STORY THAT NEVER WAS

The Story That Never Was

A boy came to me with a sheet of paper in his hand and, without lifting his eyes, he said: “Sir, I know your newspaper deals with very important things. My story is not one of them. But it’s very important to me.” I asked him what would he have me do with it and he said “print it, of course.” “I changed some names and… things” he said to me, “so people won’t recognize me in the story”, and I told him that it was perfectly all right to make such changes. I also told him I would not make any promises. And he left. After I read his story, I sent it right away to be printed. Maybe I wanted the readers to know that my newspaper can be warm and compassionate, maybe I thought the young man was talented, or maybe it was that tear that dropped from my eye. I printed the story and I felt… great. It goes like this:

“Once upon a time a boy met a girl. All stories of this kind start like this. And you hope there is more to it, but it isn’t. It is not a “Romeo and Juliet” story nor a “Love Story” story. It’s a common story. The kind most of us have and forget.

They were running in his room, playing, and were so happy that when he caught her, he held her tight, so tight that she could hear his heart beat. They liked it. But their moms were having tea in the adjoining room and they knew only grown ups held each other that long. And they chased each other again through the room. And he caught her again. And she put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. They laughed and ran outside in the warm sun and he embraced her so tight that she stopped laughing. She smiled and whispered to him his new name: Holdy – as he always wanted to hold her.

Years passed and their little game never stopped. One day, he tried to kiss her, but she was so startled that she turned her head. At home, in her little diary she wrote “He tried to kiss me and I resisted because I needed to know if he meant it. Tomorrow I will let him kiss me if he tries again. Maybe tomorrow he will not.” And the next day, her diary read: “But he did!”

He wrote letters to her and delivered them himself every time their moms had their tea together. One day, the girl’s mom found the letters and, I must tell you, they were, to say the least… very passionate. Their mothers were appalled, they even accused one other and decided never to have tea together.

The girl couldn’t do much. Neither could he. Their mothers kept them on a very tight leash. But that was the time when he held her the closest! They thought no one saw them, but everyone could see the light on their faces.

Time passed and they were still holding each other in a place they called Sanctuary. He called her Edelweiss. I know it’s not too creative, but she liked it: her skin was white and soft to the touch. She drew the white flower everywhere. His schoolbag was full of petals, his cap, his shirts; she even made paintings with the edelweiss and continued to draw its petals everywhere.

One day, they had their first real fight. They only talked through letters. They were both very angry. She thought: “He will always start this fight.” He thought: “She changed, I cannot reason with her!” She said to herself: “I cannot trust him. Ever!” He cried: “I will not see her again! Not ever!” What they both didn’t know was that in these cases “no” meant “yes” and “yes” meant “no”. Every two weeks their fierceness grew weary and they tried to write to each other. But they couldn’t help being bitter and two more weeks of silence ensued.

They started to hate the things they had done together and tore apart all that reminded them of each other. But every second of their day and night was filled with longing. They walked alone now and all the people could see pain on their faces. He went to their Sanctuary and prayed she would be there. Rain was endlessly pouring from the skies those days. He picked up twigs and pressed them down writing a three letter word. It was a sound he loved to hear from her. He would come to their Sanctuary every day and find that people or kids had played with his twigs and he would put them back in the deep marks on the ground.

One day she saw him and braced up to talk to him. She waited for him and said “hello”. She was scared she might sound too soft. He knew she wanted to talk to him, but he thought “what if she wants to tell me it was time we put an end to our silence and go our separate ways as simple friends?” He held close to his heart a letter where she had written “you are my everything.” And he said “hello” and went on without looking back. He tore the letter and kicked the twigs from their channels. He was furious, but he didn’t know that his “never” meant “always”.

His rage turned to pain again, then he started to walk alone everywhere they used to walk together. He was a shy boy. He never looked at people on the street. Now he looked for her raven-black hair and her silky-white complexion. And he hated her. He wanted her to suffer as much as he did – and she did. She thought that he didn’t care, and he was furious that she never wrote a letter to tell him she needed him to hold her. One day he received a letter from her and, like every time in the long months of their separation, his heart was filled with fear: “What now?” he asked himself. He had not once received a word of comfort or a call to end their quarrel. This time was different… sort of. She told him she would be going back to her little life – the life without him in her dreams. And her words were so sad that he immediately sat down to write a note. “I love you”, he wrote, “please meet me today and let me say this with the words of my mouth and my heart.” And he sent the note through a friend and waited for an answer, which came back before you could say “edelweiss”. “We’ll talk tonight.” And a red pair of lips was imprinted at the end of her note.

But she never came. Every time the boy had told her she loved her and they agreed to see each other, she wished she had never accepted and took her promise back.

More than two days passed without any sign from the girl. The boy was furious again. And he swore that had been the last straw! The last straw, but not the last longing for her. And hers for him. And it suddenly dawned on him that even if they, by some miracle, had met, they would be strangers and wouldn’t know what to say to one another. All they had left were imputations and harsh language. You cannot build loving hugs with that! And he really understood the exhortation “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” He understood now that feelings grow cold in one day, and it had been, what? Months of crying and sobbing, and then repining and hatred. They had nothing to see each other for anymore. Only to make things worse – if that were possible.

And he closed the door of his little room, took a lot of paper and ink, sat down and started to write THE STORY THAT NEVER WAS. “It could help others”, he thought. “Inspire them to hold each other before they grow too cold. I must get this story to a publisher”, he started.

When he finished, his back was sore and his eyes could hardly see anything in his room. The sun was setting over the garden where he had once hold her and he couldn't help whispering with a bitter smile: "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath."

Story and voice:

Sandu BARBU

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