Letting Go (#JustWriteIt 30-Days Challenge)

Pre Chorus

I was meant to do just what I have to

No time to be afraid to try

I took out the second photo. The pre-chorus part was written on it. This time, it was a photo of tree, taken from under it. Branches spread out to fragile twigs. The leaves seemed like the sky was green. From the branches, plastic bottles were hung using thick strings. I scrutinized it carefully. There were papers in each of the bottles. Spontaneously, I looked up.

It was the exact tree.

The tree wasn't too big or too high. I climbed my way up to the branches with the bottles. As I reached up there, there was a wooden base enough to fit for one person to sit. Glad that I learnt how to climb a tree through summer camp.

"Ouch!" I caught a splinter at the heel of my right hand. I settled down on the wooden base, cross-legged. The splinter made my hand throb. I pinched it hard to get the splinter out. And yes, I succeeded. Why didn't somebody put a ladder to make it easy to climb? Teanna would need it so bad.

From the wooden base, I carefully reached for the bottles. My index finger was too short to pull the paper out. I nearly lost my balance whilst reaching for the strings that held the bottles. My heart almost dropped. I sit cross-legged back, leaning against the tree trunk, heaving a relief sigh.

How did Teanna do all of these?

She didn't know how to climb a tree as far as I remembered. She never went to a summer camp. Teanna wasn't a fan of camps or extreme activities though she used to collect plastic bottles as an act of loving and saving the Mother Nature. Guess that explained the hanging bottles. I started to wonder when did she start these amazing things. My brain couldn't process images of Teanna climbing a tree, holding a hammer. I still thought there was a ladder. Maybe I didn't know Teanna that much.

"Mom, may I go out to the library?" Teanna asked as she planted a good morning kiss on Mom's cheek.

"Again? Alright, then. But, don't you think you should spend more time with Reanna?"

Teanna ruffled my hair while grabbing a toast with her other hand."I think Reanna would want her bedroom aura for her writing session. Am I right, lil' sis?"

"Yepp. The library is too...organized." I agreed.

Teanna had never gone to the library. She went here instead, trying to do new things. I grabbed my sling bag and fished for my pencil. Once again, I reached for one of the bottles and used the pencil to take out the paper in it.

Rolled in the bottle was a piece of paper from a notebook. Drawn on it was a plan. A plan of the small library. She did build it. I took another bottles. More photos and notes. A picture of Teanna and Ivey. There was a photo of me, too. And also, a stray cat that had always come to our house. There were gratitude notes to all the people whom she loved; Mom, Dad, me, Ivey, her English teacher. Before You Exit's lyrics were written in cursive writing on some of the papers. One of them was dedicated to Con although she was a huge fan of Riley McDonough. It was a part from the song, One Last Time.

To Con,

My life's forever changing, my paths are rearranging

So sick of life without you. Can you see how much you mean to me?

You're my everything.

I kept sifting through her bottles of mementos. There was a love letter, too.

I decided not to read it.

"Teanna? Are you up there?" Somebody called from down there. I looked down and saw a boy about Teanna's age trying to get a good look at who was on the wooden base. I wondered if he was the one who sent the love letter. He wasn't a hottie. He didn't look like ajock either. But, he was a little bit good-looking if you really looked at him. His hair was dark blonde, not too short, not too long, that his forehead was hidden underneath the blonde bangs. His eyes were a shade of blue. I was fond of his smile.

"I'm not Teanna," I told him then, climbed down the tree after I put back the last paper I'd read into the bottle.

"You look a lot like her. Reanna?"

"Yes," I confirmed my identity as I landed on the ground. No splinter this time. Oh yeah. "Teanna's...passed away." It was like running a thorny stem along my throat to utter those words.

The boy was shocked. He clutched his hand to his chest like the news hurt a lot to him. It was excruciatingly painful anyway. "I'm sorry. No wonder I haven't seen her for so long."

"She was in hospital for two weeks and had a surgery. The medication didn't work on her. She died three days ago," I explained, struggling not to cry.

He sat on the bench, still couldn't absorb the heartbreaking update. "She was so amazing. Sometimes she was unpredictable. You know, like an earthquake, suddenly out of control." I'd heard that somewhere but, never mind. "She did these all by herself. Many people passed by and offered to help but, she refused. I was one of them though. I insisted to help her. She couldn't stop me from helping her so, we worked on this together."

"Why would she do these?" I asked, taking the seat beside him.

"She wanted people to discover the world beyond mere imagination. I don't like reading, I told her. She did persuade me to like it. Said that I was lack of one of the simple pleasures of life. Well, she started to read to me. I enjoyed listening to the stories. Can't believe that she isn't with us anymore." He didn't hesitate to wipe away the tears that fell down his cheeks.

"Do you love her?" It came out accidentally.

He cleared his throat. Smiling, he answered "Yes. I love her voice when she read to me. I love her smile when I played her favourite songs on guitar. I love her so much. But, I'd never said it out loud. So, I wrote it down. She read it, grinned then, hugged me. She didn't answer to it instead of putting it inside a bottle and hung it up there." One drop of tear rolled down again.

"What's your name anyway?" After so long, I began to think about his name.

"Conrad. Conrad Shelton."

The lyrics she dedicated.

To Con,

"Well, Con, she loved you, too. Believe me."

Conrad didn't question my statement. His face beamed when his smile got wider.

I got up and left Conrad in his own space.