a puppet show

She told me that the world was full of people, and I retorted that there was no one as special as her on our earth. She shook her head and told me that one day I'd find someone just like her, maybe halfway around the world. After all, there are six or seven billion of us; the chance of the same two people existing are quite high. That's what she said, anyway.

That day, under the old oak tree, was a day it seems I'll spend the rest of my life trying to go back to. When we were still children, void of understanding of the harsh realities of life. She smiled at me, a dazzling smile, and the sound of her laughter drowned the high pitched squawks of seagulls and the rushing of the waves onto the warm sand. Sunlight leaked through the leaves above us and the shadow puppets it formed danced around in the breeze, telling their own stories and emulating the beginning of our friendship like it was a puppet show. Yes, it was a peaceful day. How I wish things were still the same.

Our friendship was really similar to those shadows on the sand, now that I think about it. It began when the sun started to shine, a desperate tango in the summer air. I'd strayed from my mother's arm, seeking refuge underneath the oak, the most beautiful thing I could see for miles. I reasoned that my mother would naturally be attracted to it. She'd done something similar. It's a funny thing how inanimate objects can bring two people together like that; to be fair though, it really was a remarkable tree. Sometimes I wonder if it's still there, and how many other ties it's inspired, or if it was just us. I wonder if we were special, or just another mundane coincidence without meaning. I wonder if all life is like that, if we're living just to die or if we're actually important. In the end I always decide that I have the right to give something meaning. Otherwise, everything she'd said would have been meaningless. And I certainly don't want that.

As a puppet act has an opening and closing, so apparently had our friendship. We discussed many things that day, shared all our secrets, had the most fun I've ever had. But as light leaves, so must the shadows. I've never gone back to that tree. I'm afraid that if I do, I'll meet her again, and the time we had would have been less meaningful, less special. At the same time, I do want to see her again. That day is the most vivid memory I have, so vivid that sometimes I wonder if it even happened.

Twenty years after that day under the oak tree, the 'me' on this earth is quite different to the boy who held her hand and told her that when we grew up we'd get married. Often I feel stupid; it's certainly doubtful that she would even remember an insignificant day like that one. But I don't care; even though I never knew her name, I remember her hair that blew in the breeze, her sunkissed face and her rosy lips, her amazing smile and her bright blue eyes reflecting the cerulean sky...

But, she lied, and I can never forgive her for that. I've traveled around the world and seen all the places I could see. Yet, I've never found anyone quite like her.