Last Day

By Anne of Lothlorien

My eyes burn, but I can’t look away, can’t let myself blink. What if I miss her? I block out as much of this world as I can, staring at the empty spot where the door always appears. Her door.

Three hundred and sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, and fourteen minutes since she’d said goodbye. Since I’d seen her cry for the first time as she told me she might not come back.

She will come back. She will. It’ll be there, a warped door with flaky paint and shrieking hinges. She’ll stick her hand out and wave until I come and drag her through, like every other last day of summer.

I risk a glance to check the sun and worry spiders through me at how close it is to touching the horizon. We’ll only have a few moments now. It’ll be enough, though.

She’ll come back.

This can’t be the first day she leaves me alone.

Louder than my thoughts are memories of last year…

***

“This isn’t my world, Ben.” I could see tears in her eyes as she explained what I didn’t want to understand. She stood motionless, her hand resting on the door’s rusted knob.

Don’t turn it yet.

“You’ve always known that.” I had to convince her. She couldn’t leave me. “You knew that the first year the door opened when we were kids.”

“You don’t understand.”

I was fine with that. I’d never understood why the door only appeared one day every year. I’d never understood why she couldn’t stay longer than that day, but it hadn’t mattered. I could live without understanding if it meant seeing her.

“It’s not right.” Her voice caught on the words, and the sound tugged at my heart. She’d always been so happy when we were together, but this year… “I’m always thinking about escaping, trying to come here. You’re always trying to find a way to get to my world.”

Who wouldn’t? She’d told me about flowers that burst like fireworks, water that danced uphill, a moon that faded into new colors with the seasons.

“Your world is so wonderful.” She smiled sadly.

Funny we should both like the other’s world so much better than our own. Then, I shoved the thought as far down as I could, letting the whir of cicadas and the palpable hum of late summer air drown it out.

“I’ve loved everything here. I loved the balloons you gave me, the ice cream cones you shared, and when you taught me to swim in the pond.”

The setting sun tossed light at her face, outlining her face. She was glowing, she was beautiful… and she was leaving me. Again.

“We can’t swim in the water back home, you know.” A tear glimmered on her sun-kissed cheek.

Why not just stay? I wanted to offer, but I knew I couldn’t. We both knew what would happen. The sun would say goodbye, and she and the door would disappear.

“But I took a kayak up a waterfall at sunset once.” She was whispering now, holding my gaze. “It was beautiful, and I should do it again.”

“What’s one day out of the year?” I was losing her. “What’s wrong with spending the last day of summer like we always have?”

“I can’t love where I am when I’m always wishing I’m somewhere else.”

She stepped away, and I knew this was the end. Already, I felt the ache of an empty space next to me.

“Thank you.” She smiled. I reached for her hand. “Goodbye.”

The cracked doorframe faded into the sunset.

She was gone.

***

I swipe at tears, and as my vision clears, my heart plummets. The sun has disappeared. The moment’s passed, and I’m still alone.

Footsteps dash up behind me, and I pivot, wildly praying I’ll see her smiling eyes and blonde curls.

Instead, I see the impish grin of my younger brother, Caleb. He slaps his hands on his knees, taking only a second to catch his breath. I close my eyes. The last thing I need is his irritating exuberance.

“Momma says it’s getting late. You should come back.”

“I know.” My feet refuse to move.

Caleb does a few half-spins and jumps. Even as the last of my strength siphons away, his well of energy never runs dry.

“Momma says I need to bring you back.”

“She didn’t come, Caleb.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“And I have to be okay with that.”

The silence almost takes over, but Caleb finally breaks it. “Why didn’t she?”

“She thinks it’s right this way.” I close my eyes, pointing my steps toward home. Now that I’ve said it out loud, I want nothing more than to leave this empty place.

Caleb keeps pace, hop-skipping to match my speed. “But… you said you always had such grand adventures.” He kicks a cluster of dandelions, sending a feathery cloud skyward. “Why wouldn’t she come back so you could have another one?”

Why…

“I’d want to come to this world because it’s the coolest. Look!” Caleb proudly raises his hand, a butterfly perched on his finger. “He just flew there!” He catches my eyes, and I see in them the plea for me to agree that it is “the coolest.”

I watch the lazy beating of the butterfly’s wings and hold my breath because… suddenly it’s beautiful. I feel the wind kissing my cheeks and see the last glimmer of light illuminating the path home. My world is beautiful.

I look down at the boy who walks beside me, at his dimpled smile and sweaty curls.

Why didn’t she come back?

Because she knows I need to love what I have here.

I reach for Caleb’s hand. He gives a questioning look but doesn’t tug away.

“She didn’t come for an adventure because… I think it means…” I wait for the right words to find their way out. “I hope it means she’s learning to find an adventure in her own world.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

‘Anne of Lothlorien’ made two decisions the summer she turned eight; to become a Christian and to become a writer. She’s never regretted either decision and knows she never will. Dabbling in all genres, but mostly fantasy and contemporary, Anne has many finished and unfinished short stories, novels, poems, and projects. When she’s not writing or reading, Anne enjoys journaling, watching movies, and graphic design. She loves roller coasters, cheesecake, Disney World, sparkly things, and getting mail.

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