It is always springtime. In fact, it was right around this time every year.
The days stay untouched by
time. The details are unclear and the memories are faded along the edges, but
the time and place are always familiar.
With the perpetual rain
comes an inevitable shower of whirligigs. “Helicopters,” we called them. The
maple trees produce their fruit in the form of keys which spin to the earth
every April in torrents. It is an almost majestic dance—they flutter and twirl
on their way down, often just barely eluding our childish grasp. I think their
elusive nature drew us in. Children always like to chase things, and we were no
exception. So we would chase without abandon, because we didn’t know to fear
the world yet.
I lied when I told you
that my mother said that successfully catching the falling maple keys would
allow us one wish, you know. I just wanted to tell you something wonderful so
that you might play with me at recess. Maybe six-year-old you saw right through
six-year-old me. Maybe he didn’t—and maybe someday I’ll find out. But if you
did, you didn’t care. We chased them with childish dedication, and we wished
like we really did believe in miracles. To this day, I still do.
In our six-year-old minds,
we thought that it would be good idea to plant a seed from the keys in the
sandbox of the school playground. We nurtured that dream every day, making sure
our little patch of sand was always properly watered. Unfortunately, we may
have gotten a little ahead of ourselves when we dug it back up to make sure
that it was still there. But that was my first encounter with a lesson on
patience—and biology. You have to keep
faith in the things that you cannot see.
So imagine my surprise
when I got your letter out of the blue, eleven years later, asking me if I
remembered you. I asked how you thought I could ever forget. My perspective has
not changed since those days. Though I have grown up, I am still the girl who
searches for beauty in the broken and romance in the ordinary. I still want to
chase dreams and make wishes with all the innocence in the world. Some would
inevitably call me naïve; childish; disillusioned—yet I would not change a
thing, because those spring days with you remind me to look at the world with
eyes unclouded by the jadedness that comes with age. Childlike perspective is
like looking at photographs through perfect glass.
Right now, you are just an
idea; merely a passing dream. I wouldn’t know it was you if you walked past me
on the street. Perhaps you are the stranger that I unwittingly shared a smile
with today, or the boy that I passed by without a second thought. But it is
dizzyingly mesmerizing to think that we watch the same sky every night. And so
I will watch that sky and hope you are doing the same; that the simple action
might connect us across the many miles.
The world could be winter,
but it is forever springtime in my heart.
