PREFACE
This is a story of
divinity. Or, of something divine. Or, someone
divine. It’s a story of progress and love and falling and learning. It’s a
story – what more can be said about that?
I know how the story ends.
I mean, I’m the author. Sure, it’s a work in progress, but it’s pretty
predictable. Even as an author, though, there are certain things that I
couldn’t see coming. Things that sorta swept me along and took me for the ride.
Things that made me regret past choices and things that inspired future ones.
But, the interesting thing about this story is that I’m not the only author.
This story is not only
mine. It belongs to another – it is written by another. Co-written, I guess you
could say. But, then again, we had no idea.
I shall write this story in
the way that I wrote the handful of works of fiction that now line a single
shelf in my bookcase – chapter-by-chapter. Only, there will be one thing
different between this one and the others that I’ve managed to publish: this
one is non-fiction. And, though I think I know the ending, the rest of the
story remains, as of now, unwritten.
But, enough of this. I
never liked reading prefaces, anyway. Onto the first chapter. Titled, appropriately…
CHAPTER ONE: IN THE GLADE
You see, it all started out
on a mid-June afternoon. It was a Wednesday. Heh. Who would have thought one of
my most life-changing events would occur on a Wednesday?
I was taking a walk on a
trail in a seemingly undiscovered and undisturbed forest that circled around a
part of a lake. This was not my first time venturing out there – I had walked
these woods before in search of inspiration for my poems and bits of writing.
However, it was the first time I was not alone.
I hear… strums of a guitar?
There – non-lyrical singing. Is it singing? Perhaps my mind is playing tricks
on me. Insects buzzing away, birds chirping, squirrels bounding away into the
inner recesses of the forest. It could be– Oh, no, these strands of music could
not be the sounds of the forest, for– there again! I hear a guitar. Most
certainly.
I walked closer to where I
suspected the source of the music was coming from. Unknowingly, I strayed from
the trail in my eager search for whoever had dared to enter this forest that I
had come to view as my own. As I got nearer, the singing became clearer. It was
a girl’s voice. There were no words to her song and, yet, it was spell-binding.
Finally, I reached a clearing in the forest. And, there, not twenty feet away,
was the goddess whose music had entranced me. She was, well, gorgeous. In the fullest meaning of the word. Her hair was the lightest blonde I’d ever seen, falling to
her lower back and all around her, and she wore a light, summery dress – creamy
lace and white folds of fabric loosely enveloped her body. She wore no jewelry.
No shoes. She was peacefully strumming her guitar and singing. Still hidden in
the outskirts of the forest, I considered sitting and sketching her or at least
writing of her ethereal beauty. She could’ve been a cursed nymph in a
fairytale, perhaps forced to live in this unknown forest because she had
refused to do what the gods had asked. But, like all fairytales, this one was
about to be shot to the ground by the acute arrows of reality.
There was a buzzing around
my ear… I tried not to move as I didn’t want to attract the attention of the
girl in the middle of the glade. But, it got louder and louder and finally, I
waved it off. Five seconds later, I felt a sharp pain on my ear. “Ouch!”
The girl looked up.
Spotting me, she got up quickly. Her eyes met mine in a brief moment and I
didn’t move. She smiled, turned, and then… ran in the opposite direction. What.
just. happened. My mind seemed to spin and, caught in the magic of the
forest, I ran after her. For what reason, I did not know. Perhaps I felt that I
could do things here that I couldn’t do in my office in Manhattan – things I
couldn’t do, or things I dared not do. However, I was no athlete and, after
several minutes of trashing through the forest, I realized I was merely
following a shadow – it was a hopeless chase. The forest looked untouched
before I had ran through it, so it was easy to find my way back to the glade by
retracing my previous trampled-out “trail”.
As I walked back to where
she had been sitting, I noticed that she had left her guitar behind and
realized that she would definitely have to come back for it. Silly me.
I should have known… She clearly couldn’t have run through the forest with it. I
picked it up. It was an old guitar, but it had probably cost a fortune in its
prime.
“Do you like it?”
“AHH!” I screamed in a
man-like manner and quickly spun around, nearly dropping the guitar. How she
had managed to sneak up on me, I would never know.
She chuckled. “That’s my
guitar.”
“Oh. Yes. Um. Here you go,”
I stammered, clearly embarrassed, handing the guitar back to her. “I was just
admiring it.”
“Ooh, do you play?” her
voice was low and husky – in a soothing, beautiful way.
“No. I… never learned. But,
I love music, and, I think it’s the poetry of sound.”
“Ahh, spoken like a poet.
You are, aren’t you?” she asked, smiling. I nodded, slowly, not understanding
how she could completely captivate me with just a few words. She was short, but
made you feel like you were looking up to her. She was beautiful, but in a
different sense of the word. Her hair was whispy and long, her eyes were a
haunting deep brown that promised the world, her smile – her smile. It was kind
and playful and serious, all at once. She looked to be no older than twenty,
but she seemed wiser than her years.
After a couple of seconds
that seemed to stretch into eternity, I realized that I was staring at her. I
blushed. Then, I realized that my ear was stinging from something. I put my
hand to it.
“Ouch,” she said, gesturing
to my ear. “That looks like a bad sting. Hmm… I don’t have any ice, but I do
have a cold sandwich.” She dug into a picnic basket that seemingly just
appeared there, and produced a sandwich in a ziploc bag. “This is a bit chilled
because my picnic basket is good at retaining a stable temperature. You can’t
get baskets like this anymore,” she said in a proud sort of way, as she handed
the sandwich to me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking
the sandwich from her and awkwardly holding it to my ear.
She laughed at me. Suddenly gaining courage, I
asked, “What’s your name?”
“Antimony,” she said,
smiling.
“Antimony?” I repeated.
“That’s an interesting name. I’ve never heard it before.”
“Well, thank you... I think,” she laughed.
“And you are…?”
“Oh. I'm George.”
She regarded me for a
moment. “Hmmm… I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked,
puzzled. “You don’t like my name?”
“Mmmm… you should be
‘Mark’. Yes. Mark. Can I call you Mark?” she looked up at me with a twinkle in
her eyes.
I didn’t quite know how to
respond. “Uh. Sure. Why not?” I said, slowly.
Smiling, she took my other
hand and sat me down. “Tell me, Mark, what brings you to this part of the
woods?”
And thus began the most
wonderful conversation of my life. I felt at ease and happy. The pain in my ear
began to subside until I forgot I had even gotten stung. It seemed as though
her wild, free spirit rubbed off on me as the hours went by. Every worry, every
care, every ache left my mind and heart as we talked and talked. Even as the
shadows grew longer and the air got cooler, we continued to talk about
everything – favorite books and fruits, philosophy and poetry, my awful case of
writer’s block, my habit of sticking to trails and the deep of the forest and
her love of the openness of the glade and the freeness of running wild… And
then, I realized the time.
“Wow, it’s late. I think I
need to go now. I’m staying at a friend of my father’s and it would be impolite
to get to their house at an ungodly hour,” I said, standing up and stretching.
“Aww, wait. Let’s look at
the stars a bit,” she said, pulling me down with her as she looked into the
sky.
I allowed her to rest her
head on my shoulder as we both gazed at the stars in silence. After a few
minutes, I spoke. “Did you know that–”
“Shh! Not so loud!” she
laughed, softly. “Think about the millions of people who have looked at these
stars, generations and generations before us… Think about what they must have
been feeling… Perhaps the stars were a comfort to travelers who journeyed far
from home. Perhaps, people thought…” she continued to whisper of the marvel of
the stars, but I could only think of the marvel that was beside me. After a few
minutes, she stopped whispering and closed her eyes.
I turned my head gently to
look at her face. She was so still that I ventured to whisper very quietly,
“Did you know that– that you are one of the most gorgeous people I have ever
met?” I observed her face. She didn’t respond. I continued, “Did you know that
I’ve had so much fun during this afternoon with you? That I have learned so
much from just being with you?” Her eyelids fluttered. I, unfazed, continued.
“Did you know that I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you? Did you know?”
My eyelids closed as I put
an arm around her.
I awoke to the birds
singing and the sun’s rays shining through the deep of the forest. I was alone.
Antimony was gone and so was her guitar and basket. I sat up and saw some light
reflecting off of some plastic about a foot away from where I sat. It was a
water bottle with a ziploc bag next to it. Inside the bag was a note.
Hey, Mark. I didn’t want to
wake you, but I had to leave early.
Anywho,
you know how we were talking about your writer’s block? Well, like you said,
this is the perfect place to get inspiration. You said you usually sit in the
middle of the forest? Try to sit in the middle of the glade next time. Blaze a
trail of your own. Run wild. New perspective, new insights.
Also,
you said you had fun and learned things? Be sure to write it down. Write a
story about what you learned from yesterday. Write, write, write, my dear. And
while you write, I’ll be singing. In the glade.
xoxo,
Antimony
On the other side of the note were ten digits and a “Call me, maybe ;)” scrawled next to it. I smiled, picked up the water bottle, and jogged into the forest. Consciously avoiding the trails, I listened, hoping to hear once more the strains of a song that seemed to be frozen in the timelessness of yesterday. Hearing only the sounds of the forest, I glanced at the note in my hand, looked up, and broke into a wild run.
