***
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced a man standing on stage. “Tonight we are gathered here to honor one woman, to pay tribute to her humanitarian efforts, to give thanks for her many years of public service, and to remember the impact she has had on the lives of all those around her.”
The amphitheater rose in a wave of applause. Many finely dressed patrons sat at tables draped with white linens adorned with champagne glasses and fine china. In the tri-level balcony, people clapped in their red plush seats.
“A musician. A writer. A humanitarian. A CEO. A mother. We all know the legend, but tonight we look back at the life of the woman behind the story.” The man pressed his hand against his chest, smoothing his tie. “For those of you who don’t know, my mother grew up in this very city in the 1940’s. She was the only child of a single mother. Life was hard for them, but my grandmother was an even harder worker. My grandmother, the strong-willed woman she was, eventually became a first in female CEO’s in the US, pushing the boundaries of business in Chicago. It was those same determined work ethics which she instilled in my very own mother.
“As a young woman, my mom became known for her many bestselling books, including her Worlds within Worlds series, which made her an instant success. During her years writing in Washington, she fell in love with my father and had, in my opinion, two ordinary kids along with one child prodigy.” A host of giggling filled the room. “I’m just kidding,” the man said. “They’re sub-par.” The audience erupted in laughter. The man waived a hand. “In all seriousness, I love my siblings and could not have asked for a greater family.”
He cleared his throat, solemnness crossing his face. “It was in 1990 when my grandmother passed away, and my mother went back to Chicago to take up the CEO position at her company, leading it into one of the most successful decades the company had ever seen. But my mother did not stop there! It was in the new millennium when she started a charity organization whose sole purpose is to bring disease treatment and hunger relief to those in need all over the world. Now in its twentieth year, she has helped improve the lives of over fifteen million people worldwide.”
A happy round of applause rose about the amphitheater. “Now in her retired years,” the man continued, “at the golden age of ninety-one, she has become known for her mastery of the violin, and plays to sold-out crowds around the globe.” He laughed. “It is amazing to think, in all that time she has not once been back to her hometown of New York, but she is here tonight, along with the New York City Philharmonic Orchestra with whom she will be playing a piece of music later on. It is truly remarkable to imagine all her wonderful accomplishments. So everyone, if you would please, rise to your feet, and join me in welcoming to the stage, my mother, Mrs. Jessie Clare.”
The air erupted in a throng of cheers as Jessie’s son descended to the front row table. A lady, elderly and vibrant, stood to take the hand of her son, her silvery dress flowing in gentle waves. She hugged him and made her way up onto the stage. After a kiss on the cheek, her son stepped back and Jessie approached the microphone. She faced the crowd with glistening eyes.
Looking around the room, she said, “What a wonderful time to come home.” More applause. She steadied herself. “It is hard to believe. Over seventy years have passed since I have been in this magnificent city. So much has changed. Many people asked me over the years why I have never returned here. My husband, Jonathan, asked me that very question the year before he passed on. I told him then. The answer is…love. Before I met Jonathan and had my three wonderful children, before I was a writer, or CEO, or musician, before I was anything, I was in love. It’s strange isn’t it, how the experiences of our youth visit us throughout our lives, and even more so in our waning years. But I was in love with a boy, a boy who I left here those seventy years ago. And in all the time since, I have never sought him out. Call it pride. Call it regret. Call it an unwillingness to face my past. But in the years since my husband passed, I found myself thinking about this boy more than ever. It’s a silly thing, I know. I think in our extended age we are allowed to be a little silly, don’t you agree?”
The audience laughed.
“While I am sure the search for my long lost friend will most assuredly be in vain, it nevertheless brings me much joy to be back in the city that I love.” A proud wave of ovation rose up to the stage. Jessie smiled back to all her fellow New Yorkers. “And,” she continued, quieting the applause, “speaking of love. It was the inspiration for this particular piece of music I have selected specifically for tonight. I hope it will be a reminder for all those who hear it to never give up on your dreams and always pursue what makes you happy. Like my mother and me, if you work hard and believe, nothing is impossible.”
As a chorus of cheers emanated across the sea of people, the stage’s floor-to-ceiling curtains parted to reveal the full orchestra and a single seat up in front with a violin graced upon it. Jessie sat down center stage as the lights dimmed and the last of applause silenced. A spotlight descended as she picked up the violin and held the bow to strings. With a wave of the conductor’s wand, the music began.
At the end of the evening when everyone was filing out of the theater and getting into cabs, Jessie was saying goodnight to her kids. She stood at the curb as her children walked over to a chauffeured car.
“Are you sure you don’t want to attend the after party?” her son asked.
“No, no,” she responded. “You three go ahead. I’m an old woman. Parties are for the young.”
“We’re all in our forties, Mom,” her daughter said.
“You’re all still children to me,” she said.
“You just going to go back to the hotel?” the other son asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Jessie said. “These legs need a rest.”
“Okay, well I love you, Mom.” He hugged her. “Take care of yourself.”
The other two children filed up to hug her as well.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you.”
“Thanks, kids,” Jessie replied. “Now go on, and have fun. Say goodnight to all my grandkids for me. I think they’re already at the party.”
Jessie waved a white-gloved hand as the car holding her children drove away. Another private car was brought around, but Jessie didn’t take it. She hailed a taxi instead. She was not going to the hotel tonight. It was a half hour ‘til midnight, and there was only one place she wanted to be.
As the Manhattan nightscape sparkled off the backseat window, Jessie smiled softly. At last, she was finally home.
With a coat and scarf wrapped around her, she stepped out of the cab and into Central Park. It was a clear night, and the argent light shone on the dew covered grass. Her feet found the old familiar path. It could have easily been that night seventy years past when Matt waited for her. Her heart drummed excitedly. Of all the things she had done, somehow this felt like her greatest adventure.
But it was just a silly walk.
Nevertheless, with every step she felt the ache of old age gradually fade away like a distant memory. From several yards back she saw her destination. Though there was no wind, the willow tree swayed, beckoning her like a beacon in the night. As Jessie got closer to her old refuge, a long-forgotten sense of wonder and magic filled her veins.
Passing through the curtain of hanging branches, it was like walking back into a previous life. She stepped onto the mossy earth beneath the willow tree and stared at the massive trunk where she had once lied beside Matt on a sunny autumn day. She cupped a hand over her mouth. As she stepped closer, she pulled off her satiny white gloves, tossing them aside, and ran her fingers along the cool, smooth bark.
“Hello, Matt,” she whispered. “You’re probably wondering where I’ve been.”
She dropped her gaze. The ground still looked worn away from where they used to sit. A single tear rolled down her aged cheek.
&n
bsp; “I saw your picture in the paper,” Jessie said as she refocused on the tree. “I had to look it up in old records, but I found it. I was wondering why it was so hard to track you down after all these years, but once I read the title of your article, I knew.” She sniffed, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. “Missing Boy in Central Park. Then I looked at the date. When I found your picture again, I hoped. But…it was for your memorial ceremony. Why couldn’t you just go home and forget about me? I should have been here for you. Maybe if I’d come, things would have been different.”
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “But I’m here now.”
She laughed. “Look at me, getting all emotional. What my children would say. Oh, I have children…three actually. They’re such wonderful people. I have grandchildren too, and great grandchildren. Can you believe it? You would like them. One of the boys reminds me so much of you.”
She folded her hands at the waist. “I saw the world. Visited so many countries. I wish you could have seen it. I thought about you often. But thinking about what I’d left behind. It changes things, knowing you’ve lived a full, complete life, but with only one regret. So, I just had to come back. I’ve done so many things, but the one thing I never did was forgive myself for not telling you how much I cared. But I think you deserve to know, because you truly did love me. And…I love you.”
Jessie giggled happily. “It feels so wonderful to finally say it. Who would’ve thought it would take seven decades? You always made me feel so happy. When I was with you, I felt safe. I felt at home.”
There was a small silence, and Jessie looked out into the night. She turned and placed her hand on the willow tree. “Anyway. I just wanted you to know.” Then she bowed her head and whispered softly, “I wish I could be with you.”
As she stood up to walk away, Jessie heard a new sound. It started in low, a bubbling sound of water, like a stony brook. Then a single bird chirped its morning call, and a warm wind blew across her face. The scent of flowers blossomed in the air. A golden light wafted across her body. She turned to the light and saw an opening, like a split in the air. It widened like a curtain being drawn back. Warmth saturated her to the bone.
Looking through the window, like a doorway to someplace new, she saw a young boy with his back turned to her. She gasped. The boy seemed to hear. He turned, searching for the source of the noise. As he faced Jessie, he seemed no older than fourteen. Jessie could not believe her eyes. She stood, trembling, whether from excitement or shock, Jessie could not tell. But there, standing before her was the missing boy from the papers and Jessie’s childhood love. He looked the same as he had those many years ago.
She held a hand over her heart and said, “Matt?”
At first, the boy in the golden landscape saw only an old lady. But after she said his name he watched as the years turn backwards. Soon the elderly lady with silvery-gray hair was gone, and the bright-eyed young girl of fourteen looked back at Matt through the doorway.
Matt smiled from ear to ear. “Jessie! You came after all.”
Happy tears filled her eyes as she giggled. “Yes. I came. It just took me a while.”
Matt held out his hand through the split in the world and left it open for Jessie. “Come on, you have to see this place. It’s just like the old man said.”
Then that adventurous spirit stirred inside Jessie’s heart, and her magical love for Matt sparked brighter and stronger than before. With a broad smile and the thrum of music in the air, she grasped his hand and leapt through the doorway.
There they laughed and played among the silvery grass with a backdrop of light and a city of gold, in that land where nothing ever dies.
THE END
About the Author
Michael Corso is the author of The Fear Within, a soon to be trilogy. He has also written four short stories and a children’s novel, The Adventures of James Squirrel. He was born in California, but raised in Kentucky and Florida. He now writes from his home along the Gulf Coast where he spends most of his time thinking of new stories to tell and exciting adventures to share. If you would like to connect with Michael, you can visit him on Twitter @7MichaelCorso or his blog at www.MichaeloftheBooks.wordpress.com
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