The Remembered Past

My God, how it’s changed.

It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind on this business trip. The old capital had a rich history that was for the most part spared thanks to the ancient canals and sheer cliffs surrounding the royal palace, St. Ambrose’s Cathedral, and the Order of the Kestrel’s citadel. The Great Fire had however burned much of the Heights District and the densely populated Satin Row, and the food riots in the aftermath had ravaged everything from downtown to the harbor.

That was five years ago, and you’d need to go five years farther back to my only other visit to Talisae. I caught sight of a street I knew and begrudgingly turned down it. The marks of fire were cleared, but the old medieval buildings in the Heights were swiftly being replaced by the architecture of modernity. Hard concrete replaced handmade brick and carved wood. Malls with modern twists were taking over the traditional shops. Promises to remember were forgotten for the sake of progress.

Ten years. A magical time in my life, yet aside from the Palace District everything I remembered had faded into history.

Another street remembered. Another turn.

Clothing had long since changed from the ancient days, but the decade had changed the people. Groups walked with their faces looking at screens and blocking out the world around them. Ten years ago a cell phone would have been a rarity as everyone greeted those they passed. A problem not unique to Talisae, but it broke the old magic even further.

Another turn.

I catch a scent on the air. It brings me to a halt. I take in several deep breaths to confirm it isn’t a false memory, then I follow it.

My spirit lifts as I see the centuries-old building hiding between two modern neighbors, somehow spared the ravages of time. All the outdoor seating is full, and when I walk up they only have a single space left at the bar. I take it eagerly, and set myself down once again in the stronghold of the White Rose Tavern & Inn.

I’d read that it had been damaged in the fire, that some developer wanted to remove it, that it had been on the verge of closing forever. The signs of such things were not present in the bustling establishment. I asked the bartender about those things as I ordered. She replied that the White Rose had survived thanks to some old academics that had purchased the building and were in the process of getting it registered as a historical site.

I drank heartily to that with a few nearby locals and tourists.

It was a few minutes later when the wave nostalgia crested. A local came in yelling that the national team had won the cup and the entire place broke into singing the anthem. I joined in the words until my small order was placed in front of me. I took one whiff, and the world faded.

…

We had visited Talisae on a school trip. It was the week before Labor Day and we were starting our senior year off with a bang. It had taken about two years of planning and saving to afford the overseas flights and lodgings, and a couple months of convincing a few of our parents that we would actually make the return flights. I was explicitly told to keep an eye on Sandra and Brodie by her father, who was also my pastor at the time. No one, at least that I know of, was told to keep an eye on me.

The first day had been strictly left to finding our bearings, and a guide had told us about the White Rose and the dancing that would be held the next night, with local musicians playing the old songs. At the behest of the girls in the group, I taught the rest of the guys the basics of a few dances that evening once we called it a day.

From the next morning until evening we explored all over the Palace District, seeing the thousand year old cathedral and marveling at the splendor of ancient kings. Then as the sun was low in the sky we went to the White Rose, and that’s where I met Rhea.

It had the appearance of a chance meeting as we both took a break after about an hour of dancing with our own friends. In truth, I had had my thoughts on her since we’d started, and her me, which we both confessed at the start. After asking where each other was from, the bartender asked if we wanted anything. I was content with just water, but she insisted I have a local pastry with her. I couldn’t well refuse. It smelled almost as good as it tasted. Once we had finished, a waltz started and we danced together.

I’ve never had anyone follow my lead as well as Rhea did that night. Even if she broke the rule that she must be looking over my shoulder to be in proper form, we glided across the floor with only those bright eyes and wide smile in my sight. The only thing that existed in that moment was us and the music. It wasn’t until the music faded that we realized that everyone else had left the floor and the musicians had kept up the tune three times longer than the composer had prescribed. We were both a little embarrassed by the attention, but having everyone clamor to dance with you afterwards more than made up for it.

And yet, by night’s end, we had danced together another dozen times. Midnight was long passed when we parted ways, promising to meet again in the morning. With Sandra and Brodie accounted for, I got everyone to the hotel and we quickly fell asleep.

The others rolled out of bed sometime in the late morning. To their surprise, and to a few late risers’ horror, I had already been up since dawn. I’d never needed much sleep when adventure was near. I always tried to be the last one asleep and the first awake.

Rhea, too, had this quality. We’d already met for breakfast in the White Rose, sharing again the local pastry.

…

The anthem fades, and I return from the memories to the pastry in front of me. I catch my fingers playing with the ring on my hand. Rhea’s wearing its match back home, likely waking the kids so that they can make it to school on time. I can’t help but smile as I take a picture and send it to her.

Even with all that’s changed in the last decade, I will always remember the day I met you.

Love you.