From: cc014@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Maria A. Russell)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: Childhood recollections
Date: 6 Sep 1992 00:52:50 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: cc014@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Maria A. Russell)
NNTP-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu

This story is part of a book of short stories I am writing, and hope to
publish one day...

Maria

I saw her standing there.   She wasn't really standing, but seemed to be
suspended in mid-air.  She looked like a five year old child but her eyes
had the expression of a thousand years of wisdom.  She had on a little
white dress  which came to her knees and showed a pair of golden skinny
legs.  Out of the short sleeves of her white dress appeared a pair a skinny
little arms.  One hand rested on her hip although she didn't quite have
hips.  Chest, waist, and hips had probably the same measurements:
21"-21"-21".  Two large brown eyes adorned the golden face.  Thin, straight
blonde hair shorter than shoulder length hanged around her face.  Her
blonde bangs covered her blond eye brows so that it appeared she had none. 
 She  stood suspended there proudly, defiantly, intensely staring at me.  
A gentle breeze blew her hair around and from time to time she lifted one
hand to clear the hair from her face.  Her movements were delicate and
gentle.  There was a paradoxical look about her.  She seemed so fragile, a
little twig, about to break, and yet I couldn't imagine it breaking.  It
was flexible, bendable and as strong as the strength of her stare.   I
looked at the beautiful golden face which glowed with kind, warm, and wise
self-confidence, as if it knew the truth. 
	
It reminded me of a photograph I saw many years ago on the cover of a news
magazine.  The article which accompanied it, addressed the popular issue
then, of UFOs appearing everywhere.    She looked so much like the picture
of the blond thin girl (although the girl in the picture looked much older)
who, many had said, saw coming out of a space ship.   People in our small
town said the girl looked just like me.  My mother became very upset.  I
still don't understand why.  Perhaps she felt afraid of the unknown, didn't
want a member of her family to be associated  with these strange images
which in her devout catholic opinion must have come from the devil himself.
  Perhaps she thought the girl was ugly, which she wasn't, but she was
thin.  My mother, due to her Italian heritage, perhaps, preferred plump
girls, maybe because plumpness was then a symbol of wealth and we were
incredibly poor.  Although the photograph of that young girl appeared on
the cover of many news magazines of the time, it was forgotten, after a
while, just as  we forget issues the media discontinues to pursue.  
 
" Who are you, and why are you here?"  I demanded.
	"I saw you, many, many years ago", she replied.  I detected an
accent but couldn't place it.  "You were sitting in your mother's garden,
remember?", she continued.   "You were talking to the marigolds.  You told
them you would leave that town, you would not marry a man who could not
understand the universe,  you not marry a man who didn't have a vision of
the future,  you would get an education, you would become a teacher and
help people understand humankind.   Remember?"  
 
I remembered talking to the marigolds in my mother's garden, when I was a
child but I didn't remember seeing her,  except that she looked familiar. 
She looked like someone I  had seen before, someone I knew really well, but
I couldn't quite remember.   She ignored my look of awe, my skeptical
frightened smile and floated down, gently landing beside me.  Two warm deep
brown liquid eyes looked at me.  A scent of wild flowers,  cinnamon, and
clover enveloped us.  "You don't seem to recognize me.  I understand.  The
treacherous journey out here clouds the memory. You must not worry, we have
not lost our connection.  You'll be alright.  Don't be frightened, don't
trouble your beautiful spirit.  The music, the beautiful music brought me
here.  It is the same music you used to listen to when you were little.  I
think of you often and I have been listening, have been looking for you.  I
want you to know that."   I was completely under her spell.  I wanted to
hold her, touch her golden hair, feel the orange aura surrounding her skin,
but she smiled and said.  "I must go now and  I would like you to have
this."   From her dress pocket she took out a little package.  It looked
like a piece of wax paper folded into a neat square.  I took it from her
hand,  and for a brief moment my hand touched hers.   It felt like pure
golden light.   I looked into her eyes and saw a well of warm sincerity, a
friendly abyss of lost familiar relaxation,  a forgotten sense of well
being.  I wanted to follow her but before I knew it, she was gone, vanished
just as quickly as she had appeared.   I was so bewildered with wonderment
I became paralyzed for a moment.  In the midst of a sense of loss I
screamed in despair.   I called.  "Please, don't go little girl.  Don't
leave me!.  Please, come back, please come back."   There was no response. 
I called again very softly this time but the only sound I could hear was
that of my own heart beating wildly.  I took a deep breath and opened the
little package.  Inside I found three pressed marigolds.  They looked like
they had been pressed inside a book for a long time. 
 
Newsgroups: alt.prose