1 A Memoir

It was a warm Sunday when we first walked along the shore. I still remember the feeling of the coarse sand that shifted underneath my bare feet; and the warmth of the bright sun as it beat down on me. The gentle spray of the ocean as the waves crashed along the shoreline would keep us cool throughout the day. The sound of your gentle voice called me out to chase you into the water, even though you knew I did not like to swim. I followed you anyway. The way your ocean-colored eyes glistened in the sunlight on that day, and the blue ocean's radiant glimmer, will live forever in my memory. Your hair, fair and silky, swayed in the gentle summer breeze.

Thus with time, these memories ripen. Your vivid image, along with that endless golden horizon, come to visit my dreams each night. That ocean, still as blue and crisp as I can remember it, and the sky painted with the occasional clouds that would give a cool shade for a moments pleasure. But now, my dear Isabella, you rest in a Bocote overcoat of my labor in our land of pine. Dreaming of bliss, eternally without happening.

It's only been a week since you have left me. The ceremony we had held for you was full of smiles, as you had wished. Your gentle soul would prefer to be celebrated than mourned. As much as we tried to smile, our faces were drenched by the rue of your passing. We all felt you there, in spirit. Almost as if you were whispering to us the words, "Everything is going to be okay," in sweet silence. The priest, who we have come to know as Father Victor, spoke of you with intimacy as a beloved friend. The Father's sermon alleviated our tears, helping us to celebrate your memory instead of mourning.

It's only been about three years since I had last seen that bright smile; yet, it feels like forever. As much as you would of wished for me to move on, I simply cannot find it in my heart to do so. I have always been the weak on when it came to these sort of things. I was never as strong as you.

Everything in our home serves as a remembrancer of some sort. I could never cook but I still remember the way you lavishly worked in the kitchen. There were even times when I would try to learn your craft, only to burn everything that I attempted to make. Just remembering that time when I burned that meatloaf, brings a symphony of tears and chuckling. Have I gone mad; or have I become so hopeless without you? I don't know but I need to rid this sorrow etched within my heart.

Instead of worrying about what becomes of the dead; I should be worrying about what becomes of those who live. Our story may have ended ubruptly, my love. But, mine is only beginning. I hope you can forgive me for my selfishness, Isabella. It's finally time for me to move on with my life. As much as I love to live in your memory, it brings nothing more than pain.

"Everything okay there, Schmidt?" Sam, the bartender asks me with an eyebrow raised.

"Yea, I was just thinking, Sam. Can you pour me another?" I raise my empty mug to him, with a drunken smile.

"I think you had a little to much tonight, Schmidt. Why don't you go home and call it a quits tonight?" Sam crosses his arms giving me that same old glare. I know I won't win against him when he's made up his mind. He's stubborn, but kind.

"Could I get a glass of water, then?" I roll my eyes. Sam grabs a glass from the counter and fills it with water from the tap.

"You should go out and do something other than coming here every night. As much as I love taking your money, it'd make more sense to go out and stay away from the booze," Sam wipes down the the part of the counter next to me, "You've only been here for about two weeks. Go out and make some friends other than your favorite bartender," he smirks.

"You never know what you'll find out there." Sam winks at me before walking away to help another one of his guests.

I grab the glass and move away from the counter towards one of the empty tables closer to the mounted televisions. I've never been one for enjoying sports, but, at least it'll pass the time. Maybe Sam is right. Maybe I shouldn't be coming here to drink everynight. I'm still new to Meadow Valley, and it wouldn't hurt to meet a few new friends. I don't know anyone here, and I feel like I'm getting a little lonelier by the passing days.

I just inherited my grandmother's farm, and decided that I wanted to get away from the city life as a software developer. I thought that being in front of a computer all day was bad, but here I am developing a bad habit of alcoholism just to pass the time. I came here to get away from the life of a software developer, and live a simpler but hard-working life.

I guess I'll just figure out things in the morning and go around town introducing myself. Meadow Valley isn't that big after all; there's only a hand-full of people here.

Out of the corner of my eye, a girl around my age dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt walks up to the other side of the table looking down at me.

"Mind if I join you?"