Gone But Not Forgotten

I walked slowly, my bare feet sliding soundlessly over the fallen leaves. His hand was cold against mine, but I did not let go. A warm summer breeze, smelling of rose bushes and waterfall mist blew across my face. It was nearly dark out, the twilight settling the world into a cloak of sleep. The trees locked their reaching fingers together, blocking out the stars and the moon, but that was okay. I liked it that way. My eyes flitted over to a small path that led off into the darkness. I crossed the fingers on my free hand, hoping that we would not go down that path. He knew I did not like the dark. We turned right, onto the little trail. But for once, I was not afraid of the dark. His hand, folded over mine, tightened, and I looked up to see him smiling down at me. I studied his eyes...a beautiful blue...like the ocean, early in the morning. Somewhere in the tangle of trees, an owl called. Taking his hand away from me, he put his arm over my shoulders, holding me to his side. He bent down and whispered something in my ear. We were almost there. We walked slowly, leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. I was beginning to feel tired, when I saw it. My eyes, which had been drifting shut, widened. It was beautiful. We had come to a small clearing, about the size of my bedroom. All around the clearing was a tall, green hedge. There were four white marble benches surrounding it. Rose bushes filled the gaps between the benches, twisting in and out of the legs of benches. In the center of the clearing, there was a statue. I looked at him, and when he nodded, I hesitantly stepped forward. I walked around the statue, to the front, so that I could see its face. William Shakespear. The king of true love. He was behind me again, his arms around me. I turned to face him, burying my face in his jacket. It smelled like him; like freshly cut wood and campfires. I suddenly became aware of a rushing noise. There was another entrance in the hedging, with a little white gate. I could not see beyond the gate, but he pulled me towards it and it swung open easily. I gasped. A pale blue waterfall pounded the rocks in a shallow, but crystal clear pool. The water fell from a high cliff. Here, I could see the stars. I turned. He was sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him, watching the skies. I sat beside him, leaning my head against his chest, feeling his fingers brushing my arm, my face, lingering on my lips. I don't know how long we sat like that together, but as the sky grew black and the last star came twinkling into existance, and my eyelids drooped heavily with sleep, he got to his feet and picked me up. He carried me the whole way like that, cradled in his arms like a newborn babe. He carried me through the little clearing, past the narrow path, and onto the road again. He put me down at my own front door, kissed me on the cheek, and, turning on his heel, was swallowed up by the night. I never saw him again after that, but to this day there is a clearing with a waterfall, and a white marble bench by the entrance reads: Adam Sanchez, 1992-2008, U.S. Military, age 17.