Grasp

Noticing my concerned look, my father quickly wiped his tears away. I could tell he was thinking about my mother and questioning why she left so suddenly. On nights when he thought I was asleep, I could hear him calling his father and telling him about his only love that he lost. It seemed like every time he peeked through the curtains and spotted me walking into the trees surrounding our yard, with my guitar slung over my shoulder and me clinging tightly to my notebook and pen, he would yell the same words. “Rose, why do you spend your life friendless? You should invite someone over. Live in the present, for you never know when life might leave…I mean life will pass you by.” He tried to cover the lump in his throat by making up an excuse. He was sick, his throat hurt, or sometimes, he would lose control of his emotions and go back inside with tears flowing from his face.

I felt guilty leaving him by himself like that, but I needed to be alone. He did so much for me and he was always careful to refrain from saying that might upset me. I always appreciated his thoughtfulness and I understood that, no matter how hard he would try, he could never take the place in a girl’s heart where a mother is.

With my thoughts drifting, I eventually made it to the large mossy tree that I have always called my own. While tucking me in bed, when I was little, my dad would tell me about the days before my mom left, when the two of them would come out into the woods and “adopt” trees, compose melodic songs, and write poetry to express their feelings. Never once did I not wish that I could have been there and listen to my mom strumming her guitar and singing a beautiful melody.

Life’s funny that way; when you least expect it, a tragedy can strike. Or maybe even a miracle. Ever since that day, July 8th 1996, when my mother left, I wrote in my journal everyday. Rain or shine I would find my way to my tree and open a new page in my notebook and release all of my feelings into the well-loved book. As I flipped open my journal I found a page that had something on it that I didn’t notice before. As I skimmed over it, I noticed that I didn’t write it. It had perfect handwriting, almost as if it were typed. It read:


Dear Louis,
I know this is very hard on you. I know it’s really selfish of me to take the easy way out and for me to just leave like this. You were my first love. I want you to keep that in mind and to realize that first love marriages don’t usually work out. You will always remain a part of me no matter what happens. As for the daughter we share, I want you to call her Trinity to symbolize the love we shared that she completed. You, her, and I. They say you don’t know what love is until you pass it on to a child and that is exactly why I’m leaving you with our beautiful daughter. I’m having troubles right now and it’s not my time to take care of another yet. Please, don’t remember me by me leaving. Remember me and the love that we shared. Every time she looks up at you, with her eyes full of curiosity, remember us.
~Lily

A wave of emotion rushed through my blood and I shivered from the realization that my mother once touched this book. She once held it in her hands with care. Questions soon overcame my amazement. I didn’t know what to do next. I combed my hair out of my face. It wasn’t until that moment when I touched my wet cheek that I noticed I was crying. Three deep breathes later, I rushed home. As I jumped into my comforting home and headed straight for my room, I could feel my dad’s concerned eyes follow my steps. I stuffed my face in my pillow and just laid there until the door squeaked open and my dad popped his head through.
“I found it,” I answered. Even though he didn’t ask, I knew he was wondering.
“What? What did you find?”
“The note she left. Her name was Lily?” I didn’t wait for him to respond, “Why did you name me Rose? She told you to name me Trinity.”
“Rose…” He couldn’t think of anything to say, but I didn’t care. I needed to speak up for once. I needed to know more about her; she was my mother, after all.

There was a long moment of silence. We both opened our mouths to talk, but when nothing came out, we closed them and tried again.
“Why did she leave?” I finally managed, “Was it because of me? Did she not want to take care of a child yet?”
He exhaled a long, deep breath, “I don’t know exactly why, Rose. I didn’t want to name you Trinity because it…it would remind me too much of her. I wanted to get over her. To move on, but I never did. I named you Rose in her honor though. As you probably noticed, her name is a flower too.” There was another pause, “I love you. I love her. I know she was your mother and… well… still is. I’m sorry she’s gone. I should have told you this. I should have shown you the letter before. I’m...sorry.”

Adjusting his collar, he cleared his throat and made his way to my bed. He stroked my amber hair and asked me if I wanted to know anything else. I shook my head and he just continued to lie down on my bed with me. I listened to his steady breathing and felt somewhat relaxed.
“You know, she had the same curly red hair as you do,” he suggested. I didn’t want to encourage his small talk so I just sighed. For once, time just stopped. It was impossible to tell how long we were in my room just thinking, but I know our bond somehow became stronger.

***

With my dad whistling to the dog, I woke up. Wagging his tail, my ever-loving dog skipped into my room and licked my face. I rubbed my swollen eyes and made my way to the kitchen. My father greeted me with a teasing punch in the arm.
“You were asleep for a while,” he noted. “Any special request for dinner?”
I shook my head and he gave a slight smile. I snuck away to the kitchen table and finished my last-minute homework, remembering that I had school tomorrow. Slowly, the sun began to descend and the evening came to an end. When it grew dark, I quietly crept to my room and fell under a spell of dreams. Most of the dreams were fantasizing what my life would be like if I stopped my mom from leaving.

Hazily, I woke up to the sizzling of bacon and eggs. Somehow, I felt lighter as I floated to the kitchen. As I stared out into nowhere, my dad scooted a plateful of breakfast in front of me. In a trance, I ate and continued on with my morning preparations. I hopped on the bus and leaned against the cold, moist window. Getting off the bus, I ran into a pole. As I attempted to maneuver around it, I ran into it again. Angrily I looked up and met his aqua eyes. I tried to apologize, but a series of mumbles came out instead. Feeling stupid I slumped away, but of course, I tripped and dropped all of my books. My vision blurred as tears formed in my eyes. Suddenly his hand firmly grasped my shoulder. Looking into his eyes again, I felt safe. The hole my mom left shrank. Quickly, I asked him if he wanted to come over to my house tonight and he said yes. I nearly twirled the whole way to class when the bell rang.

***

“What bus are we going on?” he asked.
“Eleven.”
“You mean the one that’s driving away right now?” My heart stopped until I saw the grin he wore on his face that reassured me that he was kidding. We boarded the bus and easy conversation flowed from both of our mouths. When we got to my house I felt lighter than I did this morning. Daisy, my pale gray greyhound, greeted us with her protective bark. As we neared the kitchen, we saw my dad who seemed surprised that I brought a boy into the house. I could tell he was trying to hide his nervousness as I brought Stepano closer. Extending his shaky arm, my dad politely took it and introduced himself. I explained that Stepano and I met today at school and that we were going to go into the backyard.

I led him to the back door and once we were outside he took my hand in his and gently caressed it. A cold shiver tickled its way from my arms and up my spine. He didn’t ask where I was taking him so we kept walking on in silence. As my eyes wandered to his, we stopped and he held my waist. I felt his grasp tighten and we just stayed there for a while, him holding me. Time seemed to freeze as I rested on his comforting chest. My tears began to drip on his shirt and rain started to sprinkle lightly on our skin.

He pulled away and deeply observed me. It seemed as though he was trying to read my thoughts. When I opened my mouth to apologize for my emotions, he gently placed his fingers on my lips. Then, I remembered why I took him out here; I wanted to show him my place, my escape from reality. With that I took his hand in mine and suddenly regretted it as I noticed how clumsily I did it. Finally arriving there, he examined his surroundings. He reminded me of a newborn, seeing the world for the first time.
“You know, I never noticed you at school,” I began.
“I’m from San Diego and I just moved here a few weeks ago.” That explained his flawless olive toned skin that glistened in any light.

As he caressed my cheeks he softly murmured, “You have a genuine beauty that I couldn’t ever forget. You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” His words were a poem and left me floating into a dreamlike trance.

Grasping his words, I saw him sneak behind my tree and come back with my guitar I left there last night. He began to strum a harmony that echoed in my heart over and over again. The pain of love struck me. I wondered if this was how my mom and dad started out. Soul mates. Those were the only two words that came to mind when I thought about us. Somehow, I knew him, but didn’t at all. His face reminded me of how much I had yet to learn of him. His favorite food, his middle name, his parents’ names, why he moved here. Why he was even here…. The last thought made me shiver. Slowly slipping back into reality, I noticed he was staring at me.
“Are you there?” he asked with a slight giggle.
“Yeah…Sorry.”
“How long have you played?”
“Ever since I was big enough to hold one,” I laughed at my own foolishness, “I must have forgotten that here last night. I always come out here to relax.”
“Oh.” He seemed preoccupied. Noticing my curious look, he said “Sorry… It just reminds me of… never mind.”
“What?”
“Well, my dad died last summer and he was the one who taught me how to play guitar.”
“Is that why you moved here?” I asked
“Yeah. I can tell it’s been really hard on my mom. When I look closely, I can see traces that tears left behind.” His words suddenly reminded of my father yesterday. His faraway look when we were in the kitchen made me feel instant sorrow for him. After we sat on the soggy moss flooring for what seemed like a lifetime, he quietly murmured under his breath “I love you.” I didn’t know if that was meant for my ears, or if he was still thinking about his dad so I just kept silent.

As he dug his face into his hands, I saw his back shaking. Rubbing his back, I tried to comfort him. “I have to go,” he quickly said.
“Where?” I shrieked. I didn’t want him to leave. Ever.
“Uh, home. My mom’s waiting for me.” Sadly, I stood up to lead him to the front gate, but he interrupted my action and told me he could find it himself. That was it. No hug. No bye. Not even a glance back at me.

***

Shaking my head, I woke up. My hair was wet from the damp pillow of grass I fell asleep on. Remembering last night, with him, I felt a twinge of pain sting my heart. As I looked up at the semi-lit sky, I guessed it was about three-o’clock. I didn’t remember falling asleep. Making my way back into my room, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was, to my surprise, 7:20 am. Quickly, I sloppily tossed a power bar, my math book, and my binder into my bag and reached into my closet for a change of clothes. Barely minutes after I slapped my clothes on, the bus rustily pulled in by my driveway. When I finally arrived at my school, I excitedly searched the hallway, then the cafeteria to find everything but him. My heart sunk.

Days went by and I hadn’t even stepped foot in my relaxation getaway. I was on full-mourning mode. I spent that whole week in my room and at school. Rarely did I say a word to any of my friends or my dad. On Friday, February 28, while most people were making plans for the weekend, I was just thinking about getting through the day. I always fall too hard too fast. Slumping off the bus and trudging to my room, I shuffled through my junk drawer. Though I was searching for my relaxation CD, I found the picture of my mom dad gave to me oh so long ago. A realization hit me then. It wasn’t my fault that she left me. It couldn’t have been. She didn’t even know me yet.

With that newly found knowledge, I took my confidence and ran into the kitchen. I threw my hands into the phonebook drawer and fished for my school directory. “Manning, Mason…. there! Noto. Lealina Noto,” I mumbled to myself. Taking out a “Post-it” note card, I quickly scribbled down the address and phone number of Stepano. I was worried... about him. About us.

I checked the clock and automatically began calculating how much time I had before my father would be home from work. Luckily, I had plenty of time to jog over to his house, talk to him for a while, and get back in time to watch my dad pull his worn red pickup truck into our driveway. As I anxiously set out on my journey, I studied the address on the note card. Surprisingly, he lived fairly close to me. I strolled down Lambert Rd, then I courageously cut threw the alley way between the liquor store and the Starbucks. Clinking under my feet was an assortment of thrown beer bottles consisting of green and brown colors. Mesmerized by their accidental beauty, I tripped over a bag of garbage. Looking down to move it out of my way, I noticed it was a homeless man. Then, as I jumped from surprise, I saw his face Stepano’s. As I shook my head, I found out it was just an illusion and I was right the second time; an aged, drugged up man looked back at me, full of confusion.

Remembering his face, the night he left, I was given motivation to move on. Exhaling a deep breath, I stopped in front of the house. For the second time, I restudied my note card and found I was in front of his house. It was massive, painted white with perfection, and the shrubs along the iron gate were clipped into flawless cubes. As I somewhat successfully hid my anxiety with false confidence, I strutted towards the door and hesitantly rang the doorbell. Soon after the doorbell triggered familiar classic music, long tan legs appeared, replacing the closed door. Lifting my head, I saw a woman’s face looking down on me. I sensed deep pain hidden in her twinkling brown eyes and I knew it was his mom. Immediately after I asked if Stepano was there, she vanished and Stepano peeked his head out from the door and his expression brightened. It was as if he was relieved to see me. Quickly he gave me a hug and twirled me around his yard, just like in the movies.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You…you just seemed too good to be true and I was scared that if I got to close to you, you would disappear forever.”
“I totally understand. My mom…”
“I know. That’s what I was just thinking about. We both lost someone dear to us and maybe this was why it happened.”
“Why what happened?” I asked.
“Why we met each other. Maybe it was to heal us, to complete the wholes our parents left.” It made sense. Maybe we were meant for each other, but I still didn’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve heard about those guys; the guys who seem perfect, but then they change. They start out loving you, and then they tire of you. I didn’t believe or want to believe that that was the case so I shook my head and gave him a long hug.

As we pulled away he asked me over to dinner. Of course, I wanted to say yes, but how could I? By the time I would get home it would be dark and my dad would be wondering what I had been doing all that time. Instead of declining the irresistible offer, I asked, “Will my dad be invited?”
“Hmm…I don’t think so,” he joked. “Sure.”
“Good! That means that I have to go home now, though, and ask my dad if we can come. I’ll be back at five o’clockish. Sound good?”
“I’ll see you at five,” he agreed. His smile made my lips tremble and want to curl into a childish grin. Walking home was merely filled with daydreams about Stepano and me going to the movies, taking a walk in the park, and going on other romantic dates. Running into my trashcan, I was surprised to find that I was in front of my house already. Happily, I flew in through the front door and dug my face into the couch and let out a shriek of excitement. A car door slamming made my dog have a bark attack. My garage door opened and I rushed into the kitchen, blocking my dad’s path. Letting out a relieved laugh that showed he was glad to see me up and moving again, he asked what I was doing. I simply answered by telling him that Stepano invited us to join him and his mother for dinner. When my dad accepted, I let out a song of victory and we soon left drove over to his house.
“Come on in,” Stepano greeted us at his front door. Obviously trying to impress my father, Stepano wore a blue button-down shirt with a striped tie and black slacks. After his mother, my dad, Stepano, and I exchanged hand shakes and “Nice to meet you!”’s, his mother, Lealina, showed us to the dining room and pulled a chair out for each of us. Peanzorrotti, an authentic Italian dish, was placed in front of us on fragile china with a golden rim. After saying Grace, we dug in and chatted up a storm. It was surprising how easily we started a conversation.

Lealina and my father moved into the kitchen to clean the dishes as Stepano and I snuck off into his room. Plugging in his iPod, “Unchained Melody” played and my heart stopped. Reaching out his hand, Stepano asked if he could have that dance. Excitedly, I took it and we danced slowly, holding each other. After we danced through his whole playlist, we checked the time. It was already past ten o’clock.

Peeking downstairs, we could see that our parents really hit it off, but that left us concerned. We couldn’t both be in love. That would mess everything up. How could I marry Stepano if my dad married Lealina? I rushed back to Stepano’s room and he gave me a hug. Neither of us knew what to do, so we just sat on his bed and silently cried.
“No matter what happens, I will always love you,” he assured me.
“Same here,” I agreed. How was it that everything that came out of his mouth sounded so romantic, while everything I said sounded like a dropout from high school talking to their friends? As the clock stroke eleven, my father knocked on the door and told me it was time to leave. Stepano gave me a peck on the cheek and butterflies soared through my stomach. He walked me to the door and I had a new energy inside me. I knew we both loved each other and that would never change.
Once in the car, my dad said, “Well that was nice.” Anger shot through me as fast as the butterflies did.
“You like her, don’t you?” I asked
“As a friend…”
“Don’t give me that. I meant more than a friend. How could you? You know how much Stepano and I love each other!”
“Whoa there Rose. You guys are eighteen. You don’t know what love is. I do.”
“Is that why mom left? Because you guys were in ‘love’?” I felt content with my last sentence. It really shocked him.
“I learned from that. Now I know what love is.”
“Just because I’m ‘only eighteen’ and nobody left me yet doesn’t give you the right to judge who I do and don’t love. So back off! Stepano’s mine and we’re gonna get married. Don’t even think about seeing Lealina again.”

With that, he pulled into the driveway and I sprinted to my room. Just as I was about to call Stepano, the phone rang. It was him. Trying to answer the phone in my most casual “Hello”, I sounded way too excited to hear from him and he just chuckled. Then he told me about his talk he just gave his mom. He said that his mom could sense my father’s feelings for her, but she respected our feelings too and she didn’t even feel the same way about my dad. Hearing that, I put my dad on the phone and Stepano gave his phone to his mom. After talking for five minutes, my dad gave me the phone back. He looked disappointed, but I was overjoyed.

The next day, Stepano asked me to go to the mall with him. He picked me up in his silver Lexus. After fifteen minutes of driving, I noticed we weren’t going the right direction towards the mall.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he mysteriously answered.
Then, after another fifteen minutes of driving, we pulled up to this Japanese garden. He walked around the car and opened my door for me. Gently, he took my hand and led me deeper into the garden. He knelt down and adjusted his sock. Then, he pulled out a ring. An engagement ring!
“Rose Amelia Taylor, will you…” he started.
“YES! YES, YES, YES!!!” I was so excited. I was waiting for this day since we first met each other. He laughed at my response and slid the ring on to my ring finger of my left hand. Although we already fulfilled the purpose of our trip to the garden, we continued to observe the flowers and then we took a picture, our first picture of us being engaged. It turned out perfect.

As we finished up looking at the exotic plants, we strolled, hand-in-hand towards his car and it began to rain. Suddenly memories of when we were in my backyard rushed to me. He picked me up and carried me into the car and plugged his iPod again. He turned it to “Unchained Melody” and put it on full volume. We just danced in the middle of the vacant parking lot for hours. That was, and still is, my favorite memory of us. As we held each other, I again knew that I would never love anyone else besides him. He was my life.

Grasp

Noticing my concerned look, my father quickly wiped his tears away. I could tell he was thinking about my mother and questioning why she left so suddenly. On nights when he thought I was asleep, I could hear him calling his father and telling him about his only love that he lost. It seemed like every time he peeked through the curtains and spotted me walking into the trees surrounding our yard, with my guitar slung over my shoulder and me clinging tightly to my notebook and pen, he would yell the same words. "Rose, why do you spend your life friendless? You should invite someone over. Live in the present, for you never know when life will leave...I mean when life will pass you by." He tried to cover the lump in his throat by making up an excuse. He was sick, his throat hurt, or sometimes, he would lose control of his emotions and go back inside with tears flowing from his face.

I felt guilty leaving him like that, but I needed to be alone. He did so much for me and he was always careful to refrain from saying anything that might upset me. I always appriciated his thoughtfulness and I understood that, no matter how hard he would try, he could never take the place in a girl's heart where a mother is.

With my thoughts drifting, I eventually made it to the large mossy tree that I have always called my own. While tucking me in bed, when I was little, my dad would tell me about the days before my mom left, when the two of them would come out into the woods and "adopt" trees, compose melodic songs, and write poetry to express their feelings. Never once did I not wish that I could have been there and listen to my mom strumming her guitar and singing a beautiful melody.

Life's funny that way; when you least expect it, a tragedy can strike. Or maybe even a miracle. Ever since that day, July 8th 1996, when my mother left, I wrote in my journal everyday. Rain or shine, I would find my way to my tree and open a new page in my notebook and release all my feelings into the well-loved book. As I flipped open my journal, I found a page that had something on it that I didn't notice before. As I skimmed over it, I noticed that I didn't write it. It had perfect handwriting, almost as if it were typed. It read:

Dear Louis,

I know this is very hard on you. I know it's really selfish of me to take the easy way out and for me to just leave like this. You were my first love. I want you to keep that in mind and to realize that first love marriages don't usually work out. You'll always remain a part of me no matter what happens. As for the daughter we share, I want you to call her Trinity to symbolize the love we shared that she completed. You, her, and I. They say you don't know what love is until you pass it on to a child and that is exactly why I'm leaving you with our beautiful daughter. I'm having troubles right now and it's not my time to take care of another yet. Please, don't remember me by my leaving. Remember me and the love that we shared. Everytime she looks up at you, with her eyes full of curiousity, remember us.
~Lily

A wave of emotion rushed through my blood and I shivered from the realization that my mother once touched this book. She once held it in her hands with care. Questions soon overcame my amazement. I didn't know what to do next. I combed my hair out of my face. It wasn't until that moment when I touched my wet cheek that I noticed I was crying. Three deep breathes later, I rushed home. As I jumped into my comforting home and headed straight for my room, I could feel my dad's concerned eyes follow my steps. I stuffed my face into my pillow and just laid there until the door squeaked open and my dad popped hies head through.

"I found it," I answered. Even though he didn't ask, I knew he was wondering.

"What? What did you find?"

"The note she left. Her name was Lily?" I didn't wait for him to respond, "Why did you name me Rose? She told you to name me Trinity."
"Rose..." He couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't care. I needed to speak up for once.

There was a long moment of silence. We both opened our mouthes to talk, but when nothing came out, we closed them and tried again.

"Why did she leave?" I finally managed. "Was it because of me? Did she not want to take care of a child yet?"

He exhaled a long, deep breath. "I don't know why, Rose. I didn't want to name you Trinity because it...it would remind me too much of her. I named you Rose in her honor though. As you probably noticed, her name is a flower too." There was another pause. "I love you. I love her. I know she was your mother and... well still is. I', sorry she's gone. I should have told you this. I should hace shown you the letter before. I'm...sorry."

Adjusting his collar, he cleared his throat and made his way to my bed. He stroked my amber hair and asked me if I wanted to know anything else. I shook my head and he just continued to lie on my bed with me. I listened to his steady breathing and felt somewhat relaxed.

"You know, she had the same curly red hair as you," he suggested. I didn't want to encourage his small talk so I just sighed. For once, time just stopped. It was impossible to tell how long we were in my room just thinking, but I know our bond somehow beccame stronger.

***

With my dad whistling to the dog, I woke up. Wagging his tail, my ever-loving dog skipped into my room and licked my face. I rubbed my swollen eyes and made my way to the kitchen. My father greeted me with a teasing punch in the arm.

"You were asleep for a while," he noted. "Any special request for dinner?"