Renewing Spirit

A whisper was heard back and forth through the delicate green grass. The wind softly told the tale of years upon years of somber expressions and desperate eyes. Bright blue skies passed slowly, bringing cotton clouds that bounded toward that edge of the earth. When the disappeared behind the rolling hills, they began anew on the other side of the sky. Grant Hill carried a unique quality, as it was lined with rows upon rows of deep grey stones. Each one had its own perfect place, like checkers on their board. Time was held still in each one. Every time period coexisted, as the clouds slowly passed by. The loneliness and solitude was only disturbed by the occasional sparrow or robin. Even the men and women who came merely passed through like the clouds. The stones though, will last forever. They will never move or change, only get older and fade into the scenery. This too is how the life of our dear friend was.

            “You better never let them get you down,” she would say, “you are meant for great things regardless of them.”

            I experienced a hard early youth, but she seemed to make it all better. Each word she said seemed so profound yet sincere. She was one of the only people in the world who knew me. She was always concerned with how I was, how my grades were, even how my friends were. All that was lost though, as the stone was planted in the ground.

            Christina Lyon was a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. I met her my freshman year of high school as I walked the steep grass hill leading up from the school. All of my friends had explained how nice of a lady she was, but I was still leery about what this day would hold for me. The green grass that led up that hill was slippery from the rain of the morning but still I raced my friend up the hill. When I had finally come to the peak, I noticed a crumbling sidewalk under my feet. It was no debonair neighborhood, just an ordinary one, that might be well suited for someone with low income or a large family. The road was narrow and cracked from years of wear. The ditches were filled with debris as I’m sure they had never been cleaned. The house sitting in front of me was small and white. Maybe it was the sun hitting it a certain way or the white paint, but that day I saw a glow to that house that could only come from an angel.

            The screen door flew open as I neared the steps leading toward it. The other boys rushed in and greeted her but I just looked. She looked as worn as the street behind me. Her face aged much more that it should have been. Her gait was slow and painful like that of an old man. I felt years of pain looking on her, but she smiled. It was a glorious smile that erupted from ear to ear. She suddenly looked younger. Her eyes were filled with love and hope. How could someone so broken be so complete? She threw out her arms to give me a hug, and I cautiously received it. The living room that I was standing in was small and smoke filled. A couch, a love seat, and a television filled the room almost completely. The walls were littered with pictures of her children and family. That place was confined, yet; it held insurmountable love.

            In January 2009 she took a trip to see her friend in North Carolina. Over the years previous she had started the process of becoming a paralegal through an online college. When she left she was about to complete her final semester, and I was a senior in high school.

            “I’m here,” she said, “I am going to go to the beach tonight. It is so beautiful. We will have our math date on Thursday. I need a lot of help.” I gave the phone to mom as I walked into the gymnasium to watch my brother play basketball. It was Tuesday night and nothing could go wrong.

            She never woke up. She went to sleep with her dog by her side, and went home. A blood clot caused a heart attack that night, and without warning ended her life. I never saw her body, the only memories I had of her were from her life. She was finally home. Her face was restored and her gait returned to youthfulness in heaven.

            Grant Hill was a beautiful place to be laid to rest. Nature overwhelmed the sorrow of the human heart. She wasn’t given that opportunity though. Her remains were burned and the ashes were given to the man that beat her and left her the way she was.  I cannot visit her stone to tell her about my life. She will always have a stone in my heart though, and like the stones on Grant Hill, her stone will live forever.

            I never got to say goodbye to my friend. She will always live on in my heart though. The ashes are not her remains; her remains live inside of me. As I watch the clouds pass by, I am her stone.

Elton4562   Elton4562 wrote
on 4/1/2010 10:25:13 AM
Hey Jonathan, Good job with your paper! If you haven't handed it in yet, consider a teeny change: "It no debonair neighborhood" probably should be "It's no debonair neighborhood." You painted a vivid picture of the old lady. Elton

on 4/1/2010 5:54:55 AM
Beautiful...your story left me some kind of mystery at the end. When we are writing the story or poem, it really exposes who we are and what we are other words, we can't really pretend who we are in writing whether story line is fiction or not. Thnak you and keep writing.

School Papers
writing JonathanAndrew
Bookmark and Share

You must log in to rate.
This has not been rated.