Little Wonders

Ah! I exclaimed, falling from the edge of the sidewalk Id been trying to balance on. I stepped off the crack in the sidewalk Id landed on carefully, noticing the grime on my shoes. They were old and had gone many places, of which I was proud. Mildly irritated, I picked up the pile of textbooks Id been carrying and readjusted my bags onto my shoulder, wishing they would just stay there. It may have been that it was dusk and the clouds were roiling ahead agitatedly, letting in fluctuating blips of light, that Id fallen, or that Id taken out my muchloathed contact lenses earlier, preferring to not see well in lieu of the discomfort and frustration they caused me, or even just the fact that I was perpetually off balance. Nonetheless, I hopped back up onto the sidewalk and kept moving. Being out alone both scared and thrilled me, but I wanted to get home soon. I first passed a bookstore, lit up with comfort and familiarity and teeming with the scent of days gone by, secrets hidden within ink. Looking at it longingly, I thought of several titles I had been wanting. Music played softly, brushing up against the edge of my consciousness, making entering that much more desirable. I resisted, in the end, unsure what my family would think of my new choices in literature, and ventured on. The next store that stood out to me was closed up and dark, but playing Christmas music outside. I paused in front of it. It was out of place, but not unwelcome. Memories flooded my mind, telling of a simpler time. I sighed, glancing ahead to where Id need to cross the street. The area was deserted, for whatever reason. I didnt mind. Being without company had long-since ceased to bother me, but the person already occupying the space did. Paranoia set in.

As I approached, I realized it was just an older woman and immediately relaxed. I stopped again beside her to survey the road: it was completely empty. I peeked at the woman, wondering if she was waiting for a bus. She was carrying nothing and her long, flowing clothes looked like a dream compared to my heavy, tight ones. Something about her face seemed familiar, though I couldnt imagine why. Ummaam? I said, surprising myself. Are youwaiting for something? Arent we all? She turned and smiled at me and, again, I could have sworn Id seen her somewhere before. My memory was terrible. Id probably seen her on the street at some point or in a store, but, for some reason, I felt as though I really should have known who she was. I didnt even comprehend her answer to my first question in my futile quest to try to remember why I thought I knew her. Are you? I meando I know? The words were tumbling out, and I was extremely embarrassed. What stupid things to ask. Im sorry, I probably sound crazy. Were all mad here, the woman quoted. Its fine. I like someone to talk to now and then. I recognized the quote, which made me feel better. Alice in Wonderland? I inquired, hopefully. Indeed. She nodded, pushing up her glasses. I still enjoy it, even now, old as I am. Its an interesting story. I stumbled to correct her. Youre not that old and you should never be ashamed Who said I was ashamed? Her eyes had fire in them when she looked back at me. She wasnt angry, I didnt think, but it was something she felt strongly about. Regret is such a pointless emotion, dont you agree? She was quoting from another series I recognized: The Mortal Instruments. I thought it strange for a woman of her age to be reading teen books, but to each their own, I figured.

I flushed bright red, feeling suddenly self-conscious of everything I was doing or had done. I must be annoying you, I said, quietly. Im sorry. I didnt get two steps forward before I was pulled back with surprising force. A breeze blew through, seeming to try to whisper to me what was lurking at the back of my mind, on the tip of my tongue, unable to quite come forth. The woman retracted her hand. I noticed it was stained with ink. Youre not annoying me at all, she said, looking back down the road. You remind me of myself when I was young, you know. Idlike to give you something, if you dont mind. Itll be quick. Im sure youre in a hurry. Unsure what else to do, I nodded. It was an odd situation I currently found myself in. I felt as though Id been through it before, in a different time, as though Id said the same words and reacted in the same way. Id had the feeling before so I didnt find it too peculiar at the time. Here, she said, handing me a long, thin object. Its been with me for so long now, I cant remember not having it, but She looked at where the utensil was acting as a bridge between our two hands. I have a feeling that its time for both of us to move on. Peering at the object, I wasnt sure what to say. Thank you, I mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard over the whispering wind. Itsa pen. When I was young, a wrinkled old thing, much like myself now, gave that to me and I couldnt for the life of me figure out why, the woman murmured, looking at me with a sort of strange hope in her eyes. Then she told me something odd. She said that a pen is an ordinary thing with a magnificent power: the ability to create that which can last for eternity, can change lives, and save them. That which can both create worlds and destroy them. She paused a moment and smiled. Words, she said, simply. Ive carried it with me ever since.

I looked between the woman and the pen in amazement. It was true, after all, once I thought about it. Never lose that, the woman said, seeming far away now. Never stop seeing the beauty in the ordinary. In this world, those little spots of light and wonder are all we have to hold onto. Lost in thought at her words, it took me a minute to realize she shouldnt have known such a thing about me, about how I tried to think of things, but when I looked up, she was already walking away, down the street and out of sight. I clutched the pen and kept walking on, resisting the urge to follow what I knew would be a fruitless chase into an unfamiliar reality, into a when and where I didnt belong. Decades later, when, one day, I stood at another crosswalk, both worlds away and painfully similar to the one Id been at when I received the gift, I came across another young girl who looked strikingly similar to myself at that age, and passed the pen on. It had served me well throughout my life, as a reminder and simply as a tool. I hoped, at the time, to have instilled the same sense of astonishment the woman had set alight in myself so many years ago in her, but I would never know for sure. I continued on, tramping my perpetual journey, my search for the hidden light of the world, before I could ask.