Sweetheart's Promise

Waiting for the woman he has longed to see.

A SWEETHEART’S PROMISE

 

 

          I parked the MG in the local parking lot, fed a few quarters into the town meter, then strolled along the asphalt path. The clear water of the stream sparkled like stars to my right, while manicured green grass and local flowers lined the left side. My steps were carefully taken, remembering the previous years. The memories flooded my mind, walking up this exact path with my high school sweetheart, Sheila.

We were no older than fifteen, spending summer days together roaming historical Plymouth, Massachusetts and ending the day taking a lazily stroll through Brewster’s Gardens.  This path continues for about a mile and spills out to a rather large pond and the Jenny Grist Mill, where homemade sundaes are prepared to your liking.  After receiving our treats we weaved our way to the pond and watched the children feed bits of bread to an array of fowl.

            When my memory cleared, I found myself seated on an old wooden park bench facing the water. People walked slowly by, some with interlocked hands, while others held leads for their dogs.  I stared at the water tumbling stones, smoothing their edges along with time, and my memory showed me a photograph of the last day Sheila and I spent together. We were dancing at the prom and holding each other close.

            “Twenty-five years from today, meet me at the first bridge in Brewster’s Gardens,” she whispered into my ear.

            So here, I am keeping a sweetheart’s promise, just to take a walk. I hope she shows up soon. She never said what time to be here.  I do hope she remembers. Damn, there is a lot that could have gone wrong in twenty-five years.  The last I heard about Sheila, was ten years ago, she was married and had a daughter and was living in Texas. Even ten years is a long time.  A lot can happen to a person in that amount of time.

            I gazed at my watch; the hands read twelve-ten. Where did the time go?  I arrived this morning at eight o’clock and have not ventured past the first bridge, not now or in the past twenty-five years. I do hope she remembers. I would hate to think that my waiting was a childish task. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and listened to the spring sounds; birds chirping their spring songs, the bubbling of the water making its way to the ocean, and the rustling of the fallen leaves from the ocean breeze.  Before I could drift into a deep slumber, a shadow was cast across my face, which caused me to open my eyes.

            I slowly raised my eyelids, and standing before me was the only woman I would walk to the ends of the earth for, my high school sweetheart, Sheila. Her blonde hair, streaked with hints of gray, and pulled back into a French braid. Her green eyes, with their years of wisdom, exposed the happiness that was trapped inside heart, and her smile confirmed that my wait was worth every second spent for this moment.

            We greeted each other with a hug and a kiss, and we began to recap our lives.  She told me about her daughter and the time spent traveling the country. I told her about my first marriage, my two children, and the time I spent driving truck across the country.

            “It’s been twenty-five years,” Sheila said, staring into my eyes.

            “And thirty years since we’ve had a sundae,” I replied “You want to go?”

            “Sure,”

            We fitted our hands together, once we touched the twenty-five years seemed to vanish, and for the first time in thirty years we strolled to the Jenny Grist Mill for our Sweetheart Sundae.

 

 

Author's Note

Please be honest

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Oh, boy--this spoke to my heart. First, you grabbed me with the MG, (I've owned two MGB's) and then I was led down a path strewn with sweet memories of young love and the chance of restoration. Since you asked for honesty, this sounds off-- "taking a lazily stroll..." Missing a letter here --"about a mile and spill(s) out..."
Other than those two items, the piece is very well written.

[Fictioneer]

Thank you so much for the review, and I will change the miss spellings straight away. You have helped me more than you know.

[Catcher]

Nice work. Some lines stick out, like how time vanished after the two characters held hands. I was fond of the reference to his memory showing him a photograph. It had a lovely simplicity to it that at times was lost with a phrase like "an array of fowl" instead of just saying birds or ducks. Also, watch the punctuation in "So here, i am..." or "driving (a) truck." All in all, a nice story.

[Fictioneer]

Thank you :)