Olivia

(Fair warning: there is a brief mentioning of drinking and alcohol.)

I frolicked through the meadow, tramping on flowers and twirling through the grass. 

On days like today, I like to pretend I am in a book, with my prince peeking out from behind a tree and falling in love.

My sun dress twirled around my ankles, and my hair swished by my ears, sending my loose curls spinning.

Of course, I was distracted by the beauty and fun of playing in a field. I didn't notice that the person that was hiding behind a tree wasn't a prince.

...

George woke up in a cold sweat. He had had the dream again. Of course, said dream was a memory, but a memory he didn't want to remember.

Swinging his legs over the bed, George picked up his phone. He gasped loudly. 

"I'm late!"

George scrambled down the busy NYC streets. He was still struggling to slide his left shoe on, along with sending a text to his boss. "Sorry, Mr. Malard!"

When he got into the office, there was Mr. Malard. With his arms crossed.

"Late again, Mr. A." Mr. Malard clucked, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I’m sorry, I slept in and-” George began, but Mr. Mallard put his huge palm in George’s face. “No more excuses, George. If you’re late one more time, I’m firing you,” he said, turning and walking to his office. George groaned and walked to his desk, slumping into his chair.

His buddy, James, peaked over the cubicle and said “Wassup, bro?’

George groaned again, sliding his head on his desk. “I came in late again, and Malard told me that if I’m late again he’s firing me,” George confessed.

James punched George playfully in the shoulder. “You know that Mad Duck doesn’t have a good memory. He won’t remember, and you’ll be fine,” James said, turning around and getting to work. “Yeah,” George said, quietly typing away.

…

At around 6:00 at night, when the sun was beginning to go down, I stopped spinning and looked behind me. That’s when I saw him.

He was wearing a big trench coat that covered his boulder-shaped body. His head was bald, and his shoes were big. He was peeking out from behind the tree, right where my prince was supposed to be.

“Who are you?” I asked, glancing at the pathway in the trees that lead to my house. He smiled. He had a beautiful smile.

“I’m Paul. What’s your name,” he asked, walking over and sitting in the grass. When closer, he looked younger than in the distance. Maybe in his early 30s. His body was still rounded, but it might of been because of his coat.

Slowly, I said “I’m Olivia.” He smiled, and I smiled back.

“What are you doing here all alone,” he asked, slowly laying onto the dewy grass. I copied him, my curls spreading round my head like a halo. “I just like playing out here sometimes.”

I felt his face widen into a smile. I smiled too. This man’s nice, I thought.

;

George trudged down the street. Mr Malard had gotten angry again, all because of a small coffee break George took. “You can’t be breaking when your supposed to be working,” he had yelled, snatching the cup from George’s hand.

So, George had clocked out early. I’ll just get there early tomorrow, George thought to himself.

George stepped onto the ledge in front of his front door. Crunch.

George looked down. There a small envelope was, crinkled, with a small shoe print from George stepping on it. His hand reached down and George grabbed the paper. He flipped it over. No address. He flipped it over again. No address. No name. Nothing. Not even a stamp. It was like someone just dropped it on his front door step, hoping he would find it. Which he did.

George stepped inside. He set his bag onto the table, and then walked over to the couch. He sat down, and began opening the envelope.

;

I saw him more often. I got to know Paul, his likes, dislikes, and interests. He got to know mine. I found out his age, too. He was 17. I was 16.

I didn’t expect it. He looked older, at least in his forties. But, no. He took off his jacket, which made him larger. His head was still bald. Apparently, he shaved his head when he ran away from home. Kinda cliche, but what can I say? I’ve missed dinner the last week so I could come see him.

Tonight, I walked back out to the field from behind my house and through the trees. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and I brought some sodas. The grass was cold and damp underneath my thighs, as I sat down. I waited ten minutes. 

Finally, Paul started coming over the hill.

;

‘Dear George,

‘I am writing to you from my house. You probably don’t know or remember who I am, but I am coming to talk to you about your sister, Olivia.

‘Sadly, she has passed away. If you would like to talk with me, come to this address: 1822 Jennifer Lane, Raleigh, NC. Thank you, and see you soon.

‘Sincerely,

Paul’

;

“Hi, Olivia!”

I smiled and ran to him. I gave Paul a hug, and then handed him a soda.

“My treat,” I said.

We sat down on the grass and looked at the stars. We spent at least an hour just staring. But something felt off. Paul was fidgety, but seemed to be mulling over something.

I didn’t expect him to say this.

;

The next day, George got in his car. He drove to North Carolina, the supposed spot of Olivia's kidnapper.

It all happened one night. George had noticed Olivia had been sneaking out, so, one night he followed her. He saw her meet someone bald, and then they talked and looked at the stars. George had started to drift off, but then he saw them starting to walk away into the trees.

“Olivia!” He has shouted. Olivia kept walking. George ran up behind them, the whole time shouting “Olivia!”

Finally, she turned around. “George? What are you doing here?”

“Where are you going,” George asked, catching his breath. He was only 6, so this was a long run.

“I’m leaving,” Olivia had said, starting to turn and walk away. The bald guy turned too.

George remembers screaming and crying. “Don’t leave, Olivia! You can’t go with him! Please, don’t leave me! Please!”

Olivia didn’t listen. She kept walking, away and away until she was swallowed by the trees. Then she disappeared, until now. With this letter.

;

“Okay, something clearly wrong,” I said, looking at Paul. He looked at me, then sat up.

“I was thinking of asking you something tonight.”

“What is it,” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I was thinking, what if we, maybe…” Paul began to say, his voice trailing off. I took his hands in mine.

“Paul, just ask me,” I said, looking him in the eye. He took a deep breath.

“Olivia, could we, maybe, run away together?”

;

George arrived at 1822 Jenifer Lane, Raleigh, NC. There it was, a nice, one story house that had a garden. A little girl was playing outside. She looked up, smiled, and said “Grandpa’s just inside.”

George smiled at her and walked to the door. He knocked. George heard the light thumping of feet as someone began walking to the door. 

He felt his heart go to his stomach and his stomach go to his feet. What was going to happen? Was this really the house of his sister’s kidnapper, or was it just a place she came for her final days? Who was this man who gave George a letter, telling him to come find his sister? And lastly, was he scared of what could happen to him, or what actually happened to her?

;

I felt my eyes widen. Of course, it took me by surprise.

I watched Paul’s face turn from scared to relieved as the words came out. He breathed deeply, and I watched.

“So, what do you say?”

I thought. I thought about how my dad was always busy, and, when he’s not here, mom is out drinking with some other guy. I thought about the kids at school, drawing on my lockers with pencils, saying things about me. They think I’m with a different guy each day. They think, at night, when I’m with Paul, I’m out at some club, pretending to be older than I am.

But, I also think about my brother. If I leave him, what’ll happen to him? He doesn’t deserve to be left. But, I don’t deserve to live here, with all of the torture.

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” I say. Paul smiles. I smile too. But, suddenly, I hear the wailing of a 6 year old.

;

The door opens. There he is: an older man, maybe in his sixties or seventies, standing in the doorway. He reaches his hand out. “Hello, I’m Paul,” he says, and George shakes his hand.

“Would you like to talk,” Paul says.

:

“Olivia! Don’t go! Don’t leave me,” George screams. He’s breathing heavily. He must’ve ran here.

“Olivia, where are you going,” he asks, looking at me, his eyes wet and as big as saucers.

“I’m leaving,” I say, feeling a jab in my stomach. This is hard.

“Please, don’t leave me,” George begins wailing again. I take his hands. “Look, Georgie. I’ll be back. Just be patient, and I’ll come back one day. I promise,” I say, giving him a hug. The truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to come see him again. He probably won’t remember me, or will be too angry to even want me. I savor the hug, before I get up, turn and walk away.

;

After talking with Paul, George walked back to his car. So, his sister was dead. But she didn’t get kidnapped.

After Paul and Olivia left, they went and traveled to a different town. They both got jobs and worked hard. They moved again, this time to Raleigh, North Carolina.

They bought their first house. It was a nice one story house that had a garden. Paul and Olivia got new jobs, and fixed up the house.

A year later, they got married. It was a small wedding. Olivia had tried to send George an invitation, but she didn’t know if he had moved. He hadn’t.

By the time George was fifteen, Olivia and Paul had 2 kids. Grace, and George. They were smart and strong, and Olivia and Paul were successful.

Years later, when George was 30, all of their kids had graduated from high school. They ended up having three. The eldest, Grace, was already on the way with her first child.

Life went on. All of Olivia and Paul’s kids got married, had/adopted children, and got older. 

That leads us to now.

At Olivia’s funeral.

George is crying, of course. He never got to see Olivia get older. But, he’s also crying because she got the life she always wanted.

And that made George happy.