So caught up in this constant game of cat and mouse, it's hard to remember why I play. She was here, but now she's gone.
The locker, beaten and bruised, greeted me the same everyday- nothing interesting to say, nothing of interest to it. My actions were subconscious. Enter combination, open locker, take books, close locker. The paper floating to the floor was like the fluttering of a butterfly's wing. Seeing it caused the whole course of my day to suddenly change. So seemingly insignificant, yet so powerful.
Taking the paper into my hands, I uncovered the message inside.
“Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” - Thoreau
This was the game she played. Riddles within quotes- never too challenging to figure out, but intricately built with multiple meanings. Looking at the writing, I could picture her producing the hint. Sitting here, her back against the locker as her mind raced with poetry and lyrics. Her perfect penmanship appearing as her delicate hand danced with the pen across the page. Her soft lips brushing the finished product to tease my longing heart.
The water, calm and clear, greeted me with a peaceful melody. It reminded me of the night she brought me here. Her call waking me from my dreams, insisting I join in her ridiculous scheme. Her car humming as we drove silently into the unknown. Her laughing rousing me from my temporary sleep. This became our secret place- where we could escape from the tragedies and tribulations of our everyday lives. We hadn't been here since that night, but I felt as if I had been here so many times before.
Walking across the shore, I followed her path. Her steps in the sand swaying from side to side as she strolled musically. The imprint of her small body buried in the sand as she lie staring up at the stars. New inspiration lighting up in her eyes as she decided the game wasn't over yet. Her strategic hiding of the new note under a rock surrounded by her random doodles of grain. Sand fell from the paper as I unfolded it.
Her perfect handwriting once again paved the way.
“Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” - Emerson
The field, empty and silent, greeted me like it would a lost traveler. She once showed me this place- where she had occasionally come to think. With the endless green under her and the constant blue sky overhead, she'd wander in random directions. Like a pilgrim- discovering the land she liked to believe she was the first to find. Her shoes smothering the green into her own makeshift road.
I moved along, unable to find her guidance this time. This place, unlike the rest, had no landmarks, nor kept the memories of past days for long. Looking into the distance, the white among the green caught my eyes. The only way I'd ever find her message in such a monotonous locale. The poster, connected to the earth by a stake, read me yet another riddle.
Reading the words, I felt I was getting closer.
“Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest; home-keeping hearts are happiest.” - Longfellow
The house, dark and unused, greeted me bitterly. Inside I found no notes, no trail, no one. A game of cat and mouse with a rodent too intelligent for the feline. Done with this game for the night, I retired- both figuratively and physically. She visited me in my dreams- her evil grin telling me it wasn't over yet, her voice chiming a new riddle in my ear.
“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”
The next morning I awoke to a realization. She was here, but now she's gone. On the pillow next to my head lay another clue- the next step. Maybe today would be the day I find her. Maybe it wouldn't. Common sense reminded me giving up would eventually bring her back to me. I didn't enjoy the thought of losing though.
My choice, like the roads in the wood, diverged. And I took the one less traveled by because, in the end, I seek not the prize, but the challenge of obtaining it.
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