Here’s to Dreams: This One’s Mine

I want to write children’s stories, dear reader.

WHAT? Yes, I know. I am a bit raunchy and a bit–well a lot–chaotic. But hey, this is my dream.

It’s important to me that children are exposed to good literature–too often they are fed garbage. Their spongy synapses take in everything, but very little of the media made for children is worth holding on to. I want what they choose to remember–what they put in their pockets for safekeeping–to be important.

I want them to feel less alone.

As a kid, I was afraid of the world. I was scared into silence by nearly every social encounter, potential failure and inevitable rejection. Eventually, I stopped trying new things all together.

I was even afraid to make friends–to exist in the world in the ways I wanted to–because I was just so scared.

With the story I am about to share with you, dear reader, I wanted to say that being alone is a beautiful thing. You discover so much about yourself and the world in these moments. That being said, being alone with one’s silence out of fear is endlessly limiting.

So here’s something little Al needed: a children’s story. To borrow or to keep.

Stories for adults are contrived anyway.

 

Silence and The Girl

 

The girl found that the older she became, the more time she spent alone. She missed her friends and family terribly–wishing she could be with them, but knowing that she had only two feet. The girl couldn’t fly unfortunately, and so she often found herself in the absent company of Loneliness.

One April evening, when the birds were settling on their branches and the sun was too low to keep her warm, she found herself alone again.

As the minutes passed, the cold breath of loneliness made itself at home in her throat. She felt as if she might cry, but pinched the soft skin of her wrist and reminded herself to be tough. She was alone, though–more now than ever.

And so she let the tears come, and they came and came. For a very long time, the girl cried with Loneliness, who offered her no comfort. She thought she might give up–that she might leave so Loneliness wouldn’t be able to find her. She could run and hide and leave this place where she felt so much pain.

Before she resolved to leave–before she packed her bags–the girl felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She turned to see a kind face.

“Who are you?” asked the girl.

“I am Silence.” 

“Why have you come here?” The girl was scared, but the hand on her shoulder was soft and warm. It felt familiar.

“You are here–alone–and that is where I choose to live. I thought we could sit together a while.”

“I’d like that.” said the girl, smiling.

And so the girl sat with Silence. 

Every evening, Silence would return to sit at the foot of her bed, and the girl no longer felt Lonely. Silence told her of the world and of space; of who she might like to be and how she might like to fall in love. 

The girl thought it must be very beautiful to be in love, and so she spoke of it with Silence often. She could imagine nothing better than sharing Love’s company with someone she’d meet one day.

“I’ll never be Lonely.” the girl said happily.

Silence spoke to this, “It is beautiful, yes. But Love doesn’t mean one is never alone.” 

 This scared the girl.

“Promise you’ll never leave me, Silence. That you’ll always stay with me.”

“I promise that when you need me, I will always be there.” 

The girl smiled and closed her eyes. She slept wrapped in soft, warm arms, and felt safe. 

Each morning, the girl found herself anxious for Silence to return. She longed for the safety she felt at night–the warmth Silence brought.

One night, when the sun began to set, the girl found herself in the company of a friend she cared for very much. Realizing suddenly that Silence wouldn’t come until this friend was gone, the girl began to panic.

With nothing to remind her that she was safe, she felt very afraid. She feared that when her friend left, Loneliness would come for her, and Silence would be lost. The girl couldn’t be with Loneliness again–she would not allow this.

And so instead of the possibility of Love, the girl chose the certainty of Silence. 

The girl asked this friend to leave immediately, and with this, she exhaled every fear. The girl sat alone on her bed for a very long time. When Silence finally came, the girl saw sadness on a familiar, kind face.

“Silence, what’s wrong? I am alone–I am home.”

“Right now, you do not need me.” Silence wiped away a tear, and replaced it with a sad smile.

Cold fear grabbed the girl stomach, “But–you are all I have. You promised never to leave.” 

Silence looked at her with a kindness she had never known, “I am not all that you have.” 

“Yes you are! You promised—”

“I said only that I will be here when you need me.”

“But, Silence-” the girl sniffed

“You don’t need me, so I must go–at least for a time.”

The girl was very afraid, “But I’ll miss you.” 

“And I will miss you. But please, be open. Even if you are very scared.” 

Silence touched the girl’s arm with a soft, warm hand. “I will be with you. When you truly need me, I will be with you.”

The two sat together for just a moment longer, crying and remembering.

And then the girl was alone. 

She sat very still and waited for Loneliness to come. With clenched fists and a straight back, she was ready.

She waited like this all night. As the moon made her trip across the sky, the girl’s mind began to drift. Instead of fear or loneliness, she found herself thinking fondly of the kind friend she pushed away.

She felt a new steadiness inside her; it was warm–familiar. She thought she might like to follow it. 

And so she did.

So as Silence rested, the girl walked with Love.

And for a very long time, the girl was happy.

 

That’s all, dear reader.

I love you.