and the weight of sorrow hung in the air, shrouding their journey in a heavy silence.
Gilbert sighed heavily, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions. As he gazed out the window, watching the landscape blur past, a strange sense of wonder washed over him. September weather had brought a subtle shift, replacing the warmth of summer with the crispness of autumn. He found himself captivated by the rusty reds of the roads snaking through fields, by the vivid colors of the island, where the once verdant landscape slowly yielded to the burnished hues of changing leaves.
Stepping off the train, Gilbert inhaled deeply, the familiar balsamic scent of pine and salty air washing over him like a forgotten melody, instantly transporting him back to childhood afternoons spent with his friends exploring the woods behind his house. A single yellow taxi awaited them curbside with the driver leaning against it. A jolt of recognition shot through Gilbert - Mr. Kelly, older now with silver streaks in his hair and the lines around his eyes set a little deeper, offered a curt nod and a gruff "Welcome back, Gilbert" before helping them load the luggage.
As the taxi drove down the main street, a wave of nostalgia washed over Gilbert, as each passing building seemed frozen in time. The church tower stood tall, the shingles on the roof weathered gray after years of harsh island winters and scorching sun. The community hall was still painted that hideous blue color. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of the familiar signs hanging above the doorways, their lettering just a bit faded. It was as if the essence of Avonlea had been preserved in amber, waiting patiently for his return.
Then, some activity on the front porch of one of the houses caught his attention. It was Mrs. Lynde, wrestling a stripy quilt onto her clothesline. Her sharp gaze, honed by years of small-town observation (or, bluntly speaking, spying on her neighbors), spotted the taxi. A wide smile erupted on her face, and with a vigorous wave, she disappeared inside. Gilbert knew exactly what was coming. Mrs. Lynde wouldn't waste a single precious second. The entire town of Avonlea would be buzzing with the news of their return before the taxi even pulled into their driveway. He could practically hear her voice, a rapid-fire telegram of information crackling through the telephone wires. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Some things and some people, it seemed, hadn't changed a bit.
Pulling into their driveway, Gilbert noticed the house looked exactly as he remembered. As they unloaded their luggage from the trunk of the taxi, and brought it all inside, his mother slumped her shoulders and sighed heavily.
"Finally home," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "If you don't mind, I'm gonna head up for a nap. That journey certainly took it out of me. Mrs. Harrison, bless her heart, left some dinner for us in the fridge. You'll manage to heat it up for yourself, won't you?"
Suddenly her little smile faded, and a tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek. "I'm so sorry, this isn't the welcome I wanted for you, honey," she choked out, "It's not the way it should be…" her voice broke, she turned around and went upstairs. Gilbert watched his mother climb the familiar stairs. A heavy weight settled in his chest. Struggling with his own emotions, he felt helpless to offer comfort, the words stuck thick in his throat. The house creaked softly around him, familiar scents whispered of time they all spent together and created happy memories.
His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since this morning. The kitchen hasn't changed a bit – same blue polka dot mugs hanging on the rack, same worn-out table mum used to remind him to clean. He heated up the casserole Mrs. Harrison left in the fridge, feeling a weird mix of emptiness and comfort. Dishes done, he wandered upstairs, his feet knowing the exact number of creaky steps to his old room.
Opening the door felt like opening a time capsule. Three years untouched, everything frozen in place. The faded Jurassic Park poster above his bed – he remembered his dad took him to Charlottetown to see that. His bookshelf, still meticulously alphabetized, the spelling bee trophies acting as awkward bookends. On the corkboard by his desk, a collage of memories: his last report card where Miss Dutton's scrawled "must work on discipline" note (oh, how dad laughed when he read it!), the school photo with Moody and Fred on either side, a ticket stub from that school dance with Julia Bell (why did he even keep that?), and a pile of cassette tapes – Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, The Smashing Pumpkins, all the favorites – next to the stereo he got for his thirteenth birthday.
A knock on the door made him chuckle. Mrs. Lynde definitely worked fast! He shuffled downstairs, trying to guess which neighbor was behind the door, a welcome-back Tupperware box in their hands. Instead, it was Charlie Sloane who stood on the porch, panting like a dog who chased a car. The last time Gilbert saw him, Charlie was a gangly teenager. Now, in front of him stood a slightly older, taller version of that same gangly Charlie – still all elbows and knees, well, minus the braces.
"You're back!" he boomed, launching himself at Gilbert in a hug that nearly knocked him over. They spilled outside, a million questions buzzing between them. Three years seemed like a lifetime.
"When are you going back to school?" asked Charlie.
"The first thing on Monday," said Gilbert, leaning against the porch railing. "No time to waste. Got my transcripts from Alberta and a catch-up plan from the office."
"Sounds brutal, man," Charlie chuckled. "Working after school too? I'm stuck helping my mum at the post office."
Gilbert shrugged. "Maybe, I'll have to see. I hadn't even unpacked yet!"
As they walked, Charlie filled him in on the town gossip, the juiciest being Diana Barry landing in the hospital after accidentally eating cookies that had peanut butter in them.
"For weeks Mrs. Barry blamed Anne Shirley," Charlie snickered, "but apparently she had no idea Diana was allergic."
"Anne who?" Gilbert's head spun. The name didn't sound familiar.
"Right, you wouldn't know her," Charlie said. "The Cuthberts adopted a girl in June, I think? Seems okay, but a little..." he trailed off, making a face. "Odd."
Gilbert's mind snagged on the name "Cuthbert." Matthew and Marilla. He vaguely remembered them – a quiet, reclusive couple living down the road. Raising a teenager? He couldn't quite picture it.
"Listen, I know this may not be the best time," Charlie said, his voice dropping, "but there's a party at Ruby's tomorrow night. Totally cool if you can't make it, but everyone's gonna be there. Even if you just swing by for a few minutes, it'd be awesome to see you."
A party? It was tempting. A chance to catch up, feel a little normal again. But a part of Gilbert craved the quiet of his home, surrounded by the ghosts of memories.
His mum surprised him the next morning. When he mentioned Charlie's visit the previous day and a party at Ruby's, she just said, "Go."
Gilbert blinked. "Seriously? You sure you don't need help with anything? Unpacking, dishes, that mountain of laundry that magically appeared in my room?"
She set the plate of pancakes on the table in front of him and ruffled his dark curls, a gesture he hadn't realized he missed until now. "Honey, trust me," she said, her voice softer than usual. "You haven't seen your friends in ages. Go have some fun. Relax a little."
A few hours later, Gilbert found himself outside Gillis' house, preparing himself for the barrage of questions about his time away. Ruby was the first to welcome him, her hug held a silent understanding.
He pushed through the crowded house, dodging shouts of "Gilbert!" from his old schoolmates, and looking for Charlie. The music pulsed, fairy lights cast a warm glow, and he drifted towards the backyard. Two figures sat huddled by a crackling bonfire, bathed in its golden light, roasting marshmallows over the flames.
Then the music shifted, the opening chords washing over. One of them - a girl with hair like a fiery cascade, defying gravity under the flickering light - hopped onto the bench beside them.
As the song took hold, the girl began to dance, a carefree joy radiating from her, time seemed to slow down, the world around them fading into soft focus. Every move flowed with effortless grace. She swayed like a willow in a gentle breeze, arms extended like branches reaching for the moon. Her fingers danced in concert with the music, weaving invisible stories in the air.
A smile, as radiant as the melody itself, bloomed on her face. In that moment, by the warm firelight, she wasn't just dancing. To Gilbert, she was a captivating vision - a nymph who sprung from a forgotten myth, a dryad that came alive from the heart of the forest. A strange certainty settled in his stomach, a feeling deeper than mere attraction. He knew, with a sudden and unshakable conviction, that this moment would forever be etched in his memory.
Her coppery hair, a halo against the darkness, her smile holding a secret promise, her graceful moves, a captivating language he desperately wanted to learn - it all created an unforgettable image that burned brighter than the fairy lights strung across the porch where he was standing. Gilbert was utterly enchanted.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent conversation that sent shivers down his spine. It was a spark, a jolt of electricity that crackled between them. In that instant, the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of blurred faces and lights. All that remained was her - a beacon drawing him in.
An inexplicable force tugged at him, pulling him closer. His feet, seemingly independent, began to move - a hesitant step, then another. He felt an urgent need to bridge the gap, to break free from the invisible barrier separating them. The music pulsed, a relentless beat urging him forward, but it was the silent song in her eyes, the captivating melody of her smile, that truly compelled him. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, mesmerized and powerless.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the moment shattered. The other girl, who he finally recognized as Diana, noticed somebody across the way. She shouted "Cole!" and vanished into the darkness, dragging the dancing girl with her. The spell broken, Gilbert blinked, the world momentarily tilting on its axis. He had to find her. A strange certainty, a new feeling blooming in his chest. He had to know who that girl was.
