C5 Amelia Rose

“No.” I took a deep breath and went to the car, loading my things. We took turns driving and sleeping for the first few hours, but during the last stretch, we put on a complete concert for ourselves. I didn’t have to work the next day, so I took a cab to the park to read.

I stepped out of the cab and breathed in the scent of newly bloomed flowers, trees, and fresh cut grass-nature. Whispering, I say a silent thank you for its creation and complex ability to help keep me alive. I look out into the park in awe of its beauty. This, Rifton City Park, is my favorite place to read. I squeeze my book close to my chest, excited to read it. The storyline sounds fantastic, but the cover sold me. An old parchment paper, a quill pen dipped in a small black ink jar, a love letter addressed to his forbidden love, the Queen, and a liquid sealant stamp is sitting on a weathered wood desk.

I could wait until I’ve found the perfect reading spot before reading. I have my favorites. But what is the fun of that? I like to think I am pretty good at multitasking, but I guess it’s the challenge, the game aspect I have depicted in my brain of reading as I walk to my favorite spots. Allowing myself to slowly sink into a literary abyss. All while dodging people, pets, benches, plants, and trash cans-that is fun. So, I opened to the first page. It’s a letter. As I read the letter, the room comes to life.

The room is dark, but the oil lamp on the desk flickers enough to see a man sitting at a desk, his back turned to me. I know he is the Queen’s stable hand from the back of the book. So, I imagine him dressed in vintage English-style equestrian clothes; I don’t know the setting yet, but Olde Ye English is my favorite. His boots lay crooked in front of the desk to his side. I hear quick footsteps coming toward me, take a split-second glance up from the book, and sidestep to the right. The stable hand writes in swift, fluid movements, his love oozing through the ink into the parchment. In my mind, I edge closer just in time to see him sign it with love, R.M.

The faint tinge of muddy manure wafts past me as I glance up, side-stepping around a dog attempting to take me out with its leash. The horse caretaker puts his quill pen in the ink jar, puts the now-folded parchment into an envelope, and stares at it lying on the desk. I freeze, then sidestep to the left three times; why do they put trash cans in these conveniently located places just off the path? Into the grass, I go.

I have a blanket today, so I’m setting up at my favorite tree, Marlene. Strong, and firm, it carries the weight of so many species and enhances their habitat life. Just like my mother, always carrying so many loads to make everyone else’s load seem lighter. She couldn’t stand to see someone suffering. I guess that is why Aria and I have become such slayers of negativity. Her name was Marlene, too. My chest tightens. I push her memory away, but only slightly, and dive back into my book.

This moment is the first time he has written the Queen a letter. He rubs his forehead, now sweating, from the oil lamp or the pressure of this letter, I’m not sure. His fist comes down hard on the desk! He jumps up from the chair and paces the room. My heartbeat steadily gets faster, not because of the man’s intensity in the book but because of the eyes. The distant brown eyes, lustrous on the surface, but vast sorrow clinging closely behind, demanding attention. The eyes that have been following me since I got out of the cab. I thought little about it until I stepped off the path.

The man caught my attention because of his clothes. While most of us in the park wore short sleeves or less, his long-sleeve button-up clung to his chest. When I nearly took out the trash can, his gaze was drinking me in. I smiled it off moreover to play off my attack from the trash can. But now. Now, I am off the trail; now, I am strolling across the grass, my steps set on reaching Marlene. His feet are tracing my path. He glides across the grass, but he doesn’t close the gap. He stops. I stop.

The air around me doesn’t change; it’s still the slight breeze through bright sun rays. The birds still chirp and flutter their wings. People are still walking, and dogs are still chasing sticks and toys. The kids are still laughing. Yet, time seemed to have stopped for me, for us.

A tingling sensation rose slowly from my toes until my entire body felt like electricity thrumming through me. I met his gaze over my shoulder, pinning him down until I couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze any longer. I turned to face him fully. When I did, he was gone. My body felt empty. No, not empty; bare, exposed. Like, his eyes dug so deep inside of me it left a hole. A hole that wanted refilling.

With curiosity and fear swirling around in my mind, I finally made my way to Marlene. I set down my blanket and dove right back into my book. The picture wouldn’t formulate. No matter how many times I read the paragraph, the picture doesn’t come into focus, nor does my brain remember a single letter. There may have been a few A’s, a T maybe. I can’t be sure of anything except the whole. The steady stream of electricity is still gently thrumming. His brown eyes, I could picture those, but not this story. I need Aria. I glanced around me, hoping he wasn’t staring behind a tree. I texted her and Caylie too:

‘Marlene, NOW!!!! S.O.S’

It took them less than 15 minutes to get to me and 89.45 seconds to give me a frantic once-over. “I’m ok, I think.”

“You think? What happened?” Aria, ever the empath.

“Yeah, you’re shaking, Meli; what’s going on?” Caylie put a hand on my shoulder as I studied my hands. I hadn’t noticed my hands shaking.

“He was,” I paused, unsure how to answer. What was he doing? I didn’t know what he was doing or what his intentions were. Was he even looking at me or through me at...a bird? I watch birds, so it’s possible, right? The deeper in thought I ran, the harder it was to breathe. My chest heaved, hard and fast.

“Amelia Rose!” I snapped my eyes up from my hands to Aria, who was screaming in my face. She held my face, urging me to mimic her slower breaths, then, of course, as only Aria would, started making silly faces. A laugh blurted out of me, along with the heaviness in my chest.

“He didn’t do anything.” I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping the pressure would ease the hole in my chest. “He just left.”

“Good.” Caylie, the hot head of the group, crossed her arms and scowled.

My shoulders slumped. “It was so intense.” I sat, legs crossed, on the blanket; Aria and Caylie followed. “We stared at each other for an eternity. And then he was just gone. I couldn’t focus on my book after that.”

“Wait, you scared off an attacker with a staring contest? That’s kind of badass.” She raised her hand for a high five, another trick she used to cheer people up. I wasn’t feeling it this time. “Sorry, that must have been scary.”

Both my sister and my best friend wrapped their arms around me. And we sat in silence. I don’t know what they thought about the ordeal, but I was stuck on his brown eyes, veiled like a mask. Masking what, though? What have they seen, relived, over and over again? His eyes felt like how prison must feel. Like they’d been trapped in a nightmare for far too long.

That was it, the massive hole in my chest he left behind. It was the mystery of him, his life, his pain. His pain was attaching itself to me, begging to be freed. He had lust plastered on his face, but the pain was driving him forward...toward me. For what? What kind of release did he want? How would he know I can do anything about it? I gasp hard and deep. He definitely knows our family secret.