We met at her Victorian home along the river, we had written letters for many months before deciding to meet. We both wondered what the other looked like, each of us having formed some impossible vision from the words written over the long months past. I had envisioned her with long flowing auburn hair and sapphire eyes, her cream colored skin soft and warm. She had said that her vision of I was one like no other as well, my brown hair and eyes like chocolate drops, my olive skin glistening with beads of sweat from a hard days work. I left on the long drive Friday night, the weather cold and damp as it always was mid December in the West. My head was filled with visions of her, of what it would be like to finally hold her in my arms, and to hear her whisper in my ears. I thought of how we had come to meet so many months ago, the pure luck of us sending one another mail intended for someone else, were it not for the fact that our phone numbers were embossed upon the envelopes, we surly would have never met. I can remember the day I called to tell her of the mistake made, my surprise when she too told of a letter sent her from none other than I. We talked of the chances of this happening, the pure luck involved in finding someone with their phone number embossed upon the envelope.

We laughed for what seemed like hours, sharing each others lives along those long wires, stretched across the country like so many picket fences strung together. We both knew that the long calls would have to end, our pockets empty from misfortune in years past. As the long months past, we wrote of trivial and sincerity, and the yearning to meet one another. I often lay awake at night wishing and longing to hear her voice, soft and melodic it was, like a spring breeze blowing through leaf laden branches. I remembered the first Thanksgiving after we met, both of us wishing the other was there to hold on that lonely day, our families long past gone to another place in time. We shared so much in common and yet, were so far from one another. The miles were cruel demons that taunted us, bringing tears to our eyes on more than one occasion, those lonely nights that never seemed to end. Saturday morning found me once again heading toward what I hoped was my destiny, my thoughts only of her as the miles peeled away. I came upon a small barren town, two small sheds all that was left of what appeared to have been home to many. I wondered what had caused such a thing, what treasures it would have held were it not for the misfortune it had suffered. As the sun rose to crest the distant hills, I found myself once again drifting to those long letters we shared over the months past. I remembered one sad letter she wrote, when her only friend died in a tragic accident, the words on the pages smeared by her tears as she tried to express herself and relieve her terrible pain. I wished I could have been there for her, to help ease her pain, to offer a shoulder to cry upon, to wipe her fallen tears.

It was many months before she could understand that her friend was not truly gone, that as long as she remembered her, she would always be there in her heart. I wrote of how I had lost many dear to me in the years past, that I still carried their memories and in doing so would never be truly alone. We wrote many letters to one another in those long months following her friends death, trying to comfort each other without touching, kissing without being kissed, holding without being held, words trying to express our deep wanting to be with one another. I recalled our first Christmas and her surprise when I called her, her laughs turning to tears of joy as we spoke of love and lust, wanting and yearning and the joy of having met one another. This would be a Christmas that neither one of us would forget, a gift that was like no other, a gift of having found one another. The sun was setting as I pulled into yet another small town, a place to rest my head and dream of meeting her. I awoke the next morning to the sound of wild pheasants calling in the distant fields, the sweet smell of alfalfa heavy on the morning mist. This was to be the last days drive before we met, I was scared and excited of what lie ahead, my mystery women would finally be a long awaited reality in what seemed like an eternity of wanting.

I tried to calm my nerves as I ate my breakfast, the waitress wondering what was wrong with me as I spilled coffee to and fro. I told her the story of how we had met, the long letters over the months, the drive to what I hoped would be the love of my life. As I left the small diner and the tranquillity of the town, I once again found myself dreaming of her, the fence posts along the fields pointing the direction like some giant finger. It was nearly dark when I arrived in town, I nervously searched for the map she had sent showing the directions to her home, my hands shaking and my stomach twisted in knots as I drove slowly along house lined streets looking for her number. I pulled up in front of her home, a small Victorian along the rivers edge, surrounded with roses and a lilac tree in the front yard, its perfume heavy on the night air. As I walked up to the front of the house, I could she the shadow of someone on the porch swing, their long hair casting a shadow on the walk from the dimmed porch lamp. As I approached they rose to greet me, my feet frozen to the steps, my voice trembling as I spoke “ Hello ” I said “ is Susan here ?”

As the figure became visible in the dim light, I knew it was her. She walked down the steps to greet me, both of us speechless, our heads flooded with what to say we reached out and held one another. We had waited so long for this moment, our dreams of what the other looked like all but forgotten in our embrace. We kissed long and slow on the porch, tears of joy steaming down our faces, the sweet scent of the roses on the evening air, the warmth of her skin, the glow from the moonlit sky, life is good. I awoke the next morning to the sound of the river flowing past the open bedroom window, the suns warmth on the soft sheets and Susan's arm wrapped around me. I rose and walked down the winding staircase to the kitchen, I wanted to make something special for her, something that said "I love you". As I walked down the picture lined hall toward the kitchen, I stopped to look at the history that was spread across its walls, the photos of people past and present, generations long gone to their resting place. I was taken back by one particular photo, a picture framed by old pine boards, looking as though it had survived many long and dusty miles of old country roads. I looked at the clothing they wore, tattered and faded, no doubt by the long, hard hours of work done to survive in those times past.

I was mesmerised by the beauty of the women in the photo, she seemed to have a presence that drew me into it, as though I was there with her sharing her plight to survive. I found myself drifting off, remembering things about my childhood thought long forgotten. I could hear the sounds of my departed friends calling to me, the memories of our days spent playing in the tall fields of wheat on those long warm summer nights long ago. I could smell the damp earth as the visions of my childhood friends filled my head, the many mock battles fought to save the world from evil forces, the laughs, the tears, the joys of having spent time with one another in those fields of wheat. I thought of one particular day when tragedy had struck, my close friend killed in those same fields in which we played, his life extinguished when it was just beginning. We never played in those fields again, the memory of our lost comrade always heavy in our hearts his voice never leaving those tall golden fields of wheat. I remembered my first girl friend, the daughter of a neighboring farmer whom only recently moved to our small town. We had met one winter night in the throws of a thunder storm, the wind killing the power to our small community. She had stopped at our home to seek assistance, her car stranded in the muddied drive to her home, dripping wet and covered in mud she looked like some creature emerging from the primordial soup of life.

I let her into our home, lit only by candles scattered around the rooms, like twinkling stars in the night sky. I offered her a place to clean herself and something warm and dry to wear. We talked of the storm and of how she came to be in this small town of ours, of how we had yet to meet in such a small place. We laughed as she looked at her clothes covered in mud lying on the bathroom floor, looking as through something would sprout from them at any moment. We became good friends after that night, we dated for many months and talked of what lie ahead for us. I awoke one morning to see her and her family leaving town, their farm suffering from the long drought, the bills piling up, they were forced to sell and move on. I often wondered what happened to her, another friend lost to the twists of life, a sea of sorrow and a memory of a dear friend moved on. I started down the hallway again toward the kitchen, the sun twinkling through the drapes as it reflected off the flowing river outside, the small town coming to life after its night of slumber. I open the window to reveal the mist rising off the rivers shore, like steam off a freshly baked pie in the cool morning air, its scent crisp and clean.

I wondered what I could make for her that would portray what I was feeling, the emotions long suppressed from the distance between us. I thought long and hard but nothing came to me, I was frustrated that I couldn't think, what was it that was preventing me from expressing myself?? That’s when the idea hit me, something simple, something that said the beginning of a new. I walked outside to the rose garden, there amongst the blooming roses lie one red bud, covered in morning dew its beauty yet to unfold. This was it, the thing that said that our life together had just begun. I brought the bud and a glass of fresh orange juice up to her as she lie in bed, the sun highlighting her skin as it streamed though the window she glowed like an angel. I placed the rose and juice aside on the nightstand next to her, I crawled back into bed and kissed her good morning, her eyes opening to see the treasures of the dawn light and the rose with its dew glistening in the sun. She smiled and rest her head upon my chest, thanking me for the wonderful surprise and my caring.

We strolled through her small town that morning, gazing at all the little treasures in the store windows. It was a small town nearly 400 by best guess and still filled with the charm of having been lost in time from the fast paced world of today. its streets were paved with cobblestones the tracks of wagon wheels from the past dug deeply into their faces. The sidewalks were made of brick but from time to time, would be interlaced with old plank boards, worn from the generations walking along them to look much like the sands on some untouched beach. We strolled and talked as the sun waned across the sky, the shadows from the old buildings casting their presence on the streets below. We stopped at a park to eat something bought in a small family owned deli, the park filled with chestnut and oak trees and the yells of small children as they played mock battles amongst the wild flowers and trees. I was mesmerised by Susans beauty, she had a glow about her that filled the my heart with joy, all those long months waiting to be with her all but forgotten as we laughed and ate in that small park. I asked her about the photo hung in the hallway to the kitchen, about the women in the tattered clothes with her family at her side.She said that it was of her great great grandmother, pioneers that braved the harsh world to create a new life, to live a dream almost unobtainable in those days of old.

I told her how I was drawn to the photo, how I felt like I was there with them sharing the joy and misery of those times. I asked her what the grandmothers name was, and my surprise when she answered “Susan”.I asked her about her parents and where she grew up, of what her childhood was like and how she came to be here at this small town that time forgot. She told me of a small town miles from here, of fields of wheat and farmers that struggled to provide food for the many. She talked of the small store her family ran in that small town, of how people cared for one another in that small community of hard workers. She spoke of a day when tragedy was brought to her small town, a small boy killed in the tall fields of wheat, his life ended at such a tender age. I was in shock, “could this be??” I asked myself. Could Susan have lived in that same small town as I?? I quickly uttered the towns name to her, waiting in suspense for an answer............it seemed like an eternity as I sat motionless listening for her words. Suddenly the wait was over as she repeated the name back to me asking how I knew of it, her surprise when I told here that I too grew up there. I told her about that day long ago when my friends life was ended in the tall fields of wheat, of how we never played in those fields again, my friends voice ever echoing though them. As we walked back to her home she told me of the store her parents owned in that small town, of how she worked there during the hot summers making lemonade and brownies with her mom. I asked her how it was that we never met, all those years shopping at the store complementing the owners on the fine food and never once meeting not so much as to say hello.

I was in awe of the chance lady fate had dealt us, truly a miracle coming from the same place only to find one another years later by luck alone. As I tried to remember all the people in that town years past, yearning to remember some trace of Susan in a distant memory long forgotten by the years. I suddenly realized where we had met, it was on a hot summer day as I strolled along a dusty trail, a small shadow getting nearer still as I walked towards it. I remembered my surprise as the shadowy figure flew past me into the tall dry grass of the field, an auburn haired girl riding some demon possessed bike as it led her off the trial and into the tall brown grass. "Are you ok" I asked as she stood, her legs scraped and covered in dust, the bikes wheels still spinning wildly as it lay on it's side amongst the tall grass.