Lisa Ann Sandell

“I watch her as she leaves. Everything about her is fluid as a river. Her messy hair, her xylophone voice, the strokes of her paintbrush. Even her camouflage army jacket hangs loose, flowing like ribbons.”

“I do not tell her about how much I look forward to going to the Wright barn. How those couple of hours in his studio feel like an escape, a refuge. Nor do I tell Rachel that I think Damian has the most beautiful hands I've ever seen, that he walks like a cat, that he has the clearest eyes, which seem able to see absolutely everything about me. That he seems to be the loneliest person I've ever met, and it breaks my heart. All of these things feel private. Precious. And I don't want to share them with Rachel. Not yet, anyway.”

“Somewhere, things must be beautiful and vivid. Somewhere else, life has to be beautiful and vivid and rich. Not like this muted palette -a pale blue bedroom, washed out sunny sky, dull green yellow brown of the fields. Here, I know ever twist of every road, every blade of grass, every face in this town, and I am suffocating.”

“I've got this image in my head of how I want my life to look, and I have absolutely no idea how to get there. And I'm so scared that I'll make some wrong decision - just one - and everything will get messed up and go wrong -for good.”

“Oh my gosh, he smells good, like some exotic but comforting spice, nutmeg or cardamom. Slowly Damian lowers his head to mine and I think my chest might explode, my heart is tap-dancing so quickly. He's going to kiss me. I've imagined this and now it's really happening, I am like a block of wood. I can't move. I can't breathe. I close my eyes as the lightest feather of a breath , then lips, brushing over my lips. His breath is sweet and the taste of coffee barely lingers in his mouth. I feel as though my whole body has turned to liquid, into a river of millions of droplets, rushing apart and then back together. "You have the softest lips," he whispers as he pulls back to look at me. "So do you," I murmur. Oh, was that a stupid thing to say? I turn my face into his jacket and breathe in his scent.”

“So, what's up with you and Damian?" Helena asks."What do you mean?" I can feel the hear of a blush coloring on my cheeks. I can't ever seem to not show how I feel. It's becoming pretty annoying.”

“When I reach the end of one row, I continue straight on away from the barn and the farm and the road. I walk until I come to a pile of hay bales and plop myself down. The sun is bright and the air is sharp. In the distance I hear the lowing of cows. It's so peaceful here."Merry Christmas, " I whisper to myself. "Merry Christmas, Nate.”

“I shuffle along, letting the current pull me, and i have the sense that I am like a rat caught in a maze of tunnels, moving endlessly toward some promise of...of what? Light? Life? Cheese?”

“Nate liked Death. Death was in the clothes that he wore and the music he listened to. He would wrap himself in a black sweater and ask Death to ride along with him in his Honda Civic.”

“I wish I could say we all lived happily ever after. I can't. But I can say we lived. Our love for Nate lives, and he's left us this piece of himself in his art; it was his gift to us. We know him through his art, and I can take comfort in that. I guess the thing about high school is, it's the moment when you start to cross from a being a kid to being an adult, and this journey to know yourself begins. Nate's journey ended to early, and I thought I had to run away to some far-off land to start mine. But, for now, it seems to me that I have enough to explore right here. There's a whole continent to discover in myself, and I know that it's love - love for my parents, my friends, my brother, and my art - that will guide me. Love will be my map.”

“They say no land remains to be discovered, no continent is left unexplored. But the whole world is out there, waiting, just waiting for me. I want to do things-- I want to walk the rain-soaked streets of London, and drink mint tea in Casablanca. I want to wander the wastelands of the Gobi desert and see a yak. I think my life's ambition is to see a yak. I want to bargain for trinkets in an Arab market in some distant, dusty land. There's so much. But, most of all, I want to do things that will mean something.”

“But, I believe," I continue, "I know what true love is - or what it should be." "What should it be?" Tristan asks, his voice soft now. "It should be a friendship and truly knowing who a person is, knowing his flaws and hopes and strengths and fears, knowing all of it. And admiring and caring for - loving the person because of those things.”

“Love is a tempestuous mistress.And none of us shall ever master her.”

“As I say the words, I realize how true they are. And maybe that's the trick to getting through it, through life: realizing that everybody, including ourselves, is lugging around some kind of screwed-up baggage. Maybe we are put here to help each other carry the loads.”

“The song is languid and speaks of love and loneliness and loss. Why does love seem to go with the sad things?”

“What place does a woman have here, in the realm of men?”

“My sparrow, she flickers and wakes and sings and sings. ”

“It should begin with friendship, I think. Suddenly I cannot look at him.It should begin with friendship and truly knowing who a person is, knowing his flaws and hopes and strengths and fears, knowing all of it. And admiring and caring for- loving the person because of all of those things...I know that now.”

“The birch trees loom ahead like a brotherhood of ghosts. ”

“Child, think not of those things, those dark possibilities. Your father and brothers are here with you today. Lavain will tug at your braids, Tirry will sing you songs, and your father will see his wife's beauty in you. Savor their love today. And it will never leave you.”

“Still, I look down, and the grass is so green, I cannot understand how it does not wither and die with sorrow.~Song of the Sparrow”

“I am Elainedughter of Barnard of Ascolat.Motherless.Sisterless.I sing these words to you now,because the point of light grows smallerever smaller now,ever more distant now.And with this song, I pray I maypush back the tides of war and death.So, I sing these wordsthat this light, this tinyray of light and hope may live on.I dare not hope that Imay live on too.”

“And at that moment, a lilting melody lifts to the moon as a single sparrow sings.”