From where I sat in the park, at a wooden table next to
Founder’s Rock, I could see the rose garden, Japanese Friendship Garden, the
carousel and playground, and the mini-train depot. It was one of my favorite
places to sit and write aside from the arboretum on the west side of the park.
It was isolated enough to give some privacy, but practically in the middle of
everything. There was a party or something happening at the carousel, so kids
were running around, yelling and laughing. The breeze helped carry some of the
noise away, but I was at a park, so I expected the noise.
I was
deep into chapter seven of the book I was writing when a figure entered my
peripheral. She stood, arms out, hands balled into a fist. Her head was down
but she was looking at me. I, at first, ignored her. She then scooted into my
eyeline and emitted a low, piercing wail that I was impressed she could hold
for so long.
“Can I
help you?” I finally said, and the wailing stopped.
“What
are you doing?” she came over and stood next to me, looking at my notebook
“I’m
writing,” I replied.
She
looked at my notebook like she was trying to read it. I don’t know how much she
could understand since my handwriting wasn’t great. “A book?” she asked.
“Yes,
actually,” I replied.
“I’m at
my cousin’s birthday party,” she said. “He’s turning six.”
“Well,
happy birthday to him,” I said and gave the girl a smile.
“I’m
older. I’m seven.”
She
looked younger. She was short with long, blonde hair. She had blue gray eyes
with one slightly askew. She had a slight lisp but spoke and acted confidently.
“I’m Ashlea,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes slightly fluttering.
“I’m
Michael,” I introduced myself.
“What
are you writing?” she looked again at my notebook, now practically in my lap.
“It’s
actually about a young girl and her growing up and surviving middle school,” I
explained. I wasn’t exactly positive about where I was going with the story. I
couldn’t figure out a hook for the story and currently had a stupid science
fair as a placeholder conflict.
“What’s
her name?” Ashlea asked.
“Abigail.”
“What’s
her middle name?”
“Joyce.”
“Mine’s
Rose.”
“That’s
a pretty name,” I replied. “Don’t you need to get back to the party?”
“Nah.
They can see that I’m here,” Ashlea said and leaned over to wave at the people
at the carousel. “They know how to reach me.” She took my pencil and began
drawing on my notebook. I thought about stopping her but didn’t and watched her
draw. She was sketching a flower, a sunflower from the look of it. It wasn’t
very good but decent for her age. I could erase it if I wanted to. “Did you
know there is a galaxy called the Sunflower Galaxy?” she asked me. “You know,
out in space.”
I
stifled a laugh. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“They
say it looks like a sunflower, but I don’t think it does. It’s blue. Sunflowers
aren’t blue.”
She
stopped drawing and looked at her work. She added a couple more dots for seeds
and put the pencil down. She then walked away back to the carousel. I watched
her leave and looked at her sunflower. I continued writing, leaving the
sunflower and writing around it. Ashlea came back a few minutes later with a
beat-up checkers set. There was a small stack of board games on a shelf in the
carousel building. They were pretty beat up and most of the pieces were
missing. When Ashlea opened the set, it seemed as if most of the checker pieces
were there.
“Play
this with me,” she practically demanded.
“Do you
know how to play checkers?” I asked, closing my notebook.
“No,”
she replied.
“It’s
pretty easy. I can show you. Do you want to be red or black?” I asked.
“Red,”
she said.
“Okay,
you are going to put all your pieces on the dark squares,” I instructed and
watched as Ashlea put the red checkers on the dark squares. “Now, you can only
move one space diagonally. Like this,” I moved one of my pieces to show her.
“Got it?”
She
nodded and moved a piece. We went back and forth a couple of times. “How’s the
economy treating you?” I jokingly asked her.
“Good,”
she answered.
I
noticed she could jump one of my pieces and showed her. “And now my piece is
captured. I can only get it back when I reach your side of the board and get
kinged.”
She
happily jumped over my piece and gleefully yanked it off the board. Holding it,
she cackled evilly and was clearly eyeing the board for other pieces to jump.
After
playing for about fifteen minutes, Ashlea won mainly because there was nowhere
else to go. She had five kings to my four so I declared her the winner. When we
started the next game, Ashlea took it upon herself to make slight, unapproved
changes to the game play. She would move single pieces in any direction, jump
pieces to the side. “Okay, well, now you’re just making up rules,” I said,
pointing to a piece she moved five spaces to jump me.
“Everything’s
made up,” she said and inexplicably kinged one of her pieces.
I
shrugged, nodded, and accepted that argument.
After
Ashlea won again, through her new rules, we played once more, just moving
pieces back and forth. “You go to school, right?” I asked.
She
nodded.
“Do you
like it? What’s your favorite thing to do?” I then quickly added “Don’t say recess.”
“I like
reading. But I only read in school. When I’m at home I like riding my bike and
drawing with chalk.”
“I rode
my bike all the time when I was a kid. I learned later in life. Fourth grade. I
haven’t ridden a bike in years.”
“You
could ride mine but it’s at home.”
“Thank
you. It’s the thought that counts.”
“Ashlea!”
a woman called from the carousel building. “Leo’s opening presents!”
Ashlea
groaned loudly. “I have to get back. Come with me.”
“I
should be going.” I closed my notebook and began to get up.
“Just
come with me,” Ashlea took my hand and led me
to the carousel building. “This is Michael. He’s a writer.”
“Hi,” I
nervously waved to the woman who I assumed was Ashlea’s mother. “Sorry. She
just hanging out with me and I didn’t want to be rude.”
“She’s
a very friendly girl. She makes friends with everyone.”
“She’s
a really great girl,” I looked down and smiled at Ashlea. “Have a good party.”
“We
should play again,” Ashlea said. “I can write you a letter. What’s your
address?”
I did
happen to have a business card with a P.O. box listed on it. I fished one out
of my portfolio and kneeled down to hand it to her. “Send me a letter and I’ll
send one back.”
“Okay,”
she looked at the card. I stood up and began walking away. “Wait!” she
exclaimed and went over to her mom. They talked. I couldn’t hear them but they
both pointed at me a couple times. Her mom nodded and Ashlea ran back over to
me. “Can I hug you?”
“If
it’s fine with your mom, it’s fine with me,” I kneeled back down and she
wrapped her arms around me. I did the same and we hugged for several seconds
before she pushed away, running to her mom and then to the carousel building.
“Bye!”
she briefly turned around and waved. I raised my hand in return and then she
was gone.
It was
almost a year when the forwarded letter arrived at my new P.O. box. It was
clearly addressed by a child. I didn’t even realize who it was from until I saw
Ashlea’s name scrawled on the back of the envelope. She said she would write
but never did. I just assumed she had forgotten and moved on. I about forgot
about her over the last few months. Every so often she’d creep back into my
brain, usually when I was writing and trying to draw inspiration for the main
character. I carefully tore the envelope open with a letter opener, wanting to
preserve the envelope. She had drawn a giraffe on the sealed side next to the
return address. Outline drawn in a reddish-orange marker, scribbled in yellow,
with brown spots.
Dear Michael,
I hope this letter finds you well. I am
fine. I am sorry I haven’t written sooner. It has been pretty crazy around
here. Let me start from the beginning:
My cousin got a lot of birthday gifts. Then
he cried because he didn’t get a basketball like he wanted. He got everything
else he wanted so I don’t know why he was a crybaby about that. I just sat
alone in the corner eating cake and ice cream.
For Halloween, I went as a brain guy. Or
brain girl. I had a black cloak and a hat that looked like a brain. I wish I
could’ve put something on it to make gou gooie slimy but it was
cloth. I got a lot of candy and peeople didn’t like it when I said I
wanted to see their brain.
We went to my Grandma’s for thanksgiving.
Like every year. For Christmas, I got a lot of Legos. I like building the sets
but I like building whatever I want more.
This boy in my class gave me a spechul
valentine because he likes me. I threw it away but I kept the chalklit
chocolate. For my birthday (I’m 8!!!)—and she drew a cake with eight
candles on it—I had a pool party! It was
really fun! One of my friends said I was trying to drown her. I said it was a
pool party and when you are around a lot of water you might get a little
drownd.
When school ended, my family and me spent a
month in Colorado and New Mexico. I thought about sending you a postcard but I
didn’t have your address when I was there. Here it is anyway. The postcard
featured the Taos Mountains with the sun symbol in the sky and was folded up in
the envelope. We just got back so I
thought I’d get this letter written before I forget again.
We only have a week before school starts
again. Clearly Ashlea forgot about the letter and picked it back up several
weeks later. A new park with trails
opened near me so I’m spending a lot of time in nature or at the pool. When
it’s too hot, I stay home and read. That’s how I found this letter. It was in a
book I was reading as a bookmark.
I’m really going to send this
letter this time.
Love,
Ashlea
P.S. I’ve been
practicing checkers for a rematch.
P.P.S. Forgive the
lateness of my letter.
P.P.P.S. How’s
your book going?
I
smiled at the letter. I was glad it was still able to be forwarded. I had
finished my book. It had undergone a major rewrite. I had changed the main
character into a girl like Ashlea. She and her parents came from that sunflower
galaxy she had mentioned to me. Their planet had been taken over by aliens from
another galaxy and her and her parents were now refugees on Earth. The aliens
were now heading toward Earth and only these three could stop them. I had turned it into a young adult novel and
found an agent who was searching for a publisher.
The entire book was finished except for one thing. I logged into my laptop and opened up my novel. I had about three pages of acknowledgement, people I wanted to mention that helped me in the process of writing. I didn’t have a dedication page and thought about not having one. It’s clear who the book should be dedicated to. I scrolled to the blank fifth page and typed a dedication. ▩
