By: Erin Delapa
Woodbridge College

It was not her first time that summer Willow had been driven up that long twisting “S” shaped road. Leaving behind that big city with all the hustle and bustle was the one thing she looked forward to the most each year. Driving away from the towering city buildings and being welcomed by miles of open field and the tangy smell of cattle is a certain taste that only some people acquire. Sitting there, shotgun, while her mother drove their old red, beat up Chevy over the gravel road, windows down, Johnny Cash blaring on the radio and her wild blond curls blowing in the wind, almost there she thought. Finally, just before the sun set behind the tall evergreens they turned onto the old, dusty road (as seen by new comers, it would not look like a road) that lead up to their aged wooden cabin.

It was a warm August night; a light breeze blew between the giant pine trees and gently rippled over the water. The rocks were still warm from the sun’s heat as she carefully walked down them, not to slip on the moist, green moss. Willow cautiously inched her way down the rocks, one hand carrying the gigantic bag of fluffy, white marshmallows, which she planned to devour later while the other one carried the black flashlight. Even before she had reached the pit, she could hear her mothers’ sweet, singsong voice laughing at some joke her aunt said, she could hear the fire snapping, and hissing as wood was fed into its gapping mouth. The smell, oh the smell, she thought, how wonderful it was! That exhilarating scent of smoke rising in the light breeze and being carried into her nostrils. As she neared the fire, the scent of smoke became stronger and the heat from it was so overwhelming that it engulfed her in warmth and happiness.

Willow ever so vigilantly edged herself away from the warm glow of the fire and laughter to lie down, on the now cooled rocks. Her stomach quietly grumbled, and she wondered when she would be able to eat those succulent marshmallows. She glanced down the bay and was able to see the harvest moon. It was so big it touched the waters edge and its sides skimmed the tree branches. She thought that if she stretched her hand out far enough, she would be able to pluck it out of the sky and eat it. “Hmm,” she said to herself, “I wonder if it will taste like cheese?”  Willow silently gazed up at the glowing sky in pure amazement; hundreds of tiny glowing stars speckled the vast sky. She looked up and could see the North Star, the big dipper, and what she thought was the little dipper.

“Mum” Willow asked a little ways away form the pit

“Yes Willow” her mother responded

 “Do you think we’re the only ones out there?” Willow said shyly, as she gazed up at the stars

 “Of course not silly,” her mother responded confidently “do you see all those stars out there?”

“Yup”

“Then” said her mother “were not the only ones out there”

“Mum” Willow asked again, this time moving closer to sit beside her mother.

“Yes darling”

“Do the other planets get lonely?” Willow said with a sad expression on her face

“Sometimes, but when they do they hop into their space ship and fly to the next planet.” Her mother said as she leaned over and gently plunked a kiss on her daughters’ forehead.

She stared out at the stars for what seemed like hours, and then her eyes slowly started to close. Once again her stomach grumbled, soon she thought I will be able to munch on those marshmallows. She could still hear her mothers’ voice more hushed now, but still distinguishable, she was taking about the fish, and whether or not they were biting. She could hear the call of the owls, the bat shrieks, the crunch, and snap of twigs and leaves as the animals walked upon them. Still if she listened even harder, she could hear the call of the loons, their cries echoing down the bay and the water gently lapping against the rocks, and then drizzling back down over the sand. Willow occasionally heard the ‘plop’ from the bass or pike jumping for the low flying insects, and the distant laughter of someone across the bay.

For a moment, the darkness was so intoxicating that it swallowed her up, and she felt all alone, scared, and helpless but then she heard her mothers’ reassuring voice; “Willow darling,” she said in a hushed voice, “would you like to roast some marshmallows?” At last the moment of triumph came, the marshmallows she had been yearning for all night.  The taste of those snow-white treats was the one thing she loved about being up north. How you could eat them cold or warm, but still have them taste delicious. She tenderly took her own marshmallow she had been roasting off its stick and popped it into her mouth. Mmm, the warmth of it melting on her tongue tasted so good. That sticky sweetness covered her lips and stuck to her hair. Finally, she lay with her head on her mothers lap and a belly full of snow-white marshmallows.

She awoke with a start, her mother gently nudging her shoulder and the sound of the hissing fire as its last embers died out. “Willow,” she whispered, “come on sweetie, its time to go in.”  Instead of walking back up the rocks, they walked along the shore. The first step into the cold water always made chills run up her spine. Each step they took her tiny feet would sink into the sand and her toes would curl, gripping the sand between them. They would stop and pause to let the cold water rush up past their ankles and then pass back over their toes.

“Willow be careful,” her mother would say, “so you don’t step on a clam or slip on a rock.”

“I will mommy,” said Willow sheepishly

“Darling come here and let me hold your hand,” her mother said, “So we can walk together.”

“Ok” Willows said, her voice barely hearable, and her walk a mere stagger

Some how she ended up in bed in her warm pajamas tucked tight under the blankets with her teddy beside her. How she got there she could not remember, but what she did remember was the sweet taste of those marshmallows, and the way they stuck to her lips and hair. “Good night, Willow, my darling, sleep tight” her mothers soft words were almost faded now, “and don’t let the beg bugs bite.”

© Copyright 2008