Emerald Green

I swayed side to side as the train continued on. Not that there was much room to sway. I was tucked in between two strangers and there was no other place to sit. As I looked out the train window, I could see the black smoke trailing up into the sky. It was a sight that I was very familiar with, a sight that everyone was familiar with. The smoke wasn’t the only dull thing in this word. The landscape outside the window was the color of ash, not a trace of green to be seen. My father always told me that the most valuable thing in life was the unrivaled creations of Mother Nature herself. Unfortunately, those silly beliefs inevitably led to his downfall. The world as it is now doesn’t care for simple men who treasure beauty when they have their machines to tear it down and create their empires with. He used to tell me stories of his aimless wandering into forests and valleys. He said the best kind of lost is the purposeful kind. When he came home it was story after story of roaring waterfalls that glittered and moved like silk along with emerald grass that swayed in the breeze… We don’t see those kinds of things now. The industrializers made sure that the only skies we see are grey. As a child I adored those conversations with my father but now, I know better. Questioning the ways of the Industrializers is as likely to kill you as jumping off a cliff. In fact, you would probably have a better time with the cliff.  

I hadn’t visited my old house since the death of my father but now it was about to get torn down for a new factory and despite his foolishness, I couldn’t bring myself to let all of his belongings be forever lost. The train soon slowed to a stop and I sat up to walk my way to the platform. As expected, my mother was there waiting for me. When she looked up from the book she was reading, she saw me and waved with a half-smile playing at her lips. I waved back but I did not even attempt to smile, we were not very fond of each other and the only reason she was here was to scavenge for anything valuable to sell. When I finally reached her, she led me to her car. Not a single word was exchanged until we were pulling into our old driveway.

“Ela, I know we’re here to pick up your father’s things but that doesn’t mean we’re going to reminisce. I have a meeting to get to in a couple hours and it’s not like he deserves anything more.”

“Yes, mother. Still, it might take me a while to go through everything so when you need to leave you can leave me and I will take a taxi to the train station.” She barely thought of my response. Her reply came immediately.

“As you like.” She then walked to the door and after a few twists of a key, entered the house. Almost as soon as she was out of my line of sight, my fists started to unclench. I didn’t even know I was doing it. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed her. When I stepped through the doorway, I made sure to close the door behind me. My mother was nowhere to be seen. She was probably checking their old room for his statue collection. I, on the other hand, was much more interested in his office. That room was the one place he would never allow me in. What other reason to avoid me from entering other than to make sure I don’t find something? I made my way down the hall and once finding the door, I reached my hand out to open it. Locked. Well, I didn’t come all the way here to be stopped by a measly wooden door. I took a few steps back and then thrust my leg up and at the door, just below the handle with enough force to break the deadlock. That ought to do it. I stepped through and stood there for a minute. In all my years in this house I’d never seen this room. It was dark and gloomy with only a window and a turned off lamp to shed light. The outside hadn’t been bright for years so the only light it casted was a dim grey. Even so, his office was beautiful. There were murals painted on each wall, depicting a story. The first was a field of green with speckles of all kinds of colors, flowers I presume, and a bright yellow sun that cast its rays down to the people who were dancing with one another in clothes that were unfamiliar to me. The second was a shadowy city with smokestacks everywhere. The people in this one looked angry and passed each other by. I think this one was supposed to represent now. The one after the city was a mural split in half. The left was the meadow, and the right was the city. In the middle were two men who stood on each side reaching out to each other in a handshake. The city man wore a suit, looking stiff while the meadow man wore those strange clothes, with a look of total relaxation. Of course, the last mural featured a world with a combination of the other two. Both kinds of people danced together and there were flowers and machines co-existing. Is this what my father wanted?

After a good few minutes of staring I decided to look through the drawers, maybe I would be able to understand him better if I could read what was on his mind. The first drawer contained nothing but mundane tools such as pencils and paper. The second drawer was much more interesting. It was life changing. When I slid open that drawer, I saw a paper scribbled in a language I didn’t understand. Strange letters scrawled across dozens of papers…except they weren’t that strange. I have memories of me as a little girl sending messages to my father across the house in the nonsense code we’d made up. My giggles sounded throughout the house when I pretended, I was a spy corresponding with my agent. Were these papers a message to me? Well, there’s only one way to figure it out. I picked up the stack of papers and studied them for a bit. It’s been a while since I used the code. For a terrible moment I questioned whether I would be able to remember at all. What if I would never be able to unlock my father’s secrets? Upon further study, the characters seemed to get clearer and familiar. I sighed with relief. I still remembered the gist of it.

Dear Glenn,

          How are you? It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other. What’s the progress with your negotiations? You do know you’re welcome back anytime, right? We all miss you and you still haven’t introduced us to little Ela! She shouldn’t go on not knowing about us forever, we are her family too.

I can’t tell you how much I hope these negotiations work out but if things start to get dangerous, I want you back here immediately. Of course, you can bring Ela and your wife as well. You’ve always been the most passionate when it came to patching the rift between our worlds, but you have to know when to step down. Peace doesn’t come over night, please remember that.

                                                                                   Your Dear Friend,

Aldrich

My hands started to shake as I finished reading the paper. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This didn’t help me understand my father, it brought on even more confusion! Our secret language… Was it even something he made up? This man was using it to communicate with him. Maybe it was the language of their people. Their people. He told my father he was welcome back anytime. Does this mean he’s not from around here? So, I was right about those murals. Except Father is from that foreign land and he was going to be the one to shake hands with the Industrializers. It seems they really did want a peaceful relationship, but the Industrializers killed their negotiator, my father. Those people know about me too... I was way too curious to not read the next one. Before I could start, I heard my mothers voice shout from the hallway.

“Ela! I’m leaving!”

I hadn’t even responded before I heard the door close behind her. Well, I guess this means I don’t have to worry about her finding the letters. The next one said:

Dear Glenn,

          You must come home as soon as possible! I’ve just gotten your last letter. If you know they’re going to kill you then why stay? This is beyond mad. It’s time to lay low, if only for a while. You know we’re always waiting. Remember the path. Past Stirling to Asrar.

                                                                                  Your Dear Friend,

Aldrich

He couldn’t leave. He was always so stubborn to the point of it being a fault. I thought that would be the last one but there was another letter.

             Dear Glenn,

                    Of course. You’ve made you your mind. I pray for you safety; however pointless that may be. You will always be my best friend, Glenn. Never forget that. You have always been family to us.

                                                                                              Love, Aldrich

          I can’t say I’m surprised but even so… Tears splattered on the paper I was holding. Definitely a foolish man. But he was loved and not just by me, it seems. That settles it. I had come to this house in hopes of understanding my father a little better and now I’ve stumbled upon a gold mine. The only problem is that if I want to truly figure out who he was, I’d have to go to his homeland. Not that I minded. There’s nothing for me here except an uncaring mother and a destroyed land. What did that letter say? Past Stirling to Asrar? Stirling as in my father’s favorite resting place? And Asrar… ah. He really did give me all the pieces I needed, didn’t he? Asrar was where he had gone when he told me stories of roaring waterfalls and emerald grass.

             I quickly grabbed the letters and shoved them into a satchel I found hanging on the back of a chair. After a quick run around the house, it was filled with everything I would need for a journey into the unknown. Unable to hold off any longer, I excitedly ran out the front door, the door slamming behind me. I hailed a taxi just as I told my mother, but it was not headed for the station. No, it was headed for Stirling Park. The drive lasted for two hours and the wait was agonizing. When the car came to a stop, I swung the door open and ran until I saw the familiar wooden sign reading: Stirling Park. The driver soon drove off as I had already paid him in advance. The letter said past the park to Asrar, but it never specified what direction. How stupid of me to just run off as soon as I had just a hint of a clue. Where was I supposed to go now? I was being reckless. Still, a part of me could not give up. Maybe stubbornness runs in the family. What was it that my father had said? That the best kind of lost was the purposeful kind? So be it. With my head held high I began my trek into the dead forest just beyond the park. There was nothing beautiful about this forest, but I was determined. Maybe it was a veil, something to discourage unsuspecting strangers from finding their hidden world.

             Hours had passed and strangely enough I didn’t mind the walk. I found myself staring wide-eyed at everything. From the trees to the small anthills. After reading the letters I was curious what was so great about nature that my father was willing to sacrifice his life. Of course, I’ve never disliked nature thanks to my father’s crazy stories, but I never particularly liked it either. Then, it was as if I was looking through a new lens because my mundane world had become magical. The further I walked into the forest the more vibrant it became. I began to understand my father’s love for it all. The difference between where I am now and where I was then was so vastly different, I couldn’t fathom why my father would ever want to leave. Then, I saw it. After stepping through an array of bushes and pushing past a few vines, I reached a clearing. It took my breath away. I had thought the forest was beautiful but this… there were no words. The sky was a baby blue I had only seen in pictures, the sun a bright yellow that for once was not hidden behind smoke. It shone on the land below making the grass gleam and the huge bodies of water sparkle. The lakes were blue! So blue, in fact, that they were almost translucent. It was hard to breath. I couldn’t stop staring at it all.

             I was snapped out of my reverie when I noticed a man approaching. His clothes were bizarre but casual and I smiled a wide smile knowing that I had made it. My father had been right, the best kind of lost really is the purposeful kind. Except I’m not lost anymore. I’m home.