Reminiscence and Pixie Dust

A woman in her late twenties with shoulder length dark brown hair, sits down at a worn mahogany desk in her study. A desk that once belonged to her father, the one he used to work on when writing his stories for his publisher. The one she’d sit on as a child and enjoy hearing those same stories read to her, because he always valued her opinion. A large window is behind her, which shows a forest shrouded in moonlight and shadows. She’s surrounded by bookcases on either side of her. A small white table sits in the corner a little ways away, a makeshift bar. Two leather arm chairs sit on either side of the white table. 

She’s methodical as she moves. Grabbing a piece of paper, then a pen, before setting them next to each other. She stares at the sheet of paper for a few moments, almost like she’s willing whatever words she needs to appear on the page; to come by themselves. Like she still needs time to find the right ones, but before long, she begins to write… 

Dear Past Me,

This is what you’ve been waiting for. This is the sign. The break in the ever overflowing river of your grief and regret. This is to let You know that you make it. You get to see the other side, and it is beautiful. 

Listen to me, the road here was hard. It will be paved with the resounding memories of your follies and the new ones to come. The ones done by you, and to you. And you will want to give up so many times, but listen to me. You won’t. No matter how many attempts, no matter how many times your brain tells you to jump or cut away the bad things that take root in your heart, you won’t. And it will hurt most of the way. But it’ll be worth it.

It is a beautiful thing to be stronger than the chemicals in your mind. To move your body along with your own will. So you must Move. And Keep moving. Let this letter be your anchor, let it be your saving grace, let it be the arms that couldn’t hold you when you needed it. I won’t give you a line about self love. You and I both know that never came easy. That this skin always felt like something raw, and bruised, and like kindling. Something to set a flame and hope you would rise into something better. That this mind has never quieted, no matter what we did to try and snuff it out. 

Listen to me, this body is the only thing you have. And how poorly we treated it. Yes, this body sings hymns of regret, and yet lulls the heart to sleep with melodies of redemption. I need you to listen to them. I know this is overwhelming, the rock like pit in your stomach, the scorched lungs and battered heart. It will feel like this body is ready to give way, but you do not allow it. 

You need to forgive yourself. Forgive all the people you will have to become to survive, or believed you needed to become. To get through the days. Forgive yourself when you don’t know better, reprimand yourself when you do. No one else will.

The woman stops writing, her hand shaking slightly as she lets go of the pen and massages her hands together. If only she could let certain memories go just as easily. She shakes her head and stares down at the paper, suddenly her lips form a smile before it disappears just as quickly. A small recognition of triumph, all blood and sweat, glory for surviving yourself among other things. As best as one could, at least.

“Ah, shit. I’m gonna need a drink.” She says to herself half resigned, half amused. She places both hands flat on her desk, and uses it to push herself to her feet. 

“Damn these bones.” She muses again as she walks over to her makeshift bar, complete with glasses and different bottles of liquor. She grabs bottles without really reading their names, until she settles on white wine and pours herself a glass. As she lifts it to her lips, she feels a sudden breeze that moves a few strands of her hair.

“How’s it going Celine?” A voice says in her ear. 

Celine freezes, she knows she’s locked her study door, and almost spills her wine as she turns around. She rolls her eyes soon after seeing who the culprit is.

“Damn it Ollie, if I’ve asked you once I’ve asked you a thousand times… Stop popping up on me without warning!”

Ollie smirks and walks closer to Celine to sit on one of the small leather armchairs next to her makeshift bar. He plops down and intertwines his fingers behind his head.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks cheekily, eyeing her whiskey bottle. 

“Where’s the fun in a heart attack, you want a drink?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it quickly and purses his lips. He shakes his head no, “Shouldn’t drink on the job, not that it affects me anymore. You didn’t answer my question.”

Celine sighs, walking back to her desk, glass in hand. She slowly sits back down and reads over what she’s written so far. She shrugs her shoulders and looks up at him.

“Fine, I guess?”

“That sounds like a question, we talked about this Celine, confidence. You need to believe in yourself.” 

Celine waves her hand dismissively, picking up the pen and rolling it between her fingers. Ollie frowns, watching her, wondering how he will get her to free herself of all this. This is what the exercise is for, but it is hard to let go of old habits.

“This is supposed to be you letting go.”

She stiffens for a moment, flexing her hand and letting the pen drop back down to the desk. “What if these hands only know how to hold on?” 

Ollie smiles sadly, nodding his head, “That’s why I’m here, as your spirit guide, I’m going to help you unclench those hands.”

Celine scoffs, “And writing to my past self is going to help?”

“Yes. You don’t let go of anything Celine, you hold on and you try to love things. You try to carry them all in that lovely heart of yours, but some things are too big, somethings can take too much of you, especially when you have to keep carrying yourself.”

Celine nods, watching Ollie as he speaks. She knows he’s right, but how can she let go of all the things and ones she loved; the things she ended up losing because of unsaid words or words that shouldn’t have ever been uttered, actions too. Can’t she keep them without them weighing her down?

“How does this letter help? I know I make it Ollie, I know I become a successful writer like my father; who lives in a beautiful cottage surrounded by nature. I got what I always wanted.”

“But you feel you don’t deserve it. All your memories, the feelings, all the events that led you here; darlin’ girl they remain inside you like chains. They can be something more than things that keep you captive.”

Celine blinks. Captive. The word rings around her head as she grabs her glass of wine and finishes what remains. She places the glass down and plays with the rim of it with her left hand. Ollie grabs the bottle of wine she was drinking and gets up, moving toward her desk and refilling her cup. Celine smiles and lifts her glass in thanks. Ollie bows his head for a moment in return. 

“I don’t see how writing this letter helps, I love writing but I use it to get away from myself. To create worlds and characters better than myself and the shades of grey in this world.”

“Well, we’re going to give it to your past self of course.”

Celine almost spits out her drink, “We’re going to do what now? We can’t mess with time Ollie, are you nuts?”

“Well of course I am, but this is what you need. What your past self needs. Nothing is fixed Celine, you can always make new choices.”

“But I thought… Isn’t this all preordained? Won’t I make the same choices, isn’t this my timeline?”

“Oh dear me, you have much to learn and as my charge, I will teach you. This world, the way you all think, the way you cling to faith and rules for a dash of hope in the face of the unknown. This is your life. There are multiple ways to live it. Let’s find the best way for you.” 

Celine looks over her sheet of paper again, feeling a sudden urge to burn it. To run away, go to bed, and start tomorrow the same as always. Stick with the devil she already knows.

“This is going to be scary Celine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. That I promise you. I’m giving you a second chance, I want you to take it.”

“Can you do this, are you allowed?”

Ollie shrugs, “Only for special charges.”

“And what makes me special?”

Ollie studies her face, the small markers of age on her skin. Wrinkles, a few grey strands of hair, a dullness in her eyes from the years of living. “You, you have this heart. This beautiful way of seeing the small things in the world, but that was slowly picked apart by all the regrets you hold. Your mistakes, the mistakes of others, they cling to you like leeches. You’ve never been able to truly let it go, to go to sleep without thinking of every scenario you could have taken instead of the ones you did. So I need you to finish that letter, and we can get started.”

Celine runs her hand over the page, she sighs and picks up the pen… After five minutes she begins to write in a fury, Ollie enjoys hearing the pen sliding across the page. After another half hour, Celine puts her pen down and when she looks up, Ollie is staring at her. But he says nothing of the wetness in her eyes and the tremble in her bottom lip. Purging oneself is never easy or painless. He stands up and makes his way around the table, placing his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shy away from the warmth. 

“Are you ready?”

Celine shakes her head rapidly, “No, what if I make the same mistakes, what if I make worse ones?”

Ollie smiles, tightening his hold on her shoulder slightly, “You’re supposed to make mistakes darlin’, you just need to learn how to live with them, without losing yourself in the process.” Ollie looks up suddenly, turning around to look out the window behind Celine. Enjoying the scenic views of trees and the moon overlooking them. He lifts his hand and says a few words that could be Latin, Celine feels a sudden gust of wind even though her window is closed. She turns in her seat and watches as Ollie’s eyes turn amber and a portal like hole opens in front of the window. Celines eyes widened, but she didn't say anything to him in fear of distracting whatever trance he was in. Ollie lowers his hand toward her, an invitation for her to grab hold of him. 

“You know all of those ‘What If’s’ you can’t ever seem to get out of your head, I’m going to show you what they would’ve been like.” Ollie says softly. He takes a step forward, and feels Celine resist. He tugs her gently, and after a few moments she gets up and shuffles her feet after him. He looks at her before they step into the portal, offers her a warm smile that makes her smile too. She lifts her free hand to touch the portal, and it feels like the rays of the sun are caressing her skin. 

“Okay Ollie, I’m ready. Please, don’t let go.” She whispers.

“Never.” 

They walk into the portal, and suddenly become engulfed in color and particles that remind her of pixie dust. She takes one last look at her study, the life she built for herself, before turning around and walking deeper into the portal with Ollie. 

The portal closes behind them…

to be continued…