Ahou Naderpour Ardestani (11) | CREATIVE WRITER
I take out a crisp white sheet of paper and start my letter:
“Hello my bestest friend! So much has happened since the last time I wrote to you! I am engaged, to be married in three months! I wish you could be there. My dress is going to be white with orange roses.”
I pause after writing the last sentence. Orange roses.
Me and Dorina were in her backyard. We were drawing on the stone part of the floor with chalks. A gust of wind swayed the orange roses. One of them flew off its stem and fell into Dorina’s juice cup. We both laughed.
I look down at the paper, Dorina’s laughter echoing in my ears like a far away bell. I continue my letter:
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I pause again. I can smell the wet soil, hear the pulse of small drops falling down, like little heartbeats. More than rain, a storm. The type you see in movies when something depressing happens to the main character. Sometimes these things happen in real life as if someone is directing it all like a movie.
It was a rainy, no, a stormy day. I stood in front of Dorina’s empty house, my face wet from raindrops and tears. It was the day after she left. She had smiled at me and said “Don’t worry, what’s a few miles gonna do?” Then she had stepped closer and whispered in my ear: “Don’t forget the plan!” I had nodded through my tears.
The plan was for me to write a letter to her every time I wanted to talk to her, and leave the letter in our tree house. Kids didn’t have cell phones back then, I only had Dorina’s house phone number, which wouldn’t be of any use if she didn’t live there anymore. Dorina wasn’t exactly sure where she was going. It was confusing for me as a child, how could you not know where your new house is? I asked her multiple times. Now I know the affairs of adults are more complicated than young minds can understand, Dorina only shrugged when I asked her, but I know she asked the same thing from her parents endlessly. Maybe they did not know either.
I finish my letter and drive to the park, down a path behind the trees that only two people know of. I climb the twisted ladder, open the tree house door and breathe in the thousands of memories this place holds. I leave my letter inside, next to mountains of letters. Unanswered letters.
