Spring. I love Spring. I love breathing the chill air that somehow hints of warmth. I’ve always wondered if that hint is in my head because of the calendar or if something in the green coming-back-to-life sneaks out. Trinket left on a sickly, below-zero day. I remember the light of the sun warmed nothing, even magnified through the window. I sat reading her letter in my room, shivering. When Spring came, I knew she was okay. I knew she loved me and would come back for me. I even started imagining how she had gotten a place of her own—I was too young to grasp that she couldn’t buy a house and I pictured this brick home, tiny but sturdy and safe. Every Spring since, I start looking for her. I don’t imagine I see her in every brown-haired girl. But I look.
This Spring, I will see her. Somehow we will find her and she will have her life together and maybe she’ll even be able to help me a little. I know I’m fantasizing, but it comes to me in April.