I was once a child. I had a much more whimsical upbringing than most. A lighthouse on the New England coastline makes for much adventure, especially if you had a playmate like mine.
Oh, she meant the world to me. Soft hair, soft dress, soft voice, soft name.
Isla. I never heard a name quite as beautiful.
If I hadn't moved so soon I probably would've fallen in love.
But I did. We had to move. "The market crashed," they said. "We can't afford to live here anymore," they said.
"I don't want to leave," I nearly screamed.
She watched me from the cliffs with somber eyes, as we loaded up the Cadillac, sea spray leaping up to her raven pigtails, tied neatly with bows.
I had never noticed how her hair seemed to shine like that. The pastel blue of her ribbons matching her dress and complimenting her skin tone. The way she seemed one with the landscape.
I wish I didn't have to move. At twelve years old, I think I actually was already in love. She would always help me from out of holes in the rocks and driftwood.
Always make up games when I ran out of ideas. Never seemed to be bored of me. Looking back, it seemed so obvious.
Now I'm back, thirty years later. The crash is over. The goddam war is over. I can live in peace.
I walk down the gravel path to my childhood home. The sea hasn't changed, despite always being in a constant state of it. I finger the edge of my dress, nervous for a reason I can't explain.
Then I see her. Isla. The same blue ribbons, same sea-soaked dress. The child I had loved, and the child I would spend the rest of my life with. She had waited for me, just like she said she would.
I let out a sigh and smile. My childhood fancy may have faded, but I still missed her. Her being dead was only a minor setback.