Title: LOVE IS ETERNAL

The stimulus of "memory" caused me instantly to consider what causes memories, and how they can affect people. Snapshots and photos came to me, and so I wrote with the intention of giving the impression of a whirl of emotion and movement, and then a moment that is frozen in time. I also considered that some people's memories are best told from a closer perspective, and so my style ranges from the snapshots to long narrative in order to capture these.
What so often causes memories to flourish is the presence of love, which caused me to follow several story-lines covering family, friends and couples, of various ages. Their stories are  different, but share a connecting factor, which is why they are told together. They were written within the context of memory because the stories are either mutations of my own, or ones I know. This piece covers many themes and some ideas that a younger audience may not follow, but the message is often the same and so all who wish may read, and take what the can from it.
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1Cor 13:13

Love is patient and kind.

In a whirling maelstrom of flashes of yellow and red light, circled by the faint, tacky chiming music, they sat on a horse which glistened with a veneer of lacquer. Its hollow insides echoed their movements as if the sound was a steady, thumping heartbeat which reverberated out and steadily pumped through the chaos and into their senses. The high music rose and fell in time to their steed, and seemingly in time to the baritone thump, thump of the creature’s empty heartbeat. Pressed tightly against the denim of her jacket, its unfortunate bead of an eye grating against a cold metal button, her brand new carnival prize was proudly displayed. She held so dearly a soft white bear, which in turn was clutching a soft satin heart – though whether it was the fact that it would always remind her of this glorious day or simply the Latin phrase “amor vincit omnia” embroidered onto the heart, professing that love endures always, which caused her to cling to it so desperately remains unknown.

The glow of the lights surrounding them filled her even in her haze of joy and she leaned back to murmur “Ich liebe dich”, the harsh sounds colliding with the overly sweet tune around them. He, too, must have been lost in the haze because as she murmured the sentiment he just looked away.

It is not jealous or conceited or proud.

It was the kind of dinner that would send even a culinary expert scrambling for a thesaurus in order to try and describe flavour, texture and sensuality in mere nouns and adjectives. But it wasn’t just the meal and the silky flow of champagne down their throats that made this outing so special for two lifelong friends. Instead it was the marvellous atmosphere which caused in them a need to just be happy in the freest form, and so detached from the real world as if they now existed in a tangible Heaven and the doors were barred against work commitments, family commitments, financial commitments and life commitments, which they both agreed would perfect the world if only they could be abolished! The waiters around them breezed past on clouds of gracefulness, the tablecloths billowed and flowed serenely in the warm dusk breezes and the floral arrangements swayed to the hidden sonnet conducted by the gay sun and the warmth of past memories.

The elder of the two, her sparkling rings a definite statement about her level of success and wealth, daintily petted her lips with the towel. The other laughed roughly at a joke, but was cautiously aware of not revealing that her own “wealth” came from a laboratory. Suddenly, in a moment that caused the sun to step off the stage and the flowers to still in a silent rebuke, she recalled their tradition of alternating who paid for their meals. She also recalled that her most recent paycheque hadn’t even made an impact on the state of her empty wallet and her glamorous friend had paid last time. Begging for a favour was unthinkable. She glanced at her watch nonchalantly then started in surprise and cried, “Apologies, darling, but I really must fly – important business to attend to – get the bill, will you, and I’ll look after it next time”. The waiters watched her rushed escape, then drifted back to their own concerns.

Love is not irritable or selfish or rude.

She wasn’t an angel because her delicacy and youth dictated that she lacked the refined elegance, but she was definitely cherubic. She had fine features that caused any beholder to smile nostalgically, both for her beauty and their own days of admiration and glory. Her whole demeanour simply murmured “radiance”, which was reflected in how she always looked and always held herself. Her hair framed her face, creating a perfect little heart shape peeping from behind golden drapes, and her perfect little blue eyes phased from mild to the most iridescent blue, so clear and fragile they were like fresh snow. That morning they truly radiated pure joy, as it was her birthday and she was sharing it with the father she so adored. He was her greatest friend because he never treated her as anything other than his. While she knew she was precious to him, she wasn’t different, because she played and laughed with him like all the other kids did with their dads.

The depth and brilliance of the red wrapping paper reflected onto her face and caused her excited flush to become so much brighter, her eyes gleaming at the same level of brilliance. She carefully lifted each flap, gently pulled open each fold and pried each piece of sticky tape off, tentative and scared of ruining something which was so simple but so wonderful in her sight. Then her face lifted quickly from her frown of careful determination until her mouth was pulled tight up, her eyes wide open and her fine eyebrows stretched to their limits. She radiated joy like beams of sunlight and her father, so filled with grief for such a long time, felt that warm light split some of the grief from the rest and slowly dissolve it. It was such a simple gift, a small board game, but to her it was another wonderful thing she could share with her da, and that was priceless to her.

She begged him to play, to join her in a wonderful new world, but he shrank back in fear. She was so perfect and so much like her mother, and he feared more than death the prospect of not having her there either.

“Sorry, sweety, Daddy’s got work to do.” It was all he could think to say as he stood and slunk from the room. Tendrils of uncertainty breached her beams of light, and she suddenly couldn’t recall why she had been so happy. Pushing her weight up off the floor on stunted arms, she waddled slowly the way her father had left. As she peeped around the doorway she observed her father stroke the picture of Mummy on his computer screen. Tears were sliding out of his eyes and racing down his face. She clutched the new game and left him alone with his memories.

Love keeps no record of wrongs.

She had watched him every day for four years. However her days were structured, year after year, she always managed to get a glimpse of that silky copper and red hair just ahead as he either arched an eyebrow in feigned surprise at seeing her or laughed at hers in return. It had been nothing but marvellous fortune when her name had been called as his Year 7 buddy, or his protégé as he would later dub her in the informal mock initiation which was custom at this unusual school. His eyes watched her too, the mint flakes carefully scattered amongst the rough chocolate of his irises, and with dark, piercing pupils.

They liked each other surely enough, and neither got sick of that stirring in their stomachs as they encountered each other. But after the first semester of Year 7, they had nothing to do with each other because he returned to his Year 9 world and she dragged her way through four years of high school, never losing sight of him. The new girl that fourth year, unusually unblemished for a Year 10 (as all the girls noted), became her best friend. With blonde hair as fine as gold leaf and lightly streaked with natural fiery red, she instantly caught every male’s attention for miles. The only things these two had in common were passions for horse riding and English literature, but the competitiveness between them made their year not only bearable but fairly exciting as well. The only boy who didn’t visibly melt when she came past still raised his eyebrows, or winked, at the new world’s little moon companion.

Nearing the end of Year 10 and Year 12 respectively, the protégé and the master were still little closer then they had achieved in the first six months of knowing each other. Knowing she had few chances left to gain her hard-earned prize, she finally convinced herself to actually stop one day, after their silent connection. She was pleasantly surprised to see him pause and then halt, realising she finally wished to speak with him. Those stirrings and jitters she had always known intensified, but she was a confident girl and so she asked him to be her partner for the Debutante Ball at the end of the year. This was the one event which was anticipated with watchful eyes on their figures for four years and recollected constantly for the final two. She needed him to take her arm and lead her down the stairs, so that when everyone applauded they could comment on how wonderfully they matched each other and made such a perfect couple. “Pigeon pair”, she could already hear them murmuring resentfully. But then he glanced past her shoulder and a gentle blush spread across his high, perfectly-shaped cheekbones. Her friend, a perfect image of one of Odysseus’ sirens, advanced, and it didn’t take long for the little moon to suddenly realise she was once again eclipsed.

Love never gives up and its faith, hope and patience never fail.

She was a woman now but as children they had been the best of friends, unable to find enjoyment without their playmate, their co-conspirator, their sibling with them. As children they had raced their bikes to the creek, and he always let her win because he was scared she would hurt herself if she pushed too hard over the unforgiving mountains which protruded from the soft earth her thin tyres were travelling across, and wound up falling off. The creekbed presented to them their own Terebithia, their own Middle Earth with a sandy floor which could stand for the high seas, a great desert, the steepest mountain or a dense, murky swamp, and enclosing willows on either bank which presented many times more possibilities to minds ripe for imaginings and exploration. Whether he was rescuing her from dreaded pirates, scaling the world’s “hugest mountain” to retrieve her from a mighty eagle or any one of their fantasies, he came to her rescue and triumphed over her persecutors time and time again.

It wasn’t really hard for her when they realised they were past enjoying these games, because her thin notepad which documented each day’s new journey contained more worlds and stories than the greatest library. But what did hurt was when he stopped coming home right after school so they could go through their homework together. It didn’t take their parents long to realise he had someone new and special in his life, but they held their tongues and waited. When the time finally came, they all liked her for her humour, her ever-positive attitude and her respect for them. She was well-raised, they decided, and she had such a convincing nature. He married her a few years later, and the spectacle of their wedding rivalled the depth and the beauty of his sister’s favourite fantasy, the one where she was a beautiful princess adorned in gems and gowns of her favourite colours, and she was waited upon by talking cats who stood almost as tall as she did and who bowed as she strode past. Her life was littered with events that reminded her of the most joyous time of her life.

However, when she was almost thirty and thinking she was finally beginning to understand the emotions her beloved brother had found with another girl, he was hit by a car at a busy intersection and his body was as shattered as his motorbike by the impact. They had to sell it as scrap, as there was little else left. She visited him every day, and spent her hour lunchbreak reading to him from her thin notebook. He never responded, but she knew their adventures were as prevalent in his mind as they were in hers, and so she persisted. He woke once, less than ten minutes after she had left. His wife was there, as she always was, and they only got to speak for five minutes before he went back to sleep. The next day, his devoted sister was by his side again, and watched as his life support was terminated. She watched as he slipped away into the worlds that they had created for each other.

As she turned to leave, his widow handed her a thin folder, and returned to his bedside. She may have been his other half, but his sister was his other soul and she came to realise this over the next few hours as she read his faded scrawled notes about his favourite journeys with her.

She drove for an hour, riding that final race with him, and when she got there she lay in the sand and let the willows hypnotize her into sleep. She travelled to their favourite place one last time where, adorned in black gems and a black gown, she removed her circlet and placed it on the head of her brother who then sat regally on his throne and smiled his final farewell.

Love is eternal.                                                                                                      

_{1 Corinthians 13:4-5 & 13
[Adapted from the Good News
Bible Revised Edition]}