The Promised Meeting

Tap, tap, clink. Her feet halt. Eyes slumped. Body apprehensive.
Her face cools as the eerie wind sways, carrying the ghastly cries of lost destitute souls. Arrays of headstones lie lonesome, a place so full, yet empty.
Her white gloved hand caresses the bold engravings on the chalk dusted grave stone:
- Jane Walter 1787-1805 -

Foolish, she was foolish that girl, Jane was ambitious, audacious, she wanted us to go to Cambridge, thinking her parents would applaud to it.

“Jane, you are a lady, and that is all you need to be.”

That’s what I thought too, but they held no paramount to Jane, nor did it hamper her from aspiring more, a title given at birth had no value to her if not earned herself.

I never understood Jane’s integrity, I had not a fickle bit of desire to study, it just didn’t make sense to me.

So, I lingered with her, hoping to give her a glimpse of my world, expecting that she’ll relinquish these fantasies.

“don’t be silly Sarah”

Jane would laugh.

Before I could stop myself, I had slipped into her world.

Despite my logic’s protest I did attend Cambridge…

Her heart stiffens, beating vigorously, stabbing her with the feeling she knows too well,

pain

her hands tremble, bitter, damp tears threaten to leave her eyes.

I did attend Cambridge…Without Jane.

“Sarah”
“hmm”
“what do you think lies on the other side of the ocean?”
“good grief, what are you talking about Jane”
“one day, after we graduate, promise me you’ll come with me to find out”
“all right, anything for my best friend”

what a fool! If only she waited, if only she gave it some more time, she wouldn’t have absconded away from home, she wouldn’t have rushed on top of the edge of the cliff and her feet wouldn’t have…

her pulse quickens. The tears she tried so hard to encage gushes out. Her legs quiver and tumble down, knees hitting the sodden ground, wearing her purple muslin gown. Her heart throbs, the sharp, bitter pain filling her lungs. Her sobs echo, louder and louder until it’s a cluster in her throat, her cries no more than a whimper.

I shouldn’t be here, not again, this pessimistic feeling, the same gut wrenching feeling I’d met before.

Guilt.

Don’t kid yourself Sarah, you’re the fool. You didn’t constrain her foolish ambitions, you abetted and aided her, you didn’t save her from falling off the cliff.

“you said we would get through this together…so why?”

Her sobbing came to an impulsive stop.
Her teary eyes adjust to a second hand over her pale one, a warm lean hand stroking the etching on a separate head stone:

-Sarah Cornell 1787-1812-


Sarah’s eyes widen. A beneficent smile arches on her face, the perfect combination of shock and joy.

“you came! But how you -”

“the promise … remember”

with smiles and tears the two spirits embrace, together, they traipse towards the other side of the ocean.

















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