sparks

39 - a new beginning

- George

***

11 years into the future

Italian summers are something I'll never grow tired of. When father said I could have my pick of houses anywhere across the globe, both Quinn and I agreed on Italy, and it has been one of the best choices I've made over the course of my life.

I'm relaxing down in the quiet end of our garden when I spot Quinn, who is supposed to have left for Alainas at least an hour ago, come bounding down the garden, like some sort of rabid dog. I start up, immediately thinking something is wrong.

"Are you alright?" I shout, but she doesn't answer, she just keeps running, eventually slowing to a stop when she reaches the grass I'm stretched out on underneath the trees.

"Here" she breathes, holding out a rectangular envelope. "I went to fetch the post, but when I saw this, I ran straight back here all the way from the piazza" she coughs, clearly out of breath.

I hold her out my water, taking the letter from her grasp. On the front, the departure address is New Haven, USA, coming from Yale University.

I smile, I smile so wide I think my face might break. Just three days ago, I had been sat wondering if he still wrote to me in my fathers attic. For the last three days, I've been wondering if I should now be writing to him. Is it too late? Should I just let that ship sail?

Quinn drops down to the grass beside me, tying up her hair to get it out of her face. I smile because I know who this is from. I smile because I know that familiar, familiar messy scrawl.

My heart lifts and lifts as my fingers tear eagerly at the letter. I unfold the pages, and settle the ones I'm not about to read on my lap. My eyes follow his words. his words. He wrote these very words before my very eyes.

To,

My dearest george,

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope this letter actually finds you. I know it is a long shot at this rate, and I know I have no business interrupting your life now since you have never wanted anything to do with me before, but I need to know for myself that I tried one last time.

Throughout the past however many years, I've been composing a book. I've been pulling a book together from pieces of our time together. To put it simply, I am writing a book about you, I am writing a book about us, about what we were.

This is a project I have been working on for years now. Though I left it, years ago, because I was unable to do what I am about to do now, and I knew it wouldn't be complete without this.

I am asking so much of you, and I do understand that, and please realize this isn't necessary at all if you feel you are unable to do so, but I am asking you to write, again, only if you are able, recounts of what you remember from our time together. From your point of view, from what you remember from that October when you arrived, through to the June, when you left.

I remember, still, so painfully, how much of an awful time this was for you. I remember it all. If you cannot, for any reason, do this then please, do not. If you can, then do not worry, it needn't be any sort of masterpiece. It can be in bullet points if thats all you feel you can manage. I can work with whatever you think you are able to do.

You can write back to the address on the last page, or to my dad's place, if you can remember the address. You can even write to Yale. I'll find the letter either way. Anything you send will be appreciated.

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I pray you don't take any sort offence in me reaching out to you. Please, take care.

Yours, and yours truly,
Dream

When I finish the last page, I read the letter again, and then again, and then again, until Quinn interrupts from beside me. "Well?" she asks, nearly vibrating with anticipation. "Is it him? Am I allowed to know what it says?"

I let my eyes read over the letter one last time, which only confirms the words that come tumbling from my mouth next.

"I have to go" I tell her. "I have to go, I have to go and find him."

The sequel to this book can now be found on my page, under the name 'clocks.'