Rosalind sat at her desk beside the open window of her
bedroom. Beyond the window was the garden. It was May and the garden was in
full bloom.
On the corner of her desk was a clear glass vase with
light pink peonies she had picked that morning. Beside the vase right in/on the
middle of her desk slightly tilted to the left was a sheet of paper and a pen.
The paper lay blank. The pen lay unmoved, untouched.
Rosalind’s gaze was absent minded and yet fixed on the
page.
Today she felt uninspired. Her mind was as blank as
the page. Perhaps she shouldn’t try to write at all. Maybe today the page was
supposed to lay blank.
The screen the trees made reminded her of a day back
in preschool. Back then she didn’t know how to read or write.
Back then her greatest achievement was when she learnt
to tie a knot. It was one of those things she could never go back on but that
she didn’t want to. The feeling of accomplishment had been one of the greatest
she would ever experience. Maybe that was why she wanted to write this story so
badly, to feel the sense of accomplishment once she had finished it.
In the hopes of finding inspiration she did the
unthinkable and opened her diary.
No, there was nothing worth basing a story on only
idle complaints about things and people. Maybe she was being pessimistic but
today no words came to mind.
Rosalind placed the pen and paper into her desk
drawer, locked her diary and left the room.
***********************
Claira sat
at her desk behind it was a window and beyond the window there it was, her
secret garden. No one knew of its existence except her.
When her
parents had bought the old home they had let her pick a room from any of the
twelve rooms in the left wing. She had picked this room because of what was now
her secret garden.
Back then
it had been the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place anyone could
imagine. The high walls which shut it in
had been covered with the leafless stems of climbing roses which were so thick
that they matted together.
All the
ground had been covered with a grass of a wintery brown and out of it had grown
clumps of bushes which had later proved to be rose bushes. There had been a
number of standard roses which spread their branches so far that they looked
like small trees. There had been other trees in the garden, and there had been
the climbing roses which she had allowed to run over the trees. Claira
thought it must be different from other gardens.
*****************
On Monday Rosalind’s friend Claire came over and read
what Rosalind had written.
Claire looked confused as she read and asked.
‘Do you have The
Secret Garden by Frances Burnett?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Sure’
Rosalind found the book in the study and came back to
the living room. Claire took the book and skimmed the pages.
‘Ah, ah! Just
as I thought, look here on page 79. What you’ve written is nearly identical.’
Rosalind took the book and read. Her friend was right.
‘This is horrible. It’s like I’ve plagiarized.’
‘Of course not, you were just inspired by it. It
happens to the best of us.’
‘No. This is worse than terrible.’
‘Come on Rosalind don’t beat yourself up. It’s not
like you were going to publish it and then be sued. It’s just one story and
you’ve barely even started. Just maybe avoid writing something about gardens.’
Rosalind smiled, and then laughed.
‘I guess you’re right. No more gardens.’
‘Exactly and like Gilbert says to Anne in the movie
‘Well, if you want my opinion, Miss Shirley, I'd write about places I knew
something of and people that spoke everyday English.’’
Rosalind smiled once again. Her friend was right in
choosing that quote plus it came from Anne of Green Gables one of her all time
favorite movies.
So, Rosalind took up her pen once more and tried to
write a story.
******************************
Two years
ago they had moved here. It was suppose to be their last move her father had
promised. Penny hadn’t felt too sure. All her life they had moved from one
place to the next not staying for more than four years at a time, but that was
the life of a diplomat and his family. A life Penny did not want for herself,
though she was grateful for the many experiences it had permitted her. Some
people have a gypsy spirit, they are nomads at heart, and others need a soil
for their roots. Penny needed a soil for her roots and this one was the one she
had chosen. She could no longer travel the world. Her search for where she
belonged was over.
****************************
Rosalind re-read what she had written. It was okay but
there was something missing and she didn’t quit know what it was. So she took
out a new sheet of paper and tried to re-write it.
******************************
This year
she was finishing her second year of college. The rest of her life they told
her. Naturally it was starting to feel like a cliché but that didn’t bother
her. Some things were comforting to hear over and over again. It was almost as
if people were trying to convince themselves more than her that this was true
especially since they had said that every year since she graduated high school.
In her mind
it made complete sense, even after she painstakingly questioned herself about
it. Here she had family, roots and an underlying sense of well being and
belonging. Belonging, something she had too often struggled to feel whether it
was at new schools, with her friends, or in her family. Now the pieces of her
puzzle seemed to fit, the next natural thing would be to enjoy it.
****************************************
A
few days later Rosalind tried to write something completely different.
*******************************
The first
time she had seen him was two years ago. Back then he seemed to glow with an
aura and walk like a roman god. His quiet manner his soft gaze, His smile. It
was nothing new to her. The right smile on the right guy could make her heart
go pitter-patter. It was as if the brightness of the smile made her blind to
everything else. What she wanted was a kind guy with a wonderful smile, because
a smile made her heart melt. Naturally her romantic notions were all to be
found in her collection of romance novels to which she clung as much as to her
bible because in a way they were parables, she believed, that would lead her to
romance. Due to lack of experience in anything amorous she found herself googling
the subject constantly and thinking about him all the time. Most girls liked
‘talk, dark and handsome’ while she liked ‘tall, kind and smile.’ So it was
naturally no surprise that she had crushed on him.
At the
beginning she never even looked at him. He was always curious and curiosity
best suited puppies and not so much gown men. So it was only four years later
that she had actually looked at him for the first time. Since then she could
barely look at other guys.
He had
become the god of her crush world, and being monotheistic in real life she
could only have one god in the land of crushing.
To normal
people he might just be a normal average guy but to her he was THE guy.
***************************
In the last few months Rosalind had become tormented
with thoughts about a guy. In the last two months she had dreamt of him almost
non-stop. Every time she saw him she ran to her friends and ended up laughing
endlessly as if she had lost her mind, which she honestly believed. He was just
a guy. He wasn’t even
that good looking or at least she hadn’t thought so two years ago. In utter
confusion she asked everyone about ‘boys’ even asking her four, five and six
year old cousins. Their conclusion was simple ‘if you like a boy tell him’.
After writing her little excerpt based on him made her
up her mind. She would finally find the courage to speak to him.
On Monday she was still full of resolve to do this but
as she saw him her heart started to beat faster, and she turned 180 degrees.
On Wednesday ‘I’ll do it.’ She told herself.
She was but three feet away from him when she suddenly
fainted. As she regained her senses she noticed she was in his arms and fainted
once again, this time as she opened her eyes her friend Joanna held her arm.
‘What happened?’ asked Joanna.
Rosalind gave her a look.
‘Him? Really? Oh my Gosh Rosa. That’s so cute.’
The next week came along but this time she held out a
box to him with cookies and opened her mouth but no words came out. She tried
to make a sound, any sound. Nothing.
Joanna came to the rescue. She took Rosalind’s arm and
said ‘Orlando would you like a cookie?’
‘Thanks’ he said with a smile as he grabbed one.
‘Rosalind made them herself.’
‘There’re very good’ said Orlando smiling.
Rosalind stood smiling.
‘Well we should go see if Claire wants any shouldn’t
we Rosa?’ said Joanna forcing her to turn.
The next week Rosalind went to a party after being
dragged by Claire and Joanna. At the party she found herself sitting in a corner trying to write a story. One never knew when
inspiration would hit. Maybe it was the 1960’s theme but she didn’t quit know.
Suddenly her heart went piter patter , piter patter.
‘Had she not moved on and put this silliness aside?
She thought for there he was.
And here she was being a party pooper because
instead of enjoying this moment she had been hit with inspiration to write. If
only he would shut up! Then, her heart beat would be normal and she could
finally write something worth being read.
Piter Patter, piter patter. Behind she could hear
his laughter. His face appeared in her mind though her eyes were burning into
the sheet of paper in front of her.
He stopped speaking so she glanced. He was still
there. Now she hoped he would speak though she kept to herself writing away.
She looked once more. How handsome he was in his suit, grey pants, white shirt,
navy blazer and tie.’ She thought.
When the party was over she saw him leave. He
didn’t notice. She felt slightly sad but not completely since in her hands she
had the story.
The next day Rosalind went to Joanna’s house.
The girls sat in Joanna’s room quietly for a few
minutes then Rosalind handed her friend
the story she had been working on at the party. It was all printed up and tied
with a pink ribbon. Underneath the pink ribbon, placed vertically, was a light
pink peony.
‘What is this?’ asked Joanna with surprise.
‘It’s my story,’ replied Rosalind with a smile.
‘You finished
it?’
‘Yes. And you wanna know something? I realized that I
could write any other story but it just wouldn’t be mine. It wouldn’t be my
story.’
‘What about the romantic stories you tried to write?’
‘I couldn’t keep mixing fiction with reality.’
Joana took the peony and smiled. She then took the
ribbon and proceeded to read the story.
***********************
Looking Out
She looked
out the window of her aunt’s home. On the horizon the sun was slowly setting
over the Tejo River that she loved so much.
She was finally happy. She was finally home. Her mind wandered to
memories created only hours before; the house she had left, the tears that had
unknowingly slipped from her eyes as she parted, the unusually tight hug that
her father had given her, the last minute goodbyes from her friends just before
she went through security into the international terminal, the moments of
hesitation that were diminished upon seeing the triumphant smile on her
mother’s face, then the moments of anxiety and ecstasy as she came out of the
burrow that was baggage claims and saw most of her family members all waiting
for her and her mother at arrivals.
They had
all gone to her aunt’s house which was the nearest to the airport to celebrate
the long awaited arrival. Yet slowly the cousins with their children had
happily dispersed through the Lisbon area to their homes.
Now only
the aunts and uncles were left still chatting away in her aunt’s living room,
most of who were now grand-parents save for the youngest uncle who had finally
become a father.
But
suddenly she recalled a picture from her baby album. In the picture her uncle
sat on the beach rubbing her hands with sand as she smiled in utter joy and
amazement. Beside her uncle was her cousin, a boy of eleven years whose
childhood emanated joy. In this picture she was no more than nine months old,
the first time that she had been to her mother’s land. She was not sure but
that was likely to have been the time in which she had first fallen in love
with her mother’s land, the land of the Tejo River, of the navigators, and of
Camões. She knew this love had only
grown more and more with each visit. Part of it was the land itself. The other part
was her family. The old cliché was true ‘home IS where the heart is’. It had
been hard getting to where she was. Many things had impeded her from ever
getting her dream, her wish of going to live in her mother’s land.
At first,
her father had kept her and her mother from getting her wish. He had wanted to
keep things the way they were. He would not allow it. But even he had changed.
Sadly at that point her grand-parents had passed on and she had not been ready
for a new beginning having only just started high school. Her mother’s work had
also been an impediment. Through the grace of God things started happening that
would eventually make her dream come true.
Her mother,
who had been working since she was sixteen, was tired of the demands of work so
she retired. Her mother was also propelled to do this because she had made an
ultimatum. ‘I’m going with or without ’she had said. So her mother decided to
go with her.
Consequently
here she was looking out her aunt’s window knowing that this was just the
beginning. Suddenly, she heard a burst of laughter coming from the room beside
and was awakened from her thoughts. So slowly taking in a breath of the cool
breeze she took one last look out the window. To her left the lights of the
Expo 98 site shone with vigour. The brightest were the lights of the Orient
Station, then as her eyes moved to her right the Tejo River surrounding the
city of Lisbon.
Now, she
left the kitchen’s enveloping darkness to join in the warmth of her family’s
laughter. Leaving the kitchen illuminated only lightly by the stars and lights
of the city as well as the residue of the sun that had basked the scene with
its glow.
*****************************************
Rosalind waited as her friend read the story. When Joanna
was done she looked up.
‘I know it isn’t much of a story and...’
‘And nothing Rosalind. I love it. I always knew you
had it in you but now I have a new challenge for you. I want you to take this
to Orlando and have him read it.’
‘Joanna.’
‘You have to separate fiction from reality. He is
real.’
That was true. He was real, as real as any other human
being but she’d waited this long to give him a cookie surely it would make no
difference if she waited a week or two to have him read the story.
Rosalind thought about it. Joanna was right. Orlando
would get to know her through her story and she would never have to say a word
and maybe just maybe this wasn’t the end but the beginning of a new story.
