The poem in this story was written in 2006 for a friend whose son was murdered. The essence of the poem is what I incorporated into the original "Remember the Sun: Part One", which was written when I was 13. Part One has been updated to flow better and sound more mature. "Remember the Sun: Part Two" was written in 2007.

 

Stephanie Hebert sighed and threw the glittery, black dress over her shoulder. Her room looked like a hurricane had spun through and left the furniture untouched. She picked up a skirt and shook it out in front of her. She stomped over to the mirror and held the light-blue skirt to her waist with a frown.

The Halloween dance was tonight, and she still hadn't picked something to wear! The skirt would have to do. Now, all she had to do was find a blouse to match.

She threw herself across her bed and wondered why she was even bothering. Life had been so much easier when she was twelve! At thirteen, she was too old to go trick-or-treating. This was the first year she would skip her favorite Halloween tradition of going door to door for bite-size candy.

This year, she and Eliza had agreed to hang out at the school dance. Eliza, her best friend since grade school, had sworn to her that the school dance was the coolest place to be.

Too bad Eliza wasn't the same size as Stephanie. Maybe then they could swap clothes for the stupid dance! Stephanie was chunkier than the toothpick-sized Eliza. Stephanie was more like a size ten, which made finding the right outfit frustrating.

Stephanie swung her feet to the floor and got tangled in one of the many blouses that littered the floor. She fell face-first on the cushy, pink carpet with a thump. "Dang it!" she said angrily, squirming like an inchworm and trying to free her feet.

She yanked the twisted material away from her ankles and glared at the blouse. It was a light-blue blouse with a swan on its front. It would match the skirt she'd chosen perfectly. Now she had to get dressed before Eliza and her dad arrived.

She strode into her bathroom quickly, swinging her chosen outfit in her hand. She turned the nozzle on the shower and stretched out a hand to feel the water. Too cold. She turned the knob and waited before checking the temperature again. Still too cold!

"Dang! Mom! Something's wrong with my shower!" she called, hoping her mother was within earshot. The water was freezing! She turned it off and went to search for her mother.

She found her mother in the kitchen, baking chocolate chip cookies. Her mother's dark hair was dusted with flour, and she looked like she was in a hurry.

"Mom, my shower water won't heat," Stephanie complained, pulling on the bottom of her Beauty and the Beast t-shirt irritably.

"Neither will this stupid oven," Mrs. Hebert retorted over her shoulder. "I swear; nothing in this house seems to be working today!" She threw a tray of unbaked cookies on the counter and bent down to peer into the oven.

"But the dance is in three hours!" Stephanie continued anxiously. "How am I supposed to get ready without taking a shower?"

"Use ours," Mrs. Hebert said, looking at the oven like she was praying for it to explain its behavior.

Stephanie shook her head and left the room. She stomped back upstairs and grabbed the clothes she intended to wear to the dance. Before she could leave the bathroom, the door slammed shut with an ominous thud. She swung around and stared at the door, feeling the first signs of a shiver down her spine.

"What the heck?" she said, moving toward the door nervously.

Her hand shook as she reached for the knob. She turned it cautiously and pulled. It wouldn't open. Now what? She was locked in her own bathroom!

Behind her, she heard the shower spray turn on and blast against the shower wall. She spun on her heel with wide eyes, backing up against the door. Steam was curling from the shower! It was fogging the mirror above the vanity!

"Mom! Help!" Stephanie hollered, knowing her mother couldn't hear her.

She watched fearfully as letters began to form on the fogged mirror. Her jaw went slack with shock, and she couldn't seem to find her voice now. She hugged herself tightly and rubbed vigorously at the goose bumps that trailed her arms. The hair on the back of her neck was tingling, making her spasm with another shiver.

A...n...d...e.... The letters were forming right before her bugged eyes! Then an r...s...o...n. It was like an invisible finger drew the letters! She sure couldn't see anyone!

Anderson? Why did that name sound familiar to her?

Then she remembered that a boy in her class named Tim Anderson had killed himself at the beginning of the school year. Was he here with her now? Was he here to give her a message? She hadn't even known Tim! Why would his ghost come to her house? What did he want from her?

She jumped when the shower spray turned off on its own. She slid her feet forward, moving toward the mirror with the eerie letters scrawled across its surface. She stretched out her hand slowly to touch the name.

The bathroom door flew open! Stephanie shrieked and jumped again. When she looked back at the mirror, the letters were gone! She shook her head with disbelief, wondering if she'd imagined the whole thing.

"Mom!" she called, racing out of the bathroom.

She didn't remember closing her bedroom door but it was shut now. She turned the knob and yanked. It wouldn't turn. Now she was stuck in her bedroom!

She screamed when she heard a noise to her right. She glanced over at the desk in front of the window and watched dreadfully as one of the drawers opened on its own. Blank paper flew out of the drawer, floating and swirling toward the ceiling as if a mini-tornado had taken control of the sheets!

Terrified, she stared at the pages as they circled near the ceiling like a flock of paper doves. Suddenly, they flew at her! She threw her arms up protectively and crouched on the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs. She kept her head tucked against her knees as the blank sheets rained down on her.

Finally, she felt the pages settle around her. She stood and peered with amazement at her desk. A sheet of paper was resting on the top of her desk! Next to it was one of her pencils, with its nibbled yellow skin.

She moved forward reluctantly, asking, "You want me to write something?"

She sat down on the wooden chair and stared at the blank page. She picked up the pencil and twirled it in her hand nervously. Is that what Tim Anderson wanted? He wanted her to write something for him?

She'd been dabbling with creative writing since she was a little girl. She had a notebook full of poems and short stories. It was her dream to write for a living one day.

She placed the tip of the pencil to the paper and tried to think of what Tim Anderson might want her to write. Nothing was coming to her.

All of a sudden, her pencil began to move across the page! She watched as words formed, balanced neatly on the light-blue lines. She had to fight the urge to drop the pencil and make a run for the door!

Instead, she let the pencil make gentle strokes across the page. Maybe if she let it happen, Tim would leave her alone.

It had to be Tim, didn't it? There was no other explanation!

The lead danced over the paper, smoothly forming words. Soon she had a paragraph of words in front of her!

The pencil flew out of her hand without warning. She looked down at the words and read them. Tears formed in her eyes as the words registered in her racing mind.

Her bedroom door flew open and hit the wall. She was free to go!

She carried the page in her shaking hand delicately, knowing she had to deliver it to Tim's mother. What would Mrs. Anderson think when Stephanie handed her the poem? Would she think that Stephanie was crazy?

Stephanie knew where the Andersons lived. Tim had been on her bus route.

She left the house like she was still feeling dazed from the whole episode in her room. She could hear her shoes scuffing the pavement but her steps were taken on autopilot. She was concentrating on the page, making sure she didn't crinkle it.

Next thing she knew, she was knocking on the Andersons' door. Mrs. Anderson greeted Stephanie pleasantly but awkwardly.

"I have something for you, Mrs. Anderson," Stephanie said in a low tone. "I know this is hard to believe, but I think Tim just paid me a visit."

Mrs. Anderson's eyes went wide and she stared at Stephanie. "Is this a joke?" she asked emotionally. "You think this is funny?"

"No," Stephanie protested quickly. "I swear I'm telling you the truth! I know this sounds crazy but something strange just happened to me. It had to be Tim! I was getting ready for the school dance but weird things kept happening."

Mrs. Anderson looked at the page in Stephanie's hand skeptically. "Is that what you want to give me? Let's see it, then. You may as well come in. But if this is a joke..."

"It's not!" Stephanie quickly assured the woman. "I promise you, it's not! I would never joke about this!"

Stephanie followed Mrs. Anderson into the kitchen, where Mrs. Anderson offered her a cookie from a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She handed the paper to Mrs. Anderson and then took a cookie nervously, feeling her heart jump with trepidation.

Stephanie couldn't forget the words that had formed on the page. Maybe she never would. It was like they'd been forged on her brain, permanently searing her memory. She, but mostly Tim, had written:

If only life wouldn't change as quickly as Mother Nature's seasons.
If only God wouldn't rip love from our arms, without giving reasons.
There are questions left unanswered, and there are words that were never said.
These things can crush our spirit and weigh heavy on our shoulders like lead.

Hold fast to those fists full of pictures and that head full of memories.
Know that Tim is everywhere - in the stars, the wind, the sun, and the trees.
For the mother left behind to mourn, the world will never be the same.
When the tears fall, feel him by your side...with just the whisper of his name.

You gave him life and saw him grow, and then off into the world he flew.
You kept a watchful eye over him, and now he's watching over you.
This is only a separation; you won't forever be apart.
He is in every hug that you give, and he lives on...in the heart.

Mrs. Anderson was crying. She looked up at Stephanie through those tears and mouthed, "Thank you."

"He wrote it through me," Stephanie explained softly. "I really believe he was in my room today, and he wanted me to do this. I didn't know him that well, but clearly we had writing in common. I wish I would have known him better."

"He would have liked you..." Mrs. Anderson trailed off, realizing she didn't know the teenager's name.

"Stephanie," the chubby girl supplied, swiping at her own tears. "I'm so sorry about Tim."

"This helps," Mrs. Anderson told her, lifting the page gently, like it was etched in priceless gold. "I can't thank you enough, Stephanie."

Suddenly, the kitchen door flew open, letting a brisk October breeze flow into the room. Orange, yellow, and red leaves swirled into the room and spun around the table. Then the kitchen door slammed shut and the leaves fell to the floor, covering the worn ceramic tile floor.

"He's here," Stephanie mumbled nervously. "It's the same thing that happened in my room before I wrote that," she claimed, pointing at the poem.

"Yes," Mrs. Anderson replied emotionally, "because he's in the trees, the stars, the sun, and...the wind."

Stephanie nodded and stood. She whispered, "I wrote a poem about the wind once. I described it as comforting hands stroking at faces." She hesitated, and then she added, "I think I'll go home and read that one. I think it will mean much more to me now."

Mrs. Anderson thanked Stephanie and showed her to the door.

Stephanie walked home slowly, thinking that she had finally written something worthwhile. The wind picked up, seemingly following her every step. She wasn't afraid of it anymore. It did feel like the comforting hands she'd described in her poem! They were invisible hands that reassured and provoked thoughts of a happy afterlife.

She knew with certainty that Tim Anderson had touched her life from beyond. She felt changed somehow. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but she knew that she wanted to write things that would affect people. She wanted to make a difference with the power of words.

Even though what happened in her room had been scary, she wouldn't trade the experience for all the chocolate chip cookies in the world! She wasn't even going to share the story with Eliza. Tim had chosen Stephanie to help him, which meant that maybe she was special after all. Maybe she wasn't just a chunky thirteen-year-old, afraid to go to the school dance. Maybe she had a gift!

She definitely had a secret now. It was her little secret; a secret between Stephanie, Tim, and Mrs. Anderson. And she would carry that secret with her...to the grave.

The End

The poem in this story is entitled: "In Memory of Carlos". It was originally written for Maria Ferro, mother of Carlos Alves. It was altered for this short story. Copyright 2006 - Sheila Roy

"Remember the Sun: Part Two" - Copyright 2007 - Sheila Roy