Mary Anne

     On the corner of Maple Avenue and Leighton Street there is an old house, modest and sturdy, that quite sticks out from others on the block. People stop occasionally to marvel at its beautiful landscaping and Victorian style architecture. Amongst the residents of the nearby houses, it has secretly become the gem of the neighborhood. For me, however, it is not unique for its appearance, but instead for the young lady who lives there and has lived there for her entire life.

     “Hello, Mary Anne!” I call out to her every morning from my driveway, “Where are you off to?”

     “Somewhere, Ruthie,” She always replies softly with her bell-like voice, “It’s a secret.”

Mary Anne then continues to waltz down the street merrily swinging her violin case by her side, and whistling some unknown melody. Her hair bounces in chestnut curls down her back, and her eyes sparkle with life as she spins in circles down the sidewalk.

 

     And, every day, I wonder how a person could possibly have so much joy in their life. I wonder how it is possible to appear so free-spirited and refreshed every single morning even after their early childhood has long left them.

     I feel myself in an uncomfortable state of jealousy.

 

     This is not an out of the ordinary occurrence or something that just began recently. It’s been like this ever since we were little kids. We would wake up, get ready for our day, and confront each other solely from our separate driveways, and divided by a weathering picket fence and a line of neatly trimmed shrubs.

In a way, I felt dissatisfied by this. A change was not just desired, but very much needed.

 

     One day, I decided to break our little cycle; I instead waited inside my house while Mary Anne descended from her porch and skipped to her driveway. I spied on her from my second story bedroom window, pulling back my blinds only slightly so not to be spotted.

     “Ruthie?” Mary Anne said puzzled, walking over to the fence separating our yards and glancing over. Usually, I would already be there to greet her. I hadn’t missed a day since we unconsciously started this unusual ritual when I was five and moved into the house next to hers.

     She stood there for a moment or two, pondering, and then proceeded to march over to my front door with the look of a doting mother and knocked continuously on my front door. I swore to myself, threw open my window, and hopped cautiously onto the roof of my garage.

     “Oh, Ruthie?” I heard my mother question as I reached to close my window, “Oh she’s just fine. She must be running a little late today, it is Saturday after all. Do you want me to go get her for you?”

     “Sure…” Mary Anne mumbled, embarrassed.

 

     Thank the Lord above I had prepared for this ahead of time. My life line was a ladder I had strategically placed in my backyard near the gate leading to the outside world. I didn’t stay to hear my mother’s confused response to my absence or to hear the disappointment in Mary Anne’s voice when she said she’d just come back later. I ran and hid behind a tree in a neighbor’s yard down the street in the direction she always went every morning.

    I was going to discover what made Mary Anne so happy, even if it took me all day.

    

     Even with my careful planning, I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. It was if the world had stopped spinning, and suddenly I had been dragged into some sort of alternate reality where everything was dull and colorless.

      Mary Anne did not grace our neighborhood with her cheery demeanor or share the melodies on she knew by whistling. There was no skipping, no sporadic dancing, just normal walking and an expression of one who might have just lost a loved one.

 

     I found her later that day in a state of melancholy sitting on a park bench near the playground a few streets down. She clutched her violin in her hands, tracing her fingers around its edges, pretending to admire the craftsmanship needed to make it.

 

     “Hi.” I said timidly.

     “Where were you?” She shot at me.

     “I was in my backyard.”

     “Oh,” She said, regretful for having snapped. There was an uncomfortable silence between us until suddenly, Mary Anne ran and hugged me.

      “I’m glad you’re okay.” She laughed.

 

     We sat together under the shade of an ancient willow tree. No words were spoken, but the silence answered all of our questions we might have had for each other. Well, almost all of my questions had been answered… all, but one.

     “I have a question.” I finally said

     “What is it?” She giggled, at long last, cheerful again.

     “Why are you so happy all the time?”

      “Is that a bad thing?” Mary Anne asked, her eyes wide, concerned.

     “No…” I stumbled. “It’s a good thing, a beautiful thing.”

      She smiled.

     “I’m happy,” She said, “because of you.”

     “I don’t understand. We barely know each other.”

     “Yes we do. Every day, we meet outside our homes and say hello. Then, we both go our separate ways, but both of us seem to take the time out of our day just to see each other, however brief the meeting might be.”

     “Ah.” I didn’t know what to say. All words I might have said left me.

     “You make me happy,” she continued, “because you are the one thing I’ve been able to depend on for the last twelve years. You’ve always been there. It’s enough that you’re just there with your smile.” She paused and then looked me directly in the eyes.

     “You’re my best friend.” She said earnestly.

 

     It was then, at that moment, that I learned the real meaning of joy. Joy is the essence of true happiness. It is a sudden emotion found in our everyday lives. It is in the daily activities we love, and more importantly the special loved ones and friends we meet.

 

     “You’re my best friend too.” I replied.

 

     Mary Anne must have smiled more in that instant than in all the years I’d known her.

 

 

Author's Note

Well, this is just an experimental little short story I wrote recently. The idea was to use a basic idea and form a brief interesting story out of it.

Critique is welcome in every area, even if it may seem harsh. Go on and say what you think! :D No worries, I am open to suggestions and am looking to improve.

Reviews

[Jukebox]

I love the classical nature of this! Your words are very sophisticated which is something I like to see while reading a story. It shows maturity.

[Sharkapillar]

I liked this, it made me keep reading because something about it made me want to know the end.

[Hans von Lieven]

G'day Rachel,

How very well done, a piece from the heart and well crafted. There are still a couple of typos to be taken care of but this is a minor thing that does not distract from the story.

One thing aouses my curiosity. Why did you write this from the viewpoint of a boy? It didn't need it. The story would have worked equally well, or perhaps even better, if it had come from a girl.

Nevertheless, a good piece of writing.

Hans von Lieven