*This is just a short story, none of this actually happened to me in real life, an idea just hit and I wanted to use it. It is a continuation and a part of a series from The Old Cherry Tree. Please DO NOT steal this short story or any of my others that I will write and post, and if you would like to use this one or any future others for whatever reason in something, please please please credit me and leave a link to my blog. I worked really hard on this and even though it is rough and needs improving, it's just a little story I wrote for you guys, so I would appreciate it if no one tried to call it their own. Thank you and please enjoy! I will polish this up and post a finished version later if requested:)*
Chasing Faith
I met my best friend when I was five and she was twenty one. For a five year old, I never really fit in with the annoying children who played pretend around me. They never really noticed me, but I was never like them. I would rather read than play outside, I would rather learn why the United States joined World War I than how to make tissue paper and pipe cleaner flowers. Mother always called me an old soul, someone far older than their generation's age. I knew I was different, but being as young as I was, I didn't care and didn't value fitting in.
I noticed things a lot of people usually didn't for being so young, so when my mother started getting bruises on her neck and face one week, it didn't go unnoticed. So, I asked. I asked my mother who was hurting her. She had just smiled a weak, weak, smile and stroked my hair, and she said, "One day soon, you'll understand, and by then everything will be ok. Just have faith." I had just nodded, and left to grab my book; Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone. Around this time of day, half past five, was when my father came home. It was around this time that my mother encouraged me to leave the house and enjoy the park a block away, as long as I took my book and didn't walk away anywhere with strangers. So I did.
The day I met my best friend, I had left the house in time to meet my father, rushing from his car to the house. When he saw me, he smiled and his eyes lit up in a strange way, almost predatory; he was in an especially odd mood today. He swept me up into his arms, nearly suffocating me in his large, tan trenchcoat he wore everyday. He twirled around with me in his arms before setting me down.
"How is my little sunflower?" He asked, dancing around with me a bit. I giggled like a true five year old would; I was alway's my father's little sunflower. If only I knew. I was the closest with my mother yes, but father was a close second. Then he shouted towards the door for my mother, "Terra! Have I got news for you darling!" I heard my mother come to the door and smile; but it wasn't the smile I could make her smile, it was weary and tired and it hardly showed her spirit. And a secret perhaps was also hidden in that smile.
"Why don't you go to the park sunflower? I must talk to your mother now." Father had kissed my forehead and sent me on my way, this time dancing, or rather dragging, my mother into the house while laughing. Mother's laugh was tired and unamused, hardly there. I had waltzed to the park deep in thought that day, knowing the way like the back of my hand.
When I got there, I had headed to my spot, under a beechwood tree. As I walked, I saw a girl, about eighteen perhaps, with golden hair and sparkling blue eyes, walk away from a cherry tree carved with intials and a beautiful stone underneath it. She looked so sad, but something told me not to interrupt this moment she was having. She looked up, and I followed her gaze to two little girls, perhaps my age, laughing underneath an orange tree, watching the sun set in colors matching their clothes and moods, saving this day in at least four people's momories. At this, the older girl looked like she had remembered a very happy memory, but she smiled such a lovely, heart broken smile, and a single tear had traveled down her face. As she left, I recognized her as the girl who always watched the sun set with her best friend, or maybe she was her sister. I wondered why they weren't together, because even my advanced five year old brain couldn't connect all the dots. Then she had left, and she had done so with an air that she never had any intention of coming back.
Something about that moment had felt so important, that I watched all of it, feeling rooted to the spot. When I finally moved forward to my tree, I glimpsed a well loved violin resting against the stone under the cherry tree. I was curious, but let it be. Because I saw another girl, this time looking slightly older than the previous one, sitting under my spot by the beechwood tree. And she watched the older girl walk away, she wore a pained expression and closed her eyes, relaxing the tension from her cheeks. Almost as if she was letting go of something. I tilted my head to the side; I'd never seen her around before. As I approached her, I observed her.
She was somewhere in her early twenties or late teens, with honey colored skin, dark hair with lovely highlights and soft features. Her hair reached down to her waist and lay in deep waves around her. She had a small nose and small ears, and small lips too. Her eyes were slightly big, and when I got close to her, she opened them with deep black lashes and smiled a brilliant white smile at me. She was beautiful, and not a single cosmetic adorned her face. And something about her, just made me want to learn her name and trust her. So when she spoke to me, I responded.
"Hello!" She had said in a soft voice, still with a smile. I got a bit shy, timidly saying a hello back, and she laughed. Her laugh was like windchimes, musical and light. "What's your name love?" Something about the almost motherly way she said love made me want to talk to her. I told her my name and she looked at me adoringly. "My name is Diane," she replied with. Then, I sat down with her, upon invitation, and we jast talked. I told her about my book, and she, after quickly realizing how much information I already knew and could process, talked to me about her university and about her family and past. A superficial past apparently, oh how I wish I had known. By the time we were done talking, the sun had finished setting and the two little girls that were sitting underneath the orange tree were gone, their little laughters fading in the distance. Before I left, Diane handed me a book, silently smiling and beginning to walk away. I looked at the cover curiously. It appeared to be handwritten, with no author.
"Chasing Faith." I was curious, I'd never heard of this book before. I looked up to thank Diane, but when I did, she was already gone. So I took the new book and my Harry Potter one and nearly ran home, almost out of breath.
Dinner that night was quiet, as something told me not to tell my parents about Diane. So the night went quickly, and soon I sat on my bed, holding Diane's book, reading the loopy cursive writing by the light of an oil lamp. Medieval, but I valued the little oil lamp. It was my birthday present for my third birthday. So I sat with the oil lamp, to go to bed as soon as the fire died down, staring at the cover of "Chasing Faith." As the fire got low, I opened the cover and read the first sentence.
"Some things in life aren't always going to be what they seem..." Then the fire went out, and I placed the book by my bed. As I closed my eyes, I vaguely recall dinner that night, and how Mother's neck seemed to have more bruises than before.
The next day I rush to meet Diane at the park. Though I arrived an hour early, both Diane and the two little girls from the day before were already there. I slow down as I approach her, sitting down in front of her when she smiles at me. Her eyes still sparkle like they did yesterday. She cocked her head slightly at me when she saw I no longer had Harry Potter in my hands, but instead the book she gave me yesterday.
"Have you got a question love?" She asked me. I nod shyly.
"Di, why is it called Chasing Faith?" Diane smiled an eyesmile at me, adoring the nickname I gave her and gesturing me to sit over in her lap. I don't hesitate to scurry over to her, my back to her chest, tiny in her embrace. Her breaths are steady and calming, and she holds my tiny hands in hers.
"Close your eyes love, and let me tell you a story." I do as she says, then I let her voice take me far, far away.
"About eighteen years ago, two little girls were born in the same hospital, two years apart. When the younger turned five and the older seven, they met underneath a very old cherry tree, placed with an amazing view of the sun when it sets. They became the closest of friends, practically sisters. They went through middle school together, then on to high school. They went through boyfriends and cars and jobs and Friday nights. When finally, they both lost their parents, through only a simple car crash. The older girl found faith in God, that things would get better. The younger, she could never get over it. She was always just, chasing faith. She made herself a beautiful stone, put it in a lovely spot. She left a final message, and behind her she left a girl, a sister, the one who always loved her the most. Now the older will never come back, but she'll pass every once in a while. She'll glance down a worn path to a forgotten beauty and towards two other little girls laughing, and her face will turn away, but not before you see the tears sparkling in her eyes. Then she'll be gone. But one day, when she finally forgives, she won't come back. She'll find a new route, a new path, and you won't see her again. Right now, she is chasng faith as her companion once did. So that, my love, is why that book is called, 'Chasing Faith'." Diane gently draws little circles on my shoulder, and my eyes are still closed.
"Diane..." my voice comes out as a whisper, nearly carried away in the sweep of the wind, falling like a cherry blossom in Spring.
"Why have you given it to me?" I can sense Diane's smile form and we both relax for another story.
"Because, you will one day understand, what it is like. To think you know something well, to think you love something dearly, to think you understand what you've seen your whole life. But one day, the water will travel uphill and the wind will blow from the South, the sun will rise in the West and trees will grow without roots. Because everything you've ever known will change, and the perfect picture you will see has been painted with the blood, sweat, and tears of the artist, the song not in your language will make you cry once translated, and everything will fall to pieces. And you will have to decide how long you are willing to chase after faith, and either fight or submit to giving up. And this book, this book is a story that will show you both sides, so that way when eventually your time comes, you will be able to choose the wisest to yourself. When I met you, I could tell you were different, and there is a way I don't want you to end up. That's why I gave it to you."
"What did you say you majored in?"
"Psychology." A smile. "The manipulation of the mind."
When I left Diane that evening, I kept thinking about her words, and the peculiar way she answered my last question. What was going to change my world so desperately?
I had visited Diane every afternoon for about two months, listening to all of the tales she heard and to all the places she's been. And every night as my oil lamp burnt down, my mind fell asleep still trying to comprehend the words she had told me that day.
Until one day, when it all made sense.
Such terrible, truthful sense. The worst kind, the only kind. The day the water ran uphill, the day the sun rose in the West, the day it all came down to pieces.
The day everything I thought I'd ever known became a lie.
Because one day Diane wasn't there, so I had no reason to stay long. So I came home early, skipping slightly downheartedly back. And the door was creaking, as it fell slightly open, and the aura of the threshold felt cold and empty. The doors empty, pictures crashed on the floor, a drag of blood fighting on the walls. Carpets scuffed, cushions thrown, chairs overturned. One little girl, her whole world about to be fully torn. Up the stairs, towards the only source of light, the master bedroom. Maybe this is why my mother was so devoid of life. And maybe my father wasn't so perfect. And maybe humans make mistakes. But maybe, just maybe, not all mistakes can be forgiven.
Because my mother wasn't happy, no, if she hid behind doors at night and makeup in the day. If she was terrified of my father as she should've been. If the reason she didn't have a pulse as I fought to find one was because of my father. If the reason my father wrote a note and had a blast through his mouth, and weapon in his hand, was because of his guilt. If all of this were true, my mother wasn't happy. If all of this were true, my father told such lies. If all of this was true, that night a little girl stood, now alone, forever.
That night, my oil lamp illuminated the dark around me, and the was ran low as I remembered my mother's words.
"One day soon, you'll understand, and by then everything will be ok. Just have faith." Except she was wrong. Because everything is not ok now. And faith is such an ironic concept if we only have it while we can see the sun. And now, as the wax disappears along with the wick and the light goes out with a wisp of smoke, Diane comes into my mind.
I was gone before the police arrived.
When I got to the park, a sudden rain begininng to pound on the groud harshly, the time being dead in the night, I was slightly surprised to see Diane there, though I expected her. The rain poured all around her but for some reason she remained dry. My face was stormed with tears, and for the first time since I met her, I got mad at Diane. For knowing an outcome of the most important part of my life and not telling me. And yet, as I screamed and yelled at her, Diane kept a faint smile on her lips, and sympathy in her eyes; no, not sympathy. Empathy. It stopped my tears for a moment.
"How observant," this time, Diane's voice was hardly a whisper, and I saw the glassiness in her eyes. She beckoned to me, for what I later learned would be the very last time.
"Love, do you remember the two little girls I told you about? The ones who grew up together, but did not grow old?" I nod.
"Underneath that really old cherry tree, theres a violin, that's played its last song. And beside it, is a stone. The girl who gave up on chasing faith, that stone is hers. The girl who never came back, you saw the day she left. And she hasn't come back. She also chased after faith. She found it. Darling, this is your moment. When everything you though you'd ever known, became a lie. And there is nothing you can do, as there was nothing the older girl could do. But you, you can choose one of two options. To chase, or give up." Diane paused, and looked up at the sky, adorned only with five stars. A tear dripped down her face and clung to her jaw, as if afraid to fall. I felt my own tears do the same.
"So decide. But, love, I do so hope you chase. You might fall. But you might fly. So chase." My eyes droop, and I feel a tightness in my chest.
"Find it. Latch on to it. And please, don't let go. Chase it." With those final words, Diane's hands caressing my hair were the last thing I felt. Then, it was gone.
In the morning when I woke up, the leaves in the beech tree above me were swaying gently, and Commons Park was quiet. The sun wasn't up, but by the wee light available, I sat up and saw the note pinned on the tree. On it, in five, beautifully written letters, Diane's last message to me.
"Just keep chasing faith, love."
When the patrol car pulled up by the entrance of Commons Park, I knew they were looking for me. I clutched the note to my chest, eyes closed, staying where I was on my knees. When a sympathetic looking policewoman held her hand out to me, I stayed put. She asked me what I was doing. I lifted my head, watching the very first sunrise I'd ever seen. I watched the stars, which hadn't yet faded, and saw a sixth one, then a seventh and eighth, blink into existance next to the other five. I smile, ever so slightly.
"What are you doing?" the police officer's voice is soft, but nothing like Diane's, who spoke to me like a mother. The policewoman spoke to me like a child. I shut my eyes, feeling the wind through my hair, and then I whispered to the stars.
"Chasing faith."
