By Elaine Gu, Winner of “The Roar”‘s Middle School Spring Writing Contest!
Sunlight showered down in warm, comforting rays. Wispy clouds drifted lazily overhead. Gentle zephyrs whispered in my ears. Melodious birdsong rang out, echoing through the gently carved canyons surrounding me. Flashes of vibrant hues appeared in the cerulean sky as butterflies adorned in multitudes of colors skimmed the sky. Bright green blades of grass tickled my legs gently as I walked through the lush green meadow. Spring’s breath of life had spread to the world. After months of harsh, unforgiving winter, spring had finally arrived.
My eyes slowly moved over the meadow, examining what spring’s wonders had done. And then they fell on them. The vibrant blue wildflowers I knew too well. Chicories.
I walked towards them automatically, almost in a stupor as I bent down. I tucked my legs behind me as I bent down to stroke the stalks. The chicories gently swayed to my touch, causing me to try to hold onto them tighter. Tried to hold onto them tighter because they were my last reminder of her.
My great-grandmother.
It was difficult to dabble upon a painful memory. A memory that would bring me crashing to my knees. A memory that would make my heart shatter into a million pieces. A memory that would haunt me forever.
A memory that left me bleak and cold and in agony.
I still remembered her. She had been nothing more and nothing less than pure perfection, an unreal entity too pure for the world. She would hold my hand and smile at me with such a radiant grin. Her beautiful, dancing brown eyes had thrived with life. All my fears and regrets always melted away once I was with her. She would envelop me in her warm, comforting hugs. I would sink into them because I had trusted her. I had trusted her to never leave me. I had thought she would forever be by my side.
She would listen to my endless babbling, my ranting. I would confide in her. Secrets would spill out of my lips, stories that I wouldn’t tell anyone else. She would listen to me as I cried, her comforting hands running through my blonde hair.
Whenever I would see her, only kind words awaited me. She would talk to me with that beautiful, melodic voice I would give my life to hear again. A voice suitable for an angel descending from heaven. She would always know how to brighten up my day when I came to her in tears. To ignite the light flickering uncertainly inside me. A light that was beautiful and bright, but could never match her own.
I reminisced of the times we had together. Every spring, I would run towards the same wildflowers. I would offer them to her, and she would always beam at me with pure delight. She would take the flowers with gentle care, her fingers stroking the petals. Even the flowers would seem to be a bit springier and less wilted after her touch. She would look back to me and wrap me into one of those warm embraces I could never resist.
“Do you like them?” I would ask every year, staring up at her with hopeful eyes.
“I love everything that you give me,” she would laugh gently and release me. “But nothing you give me is as important as you. Okay? Understand, ma chérie? You are my hope. You are the beacon of light that I live for. You are my spring.”
Happiness would fill me whenever I would hear these words. The last time I had left her humble home, I had grinned back and called, “See you soon!”
I didn’t know that cheery little wave she gave would be her last.
The memory of hearing of her passing was still clear in my mind. It all happened so fast. One moment, a happy grin had played upon my lips. It had been my birthday, my sweet thirteenth. The next moment, I had frozen like I had been struck by lightning. The mere thought of her being gone had been like a flood. And like a flood, I had been drowning in it.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe because I didn’t hear right. I had seen those lips moving, but the words didn’t reach my ears. I could only smile weakly and pretend it was all okay. That she was still here.
All I remembered was being alone at night, staring at the wall and shaking my head fiercely. Nothing had happened. It had been a lie. A lie! It hadn’t been the truth. It had been a stupid prank, and my mother would soon be barging in with a grin, telling me it was a joke. That my world wasn’t crashing down. That my perfect reality was back. That my perfect great-grandmother was still here.
Rage had consumed me in its grasp. I had been shaking, boiling and seething. Screaming and cursing and growling. But there was nothing I could do.
If I had been there to help her, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, I had thought.
My vision had blurred. I had collapsed to the ground, curled up with tears streaming down my face. I had felt utterly alone, wishing that I had spent a little more time with her. Wishing that I hadn’t taken her for granted. Wishing that I had held onto her a little harder. Wishing that she would come back, come back forever because she was pure and beautiful and I couldn’t afford to lose her.
But she never did. Tears stained my cheeks as my body racked with sobs, overcome with too much heartbreak and longing for a fragile little girl.
I wanted her back. Wanted her back so that she could hug me. Wanted her back so that she could comfort me. Wanted her back to ignite the light diminishing inside me. Wanted her back without her saying goodbye again.
But it could never be. My hand trembling slightly, I lifted the chicories to my nose. It had a fragrance. A fragrance like the perfume she had always worn. She would never take in the sweet scent of chicories again. My lip began to tremble as I lowered my head in utter despair.
You are my spring. Her words echoed in my ears, resonating over and over again. Little bits of her floated back to my mind: her radiant smile, her comforting hugs. Her gentle hand grasping mine.
The flowers slipped out of my grasp.
She was right.
I was her spring. Her hope. Her beacon of light. The new generation with many years ahead. Where my great-grandmother didn’t step, I would. What my great-grandmother didn’t see, I would. What my great-grandmother didn’t accomplish, I would.
While she was gone, I was still standing. I was my great-grandmother’s legacy. And I would continue it. Go where she didn’t, experience what she didn’t, do what she didn’t. I would love my descendants like how she loved me. Ignite a light like the one she did in me.
I would continue to live through her. My great-grandmother may have been gone, but she would forever be my inspiration. My hope. My everything.
The words that I whispered were barely audible. “You are my spring.”
The Roar 