Mémoire

• Stephanie Tran, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2019

Astrid Watts of Unit 6D, 52 East 78th Street, pushes open the lobby door, which always sticks slightly, and descends into calm coolness. New York in its noise and dereliction always manages to produce a few mornings like this; mornings so fresh and vivid, one feels that the world is full of possibility. And yet, she is plagued with an innate unease, a sense that an imminent tragedy is destined to disrupt the continuum she has so desperately built.

The clouds present diffused bands of tender greys and blues. The sun breaks through; strands of faint, diffused light dance on her skin. It is still early, the day yet to ripen into the manic hustle and bustle that seems to pull it along.

It is spring, the lindens along Madison have bloomed releasing a light, faintly sweet fragrance. She, Astrid Watts, is on the hunt for something indefinable, guided only by a vague feeling she can’t seem to grasp. It is an indistinct murmur, yet full of purpose, agency.

She straightens her shoulders as she stands at the corner of Madison Avenue waiting for the light.

Cigarette butts and grey circles of chewing gum litter the pavement. Wheels buzz on concrete, impatient horns bleat at one another through the growing haze. The world spins, she feels light headed and mildly disorientated.

The light changes and she crosses the road, walking straight on towards Central Park.

She makes her way to Bethesda fountain, enamoured by the sight of flowers blooming out of the cracked asphalt.

As she sits by the fountain, her reflection superimposed on the clear green water, (there she is, pale and wide eyed, the lines are starting to set in) she is visited by an old memory; the bright whirl of an ice cream truck as she stood ankle deep on the shore at age twelve. She remembers it distinctly, clearer than events that happened yesterday. In that moment, she felt completely content as the cold blue water lapped against her ankles, the sun sinking below the horizon, its remaining embers casting a faint blonde glow over the sand.

She dips her hand in the water and puts her fingers in her mouth to taste the salt. She continues along the beach towards the rock pools. Dense green algae forms a rich velvet carpet under her toes. The breeze caresses her skin like warm silk stockings.

The sea impossibly vast and expansive, seemed to contain all the emotions one could possibly feel.


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The image fades and she is left with a faint sense of anticipation. And with that she is brought back into the present. An elderly couple crane their heads against the sun, tourists weave through the concourse, vying for shade, the distant rumbles of traffic. All of it so remarkably unremarkable, yet utterly perfect. If perfection exists, she thinks to herself, it is here, in this moment, happening all around us.

Inside her chest pulses something raw, something full of longing, something unafraid.