Zelda’s Summer Solitude

ZELDA:

When Zelda opened her eyes her head felt drowsy and heavy, the back of her neck slightly stiff. She had fallen asleep. She was on the 12-tram, far past her stop and she had fallen asleep. Despite the deep blue seats on the tram being rigid and slim she had slept for nearly twenty minutes. It was probably the San Francisco warmth and cold breeze from the tiny fan above her head. It was just past nine in the morning and Zelda was sullenly on her way to her mom’s house. She was naturally looking forward to see her mom, she hadn’t been since last week, and was longing for the white chair in the garden with a cup of freshly brewed tea and her mom Carla’s granola cookies. But the unresolved cynical tension between her two mothers was so annoying, Zelda wanted to scream. Her parents were lovely, but far too fond of scoffing and talking bad about each other to their daughter, or anyone who would listen.
It was the nasty divorce that had resulted in her parents, Carla and Natalie Loughlin, insisting that they would have no contact apart from “crucial events”, meaning any events circulating Zelda, few as they were. So when her mom had forgotten a very important pair of pearl earrings at Carla’s house, it was Zelda who was being ordered to fetch it, Natalie seeing absolutely no point in arriving there herself. “Super-Zelda to the rescue” Natalie had said, pinching her daughter’s cheek. It wasn’t all bad, though. Zelda much preferred her parents apart rather than together, but it was tiresome being two petty adults’ involuntary shrink at seventeen.

Zelda looked around. The tram was mostly empty, an elderly woman with a small, curly-haired toddler perched on her lap, fast asleep. The skimpy glasses dragging the lady’s grey hair from her face were threatening to slip past her head and crush on the floor, and just when they were about to, the little girl abruptly woke up, grabbed them and sweetly pushed them past her grandmother’s ears. “Thank you, sweetie,” the woman said and the girl grinned.
“Oh, it’s nothin’,” she replied sleepily. Zelda texted her mother, apologizing for being late, saying how she’d taken a nap on the tram and missed her stop, but would get off and walk the rest of the way. Just as Zelda had pressed the button and saw the two doors slide apart, a boy walked in, their shoulders bumping as they walked past each other. “Oh, sorry about that,”
he said, holding his hand up apologetically. Zelda shrugged, “It’s alright.” He smiled, nodding briefly before they finally brushed past each other, Zelda stepping down the broad stairs of the tram.

As the doors slid closed, Zelda couldn’t help but swiftly shift, look over her shoulders to perhaps see the boy’s face again. She only briefly saw the side of his face, the slope of his nose, but as the tram drove off, she saw that he was frowning at his phone, tapping the shiny screen before pocketing the device and taking a seat.

Zelda pulled on the long, messy strands of her dark hair. She had pulled it up today, the result being a light spinning bun that bounced when she jogged for the tram. She wore her glasses today, the blue tinted ones that her friend Myra said made her look like “An old aunt who collects Disney-stickers.” The solid frames were balancing on her forehead, keeping the pieces of hair from eloping. Zelda thought about the tram, the soft sunlight casting the side of her face, and the light breeze from the fan, to the boy and his shoulder. She saw him for a maximum of six seconds, his face probably nothing like her mind mustered up to remember, yet she was sure he had freckles on his nose and heavily worn sneakers on his feet.

THOMAS:

“Remember to buy flowers, as well. Sunflowers”
Thomas nodded, “Sunflowers, coffee and white paint. Not sure I can get that at the same store, but I’ll give it an earnest try,” he replied, earning a firm pat on the shoulder and a light tipped smile from his grandfather. “You’ll find a way, I’m sure your mother knows of a mall of some sort,” he said. Thomas nodded again, coolly looking over his shoulder to see that, indeed, the 12-tram was nearing their stop with mediocre speed. “There’s the tram. You sure you don’t need anything else, Grandpa?” Thomas asked.

One could tell his grandfather was above ninety years old. He didn’t know how to layer his clothing and he pressed his pointed fingers onto the cutlery as he ate dinner.

“No, no. That’s all the errands for today. Dinner is at five, Linda’s making lemonade,” he said, giving Thomas’ cheek a warm pat before beckoning for him to scurry to the tram. Thomas smiled, raising his for a wave as his grandfather quietly strolled away.

As Thomas waited for the doors to part in front of him, he noticed a girl leaning on the wall right by the blue seats. A pair of pretty blue glasses were perched on her forehead, and unruly locks of curly hair were framing her face. She was holding a heavy novel in her hand, the other grasping the handle hanging from the roof of the tram. The doors opened; she was right in front of him now. He was distracted by her t-shirt, and as his eyes scanned the words printed on the purple material, he clumsily nudged her shoulder with his own. “Oh, sorry about that,” he said calmly. The girl shrugged carelessly, “It’s alright.” He walked past, their shoulders touched, and Thomas tried to remember what words had been scrawled on her t-shirt. Summer something, water something. He fetched his phone, just about to type the keywords into Google when he realized how ridiculous he was being. It was words on a t-shirt of a stranger he saw for a maximum of six seconds; it couldn’t possibly matter more than it didn’t.

Yet as he sat down, his phone now in his pocket, he couldn’t help but wonder what her name might be. Thomas had a general admiration for names, how it was sure to be the only thing that truly stuck with you despite desperate attempts to get rid of it for whatever reason.
Names are magical, the associations they build have the power to make you feel, to remember. Names are vague faces carved in our memories, they can encourage a joyous smile or tearful eyes. Thomas thought we must all love it when people said our name; the egotistical joy from feeling special, somehow. Thomas loved names, how some were like melodies, humming or a harsh shout.

He loved names; they were so tightly bound to people.

By Sara H., 16, Oslo, Norway