The Willow Tree

It was a solemnly rainy night, yet the city lights glimmered with enigma as they reflected on her window. Jeanette embraced her shoulders to give herself warmth from the draft sneaking through. The rain appeased her, comforted her in a way only it knew how to do. As the droplets fell against her window, reflections of city lights gleamed through each one, like tiny peaks of hope. She closed her eyes and exhaled the daily fatigue. Her own reflection stared back at her. Panpsychism, they call it. Her reflection did indeed have a consciousness, and within that consciousness her split soul witnessed her solitude and every tear. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Reflections have a way of spying; they seem to creep up when you’re being illuminated—the illumination of vulnerability and truth. She knew her life was fleeing from her. The days had turned to months and the months to years. She was trying to hold onto her dream of becoming a real artist for a while, a long while in fact. Her dreams felt unattainable at times, yet, she tried to remain hopeful. She imagined herself as a renown actress, it was her only real dream. She wondered if it would ever come true. Her life was speeding along and she was in the backseat powerless and buckled, everyone and everything outside the window flashed by and there was nothing she could do.

It was suddenly three a.m. and Jeanette wondered where the time had went. That airy little thief called “time”- the elusive, the untouchable. Her body begged for rest, yet her mind was pretentious as usual, unwilling to negotiate, only desiring to ponder notions once again. She went to lie down on the haggard air mattress and while her mind battled with her body, she imagined her bed floating into the clouds like a hot air balloon, maybe then she could escape the pressures of life. Why did she have to grow up? Why did life have to be so hard? Why were people increasingly willing to surrender their dreams? Why did her only supporter have to die? Amidst the questions and the fight, she somehow managed to fall into a nice REM sleep. She suddenly found herself within a dream, she heard music echoing in the distance and there was a peace that enveloped her--embraced her. She opened her eyes and intuitively knew that the Divine would help her accomplish her dreams. Somehow, someway.

She decided to take a break from her stressful analyses and take a walk in the park. She quickly changed into her favorite dress and grabbed her faithful companion, a vintage turquoise bicycle and headed out the door of her apartment. It was a small apartment on the sixth floor, but it was sufficient for her. The elevator was old and fickle, but it brought her down from her nest which was considerate. It stopped at the ground floor, she opened the door then headed out the main doors of the building. She inhaled the afternoon city air, it spoke of tobacco and buzzing. The neighborhood of The Hive was always buzzy-buzzy. Jeanette felt a sense of nurturing pride for having allowed herself to enjoy the day. Thoughts lingered, like a humming in the back of her brain. Thoughts of despair and disappointment. She longed to cry. She peddled her bicycle and as the wind touched her face she felt like a child being caressed by her mother’s loving hands. She peddled through the feathery wind, completely focused on the road, as if navigating her way through the maze of life.

She reached Innsaei Park and strolled over to her favorite spot under a welcoming willow tree. She sat on the fluffy grass then slowly stretched her body to lie down. She lied there staring up at the cotton clouds and pondered the losses of life and felt a tear fall down her cheek. She never anticipated losing her only supporter so soon and she never expected the solitude of pursuing a dream. Suddenly, she felt something moist on her arm, it was dog licking her, a little Dalmatian. She did not know where it came from, but as she lifted her head, she noticed something shining in the sun. The sunlight seemed to be beaming down on something on the ground beneath a mirror. "Someone dropped their hand mirror on the ground," she thought. As she picked it up, under the brush, there lied a little black book. It immediately intrigued her, for she did love books. It was peculiar, because the front cover displayed only a symbol of a honeybee, but no words. The honeybee was imprinted in gold. She opened the book and it appeared to be a journal. The front page included a dedication: “To my dear honeybee, I’ll always love you.” As she turned the next page, she noticed how the writer spoke of his beloved. He spoke of their first encounter, when they first made love, their first fight, their life goals, their hopes and dreams, and her sudden passing. He spoke of how her death crushed his spirit and how he did not know how to live without her. He had to learn how to walk without her, speak without her, eat without her, sleep without her...

As she read these words, she felt pain in her heart and began to sob…

She felt as though she knew this "honeybee" he spoke of, and she could feel his pain. The pain and the story felt familiar. She continued to read on, internalizing every word within her being. As she reached the final page she discovered an address. She suddenly felt compelled to meet the voice behind the words. There was no name. He had only used the book as a journal but never mentioned his name. How could he do that? So, with just an address, she decided to go visit him. It did not matter if she looked like a crazy person, she felt she had to meet him. He had to know that he was not alone in the world, and that she too had also gone through hardship! So, she peddled as fast as she could. It was dark now, the city lights were brighter, and the night air was like oxygen to her spirit. She crossed a final corner and finally found the address. Thankfully, the house was lit. So, she set her bicycle aside and walked slowly to the door. She rung the doorbell nervously. About five seconds later, an elderly man with blue-green eyes opened the door. She introduced herself and explained to him how she had come to find his address and his journal. His eyes widened as he thanked her with great relief, because he swore he had lost his dear journal! He was in fact just there at the park. She apologized for having read his journal, then explained that because it had been so beautifully written, she thought that it must have been a novel just written in journal form (sort of like Anne Frank’s depiction). He smiled timidly, looked down, told her that his name was Tristan, and how the journal meant the world to him, because it was how he coped with the loss of his beloved "honeybee." He said her name was Melissa and she had died of heart failure. Jeanette then began to cry, revealing to him that her aunt was also named Melissa and had also died of the same thing. She continued to share with him how she had lost her aunt who had always supported her, how devastating it was, how she struggled to find her way in life, and how her dream of becoming an actress felt like it was drifting away. Then suddenly, he remembered who she was…. She was Melissa’s niece. He then explained to her that he had to give her something. He excitedly ran upstairs and came down with an envelope. He said with tears in his eyes, "This is for you. Please don't open it now. Open it when you get home. It’s getting late.” She said “Okay,” and thanked him for everything.

It was about nine p.m. by the time she reached her apartment. She opened the door, walked inside her bedroom, threw off her shoes, and allowed herself to fall onto her mattress. She reflected on the day, the little black book, Tristan, her Aunt Melissa, and the…

She pulled out the envelope with great nervousness, and her heart began to beat with suspense. As she opened the envelope, there was a single letter, then she read aloud: “Dear Jeanette, I am so sorry. I won't be able to make it to your audition, but I want you to know that I have put something aside for you. I hope that you can do something with it! Make your dreams come true my little actress! I love you so much! Believe in yourself always, and remember dreams DO come true! – Love, Aunt Melissa."

Jeanette placed her hand on her chest as warm tears streamed down her cheeks. She had no idea her aunt knew about her audition, neither did she know about this letter. The last time she saw her aunt she was ten years old and she was rehearsing the school play with her. She had always considered her aunt her only supporter, the only one who truly encouraged her to pursue her dreams. She had never had the chance to say goodbye due to her aunt having been overseas and the fact that she had died without warning. It was a devastating loss to her.

With bittersweet nostalgia outpouring from within her like a fountain, she slowly began to open the envelope again and found another piece of paper. It was a handwritten check for twenty thousand dollars made out to Jeanette. She gasped in disbelief! She cried, she smiled, her emotions overwhelmed her. She whispered to herself, “Thank you Aunt Melissa, I love you.”

Jeanette fell asleep that night without the nuisance of pain in her heart, and for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful, she felt loved, she felt remembered, and she knew her aunt was still with her somehow. How else could she have known about her audition two years ago? The golden honeybee seemed to fly in and out of the realms. The messages had always encompassed her: the city lights within rain droplets, the reflection of her split soul, the helpful Dalmatian, the sun's guidance, and the reflecting hand mirror. She had been led by the tiny peaks of hope - messengers and the like - to the little black book. The notions had been pondered and the Divine had listened. The next day would be easier, the next day Jeanette would see the sun rise a little brighter, because after all, her dreams were coming true.