Down by the pontoon; where the forget-me-nots grow heavily in the undergrowth; where the sun’s fingertips stretch down on to the edge of the clear water, I sit and I listen quietly to the buried memories retelling themselves to my mind. There are so many of them, spilling back upon me, it’s almost too much to handle after all these years… But maybe, just maybe, they will wait there for me this time, before parts of my existence slip away from me one more time.

I watch the memories flickering past my eyes as if a hallucination, a familiar dream of some sort, and allow them to settle safe in my head… And after a while, I am too overwhelmed by all of this that I take to my page. With a pen poised evocatively in my hand, I write. I write it all out.


Chapter One

Three days. Undoubtedly too long. Nothing too short. Just three days ago they had arrived, and already Evie was regretting ever letting her Mother persuade her to pack her bags and leave. She left. They all left it. The place which had been their home for fifteen years. And how easy it had been for Oliver and Lillian. How intolerably hard it had been for Evie. Now sitting on her balcony, her pale skin blushing in the heat, she found it hard to imagine her old bedroom back in London. After three days. Just three days. What memories would be left after a week, a month, a year? If anything at all.

Perhaps all that would remain were the photographs pinned upon the empty walls of her new bedroom. There were four in all. One, laminated in glossy plastic, of her old home; the three story London house in Trafalgar Square. The next, a black and white print of her parents on their wedding day. Evie had always been jealous of her Mother’s beauty, especially in this photo. The third photo was of one Christmas; the first and last snow of the year. Evie’s Mother had insisted they had a family photo in front of the house.

And the fourth photo. The day of Evie’s 13th birthday. The day which marked the decline of closeness between her Mother and herself. It seemed that turning into her teenage years had its effects on Lillian. Evie was no longer the little girl with glossy blonde hair, scraped high into bunches with pink bows upon her head. Her ultimate goal for each day no longer to become a fairy princess, but to silently curl up in a corner with a notepad and pens, and to write. Her Mother hated this. She used to say that Evie was wasting her time. That it was virtually impossible to make a way in the publishing business. Evie paid no attention, however true her comments may be. Her Mother became less of a Mother. It was clear that she was solitarily fond of children, and not teenagers.

Star Bay was a place of American perfection, friendliness and accomplishment. Apparently. It was a small village located off the coast of Florida, on a hill opposite an island. Envied by all but those who lived there. Apparently. To Evie, it was different to how everyone else saw it. The minute she had set foot in the new house, her life, her beloved dream of becoming a published author, was destined for the trash bin. Her life belonged back in London - not some tiny town somewhere in the east of America, where dreams were surrounded by water, and all the latest air cons and American inventions were the greatest inspirations around.

Perhaps you could call her shallow. Small-minded in the fact that she did not care for the beauty of Star Bay and the moderately fresh loaf of inspiration it could potentially be to her imaginative mind. How she stepped upon earth where independence ruled the soil, and the bricks laid upon one another were crafted by true American Dreamers. The American Dream. Surely the clues are in the very words? America is the Motherland for dreams. However Evie, a stubborn mule at times, could just not see that and so it happened that America; the land of rich inspiration, was nothing but a dried out piece of history to her.

* * *

The air was thick and hot, and the sun pushed down to kiss Evie’s skin, and to grovel respectfully at her feet. Every inch of the country was begging for her approval. But she sat, in the early hours of the evening, with pens and paper decorating the table in front of her, as she tapped the notepad furiously, longing for her imagination to take her to places far away from Star Bay.

Soon, her Mother’s voice became audible in the background noise of nothingness.
“Evie, I did tell you three times already, you were to be downstairs at six o’clock so that we could go out for dinner. It is now ten past six and,” She appeared in the doorway, “You are still on this balcony doodling your nonsense in that wretched book of yours.”
Evie peered up, blinded by the evening sun.
“You have no self awareness about you. And your Father still isn’t best pleased with your little moment at the airport. You lost that book of yours, didn’t you? We had to trek around the whole terminal to find it. And exactly where was it in the end?”
Evie’s skin pricked as her Mother’s eyes locked with hers. “In my bag.” She cringed. She still felt dreadful about delaying the family onto the plane. But the reality was; she had intended it all. She had complained to her Father that she had left her ‘greatly important’ notebook back in the waiting area, and that if she didn’t locate it sooner or later, ‘her life was well and truly over’. Accept that her brilliant plan was not so brilliant in the end. They still made it onto the plane with two minutes to spare. She glanced up to her Mother who was shaking her head disapprovingly. “Put that notebook away and hurry up and get downstairs.”
Downstairs, Evie’s Father stood by the shiny front door. “Evie,” He smiled, “Nice of you to join us.”
“She was writing.” Lillian snapped.
“Really? What were you writing? Some poetry? A limerick?”
“Don’t encourage her, Oliver.”

* * *

As her Father gently quizzed her about her latest inspirations for writing, (at which point Lillian had vanished off to the toilet) Evie relished in the admiration flowing thick and fast from her Father. She scooped her spoon into the spiced carrot soup she had ordered, and answered her Father’s questions.
“I’ve not quite reached a plot yet,” She replied, “But I know there will be two main characters. Mary and Christopher. Mary is to be witty and wonderfully humorous, and Christopher the handsome young man who wins over her heart.”
Her Father responded quite bluntly. “I like it.” His subdued words and wondering eyes had Evie turning in her seat. She soon realised why his compliments were limited. Her Mother had returned from the toilets. “I do wish you two would give it a rest.”
“A rest from what? Evie and I were happily discussing the fine quality of food here, weren’t we Eves?”
Evie nodded hesitantly. She hated to lie, especially to her own Mother.
“Don’t mistake me for a naive old bat. I know exactly what you two were chattering about.” She turned to scold her daughter. “Evie, I’ll say this only once more,” Well, that was a lie. Evie quite well understood that she would be given this reprimand for the rest of her life as she knew it. “Writing is a silly habit. It will fail to get you anywhere in life, no matter how hard you try. If you want to get somewhere in life, take over your Father’s business.” Lillian caught the attention of a passing waitress, and abruptly interrogated her with the likes of the wine menu.
“If you ever do such a thing, then you are not my daughter.” Oliver whispered, winking his left eye. Evie smiled a smile of ambition; she would never let her Father down and she knew it.
“I spent half my life dreaming,” Lillian continued, “And where did it get me? No sodding where. I will not sit down and watch my daughter repeat my mistakes.” The end….for now.

* * *

Their house was unfortunately built up about two hundred and fifty steps. Her cheeks blushing crimson, Evie pushed her frail body further and further up the steps. She had never been overweight once, but more inclined to categorise as underweight. Her bones were ugly, and in some places, surfaced just under her skin. And her stomach was so thin that you could see every one of her ribs, and her hip bones forced out underneath her skin. She had never wanted to look like this, who would? But, she could not help it for the world. She ate as a normal person should, and therefore remained in perplexity over her physical shape.

She made it to her bedroom in twenty two minutes of leaving the restaurant. It was different to the small, simple room she had back home. In London she had rustic wooden beams and beautiful, rugged floorboards. This room had replaced beams with crisp white painted ceilings, and her floorboards had turned to fuzzy white carpet. Her mint green window shutters were now a pair of modern French Doors, leading out to a posh and overrated balcony. And finally her cupboards and shelves full of books were merely one confined wardrobe in the corner of the room.

She sat on her new bed, sinking into the mattress a few inches, and contemplated her new life. To her it seemed limited and empty of anything that reminded her of London. Whether that was a good thing, she left undecided.

The next morning was shy of cold, dull clouds; instead the sun captured the country and rose higher in the sky. Evie’s Mother had woken her with the brisk opening of her curtains to let light flood through onto her face.
“I’m glad you’re finally up.” Lillian frowned. “We’ve been invited to a neighbour’s house for a party.”
“Now?” Evie moaned.
“No, not now. We are to be there at seven o’clock this evening. I’m sure you can find something suitable to wear; which will not include anything of the sort of jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Okay.” Evie turned on her side and covered her head with the duvet.
“Don’t go back to sleep. You promised that you would hand out these cards today, remember?”
Evie searched her mind for a conversation with her Mother involving handing out cards. She could not recall a thing.
“Evie, surely you remember?”
Evie pulled the duvet away from her face and glared at her Mother. Lillian took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth. “For goodness sake Evie Summers. Now listen carefully because I won’t tell you again. Here are some cards for you to give to the neighbours,” She held up little blue envelopes in her hand, “This afternoon you are to hand them out to every house in Star Bay. I will leave them here on the desk. Your Father and I are going out. Can I trust you will remember to hand out the cards?”
“I’ll hand them out.” Evie groaned.
“Good. We’ll be back before the party tonight. Please don’t forget about that either.”
Evie covered her head with her duvet once more, as she heard the muffled footsteps of her Mother’s leaving her room. Free at last, she grinned. She seldom cared about her Mother’s demands, and this was no exception, so she cosily drifted back to sleep.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and the crickets buzzed softly in the shrubbery, and the sun high in the sky gathered and sprayed beams of melting sunshine down onto the bay. It was quite a pretty sight; the light refracting off of the water’s edge; and the children of Star Bay counting to ten down on the island, and engaging to seek their playmates. What a pity our heroine was fast asleep.

By the time the clock struck three, Evie’s mind was just beginning to come to. She stretched her slim body and glimpsed at her watch. The feeling of horror that followed was quite incapable for words. She ripped her duvet off her legs and searched madly for something to wear. Pulling on a pair of old shorts that were fraying at the ends, and a t-shirt, she recklessly snatched the cards off of her desk and made her way down the stairs and out the door. Perhaps it was too much of a shock to check her hair in the mirror, which was quite rightly labelled as ‘bed hair’.

She planned on visiting the fifty two houses without allowing to meet anyone new. All she wanted was to drop the card into the letter box and hurry onto the next house. However it seemed that the people of Star Bay were unnecessarily gracious in the fact that they had received a card from the new neighbours. It is fair to say that Evie had gained a few more friends in the time that it took to deliver the cards; her introvert social skills put to the challenge.
Upon the second to last delivery, Evie was discontented with the greeting of an open door. As quietly as she could be, she stepped up to the door and bent down to place the card on the welcome mat.
“Would you like me to take that?” There was a tall girl of about Evie’s age passing the hall.
“Sure. Thank you.” Evie turned her head away. Her body language clearly represented that of a girl whose shyness overruled her mind.
“What is it?” The girl briskly asked, turning the envelope upon it’s back and slicing her fingertips underneath the blue paper.
“It’s a card from my Mother. I’m not really sure what it’s about, she just thought it polite to inform the neighbours of our arrival.”
“How very classy that is.” The girl’s accent was strong and curled itself around every vowel and word she spoke. Evie must have sounded so posh with her English la-de-dah accent, with all the letters pronounced perfectly. The feeling that then followed was the most intolerable feeling in the world to Evie. They stood in the most uncomfortable silence possibly imaginable as the girl’s eyes skimmed her Mother’s words.
“Tell your Mother thank you. It’s a lovely card. I’m glad we’ve such nice neighbours.”
Evie nodded uneasily.
“I’m Jessica by the way.” She smiled prettily and leant against the door frame. “I guess you and I are about the same age.”
“I’m fifteen.” Evie spoke bluntly for conversational small talk wasn’t her best ability.
“Me too. And will you be joining Lake Hill High in September? I’ll make sure I’m there to show you around.”
“I think so.”
With most of the embarrassment over for now, Evie turned away, leaving the girl with a lingering smile.

She returned home with the satisfaction of having completed her task within one and a half hours of setting off. Which her cheeks flushed pink, she opened the door only to be met with the angry face of her Mother. “Where have you been?”
Evie reasoned with herself - should she lie?
“I was walking. It was such a lovely afternoon that I didn’t want to spend it inside.”
Her Mother’s eyebrows raised in speculation. “I’m not at all fond of liars as you well know.”
Evie swallowed past a lump in her throat. Had her Mother guessed that she had risen late and spent the past time rushing through all the houses?
“Remember we have a party tonight. Don’t be late getting ready.”

… Or perhaps she would tell the truth like this -
“I accidentally fell back to sleep, but managed to deliver all of the cards just now.”
“Evie, I knew this would happen. Time and time again, I trust you with such minute tasks, and without a doubt, each time, you will forget like the silly little creature you are.”
Evie swallowed past the soreness of her throat, willing her to fight back. Hadn’t she just delivered all the cards without fail, regardless of when she began?
“Remember we have a party tonight. Don’t be late getting ready.”
Within seconds of her Mother’s interrogative, she managed to decide to risk it; and tell a lie. After all, it was more of a white lie. It really was a lovely day outside.

Chapter Two

Funny how the strangest situations can turn out to be the best. Looking back, I realise that this was one of those moments. For who would have thought, that at a neighbours welcome party, there would be a place to sit and read in the quiet. To sit and feel the satisfaction of a good book and well earned peace and quiet. Who would have thought that this could have been one of the best and worst moments of her life?

“Evie? Evie, dear, where are you sneaking off to in such a hurry?”

One person who had an immediate establishment in Evie’s heart was Florence Knight. It was hard to define exactly in the right terms just how good it was for Evie to finally seek a friend in America. Florence’s abrupt opinions and merriment was enough to persuade Evie that she would make a valuable friend there in Star Bay. Evie’s input into the conversation was not needed most of the time (besides the occasional ‘Mmm’ and nod of appreciation compulsory within any discussion), as Florence failed to stop for any breath.

“I’m just going to the toilet.”
“Be quick, I’m about to hand out my homemade carrot cake.”
Evie nodded and followed the carefully drawn (in pink felt tip and glitter) signs towards the toilet. Really, she was being devious, which was quite out of character for Evie. She was on a quest; a challenge she had set herself while meeting the new neighbours, her mind quite filled with boredom. She had, nestled carefully in her bag, her copy of Jane Eyre, and simply had to read the next chapter before the party ended.

The cream carpet parted into two doorways. Her hands clenched, itching for relief of turning the sugar thin pages of her book, her spirit burning with desire to dissolve in the words of Charlotte Bronte, she pushed the door open.

A candle, a flame, so tiny resided on the desk, lighting the empty room. However, empty as described, the room was nothing but. A face was illumined by the soft light, and with further glaring, Evie made out a hunched body in the corner of the room. Held in the lap of the figure, a book. How irrationally unfair Evie found this. This being that she was not alone in a rebellious plan of skipping the party to read. The flame flopped and straightened, a tear drop of wax sliding down its side. And as swiftly as this happened, the eyes of the reader were distracted, and attracted to the intruder.

“Sorry,” She stood; face down as if in dismay. And on her turning to exit the cold room, was not quick enough to glimpse the features of this reader, and soon she was closing the door and clicking it shut behind her.

The other side of the hall was a small airing cupboard, creaking and groaning in the heat. Her common sense quite scattered, Evie opened the cupboard door and slid inside. It was warm and surprisingly roomy nestled amongst the towels and bed sheets. She closed the doors, allowing a crack of light to illuminate a torch like stripe into the cupboard where she was presently sat. She took her book from her bag and tore it open to Chapter Six.

* * *

It was no surprise that both her Mother and Florence were mad at her the next morning. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep. It was just so warm in the airing cupboard, and Evie hadn’t even noticed when her eye lids slid shut. With a desperate attempt to avoid her Mother that afternoon, she set out for a spot of adventure.

* * *
...
Under the harsh light of the sun, the sand sinks under the rocks, and emerges the other side, creating the earth of a completely undisturbed bay. No, nothing to pollute the beauty of that place, not even the animals went there anymore. It had all been left to live in peace now.

About halfway down the sand, a pontoon of rotting wood sat stranded on the shore, and stretched out onto the water a little way. At its base, forget me nots grew heavily rooted in the undergrowth, forceful against the fingertips of the blazing sun. And they grew in casual patches around the bay; climbing up the chalk, strangling the plants that grew there.

Quietly, the waves rolled effortlessly along the white sand, frothing at the edges. Raw reflections of the jealous sky spat down, and gently coloured the clear water. Absent of impurity. Writhing with perfection. And silence ruled the air.

But soft, broke the noise of motion. A fuss from within the bushes, and out stepped an odd looking girl. She was thin, with pallid skin and striking green eyes. Her hair was a bundle of dark tumbleweed, with twigs and leaves stuck in the knots. Her features were small, her lips parted, and her face animated. She stepped, barely able to create a footprint in the sand, over to the pontoon where she ran her fingertips over the crumbling wood. The fragile stability of one pontoon’s leg gave way and collapsed into the water, splashing the girl slightly. She staggered back, quivering with unexpected fright, whispering only one word, “Evie,” She watched the pontoon's leg gently bobbing in the water for a moment, “You silly girl. You silly, silly girl.” The corner of the pontoon with the missing leg gently sunk, and bowed into the sand. “Look what you’ve done you silly girl,” She stretched a bony hand out into the water, careful not to emerge her toes, and grasped the flaked wood. “You’ve broken it.” She glared around her, sourcing the power to turn back the time. And as quickly as she had arrived, she scattered back into the bushes and disappeared. Silence was restored to the secret bay.

Forty two minutes later, the girl returned. In her spindly hands, she carried six large iron nails, a hammer and a large rectangular piece of wood. And with these, she fixed the pontoon until it stood stable once more. She smiled warmly at her work, and leaving the place with a satisfied smirk, she disappeared for the last time that day.

And that was that - the peace of a place untouched with the pollution of human hands, was broken by a girl. But it didn’t matter; her kindness, and immediate fondness of the place was valued…

The water rose and fell at the edge of the pontoon, and the forget me nots smiled up after the girl as she began her climb up the steps… Perhaps she would visit again soon.
...
* * *

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.11.2010

Alle Rechte vorbehalten