The Journal
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the winding road as Elara drove, the rhythmic hum of the tires a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil in her thoughts.
Nana’s request had been simple: go to the lake garden. Three hours each way, just to visit a place Nana hadn’t seen in decades. Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than Nana was letting on.
The image of the ancient, fallen tree Nana had described, a giant of a thing lying prone in the heart of the garden, kept flickering in her mind. What secrets did it hold, and why was Nana so insistent that Elara be the one to find them?
The lake garden was even more breathtaking than Nana had described. A tapestry of vibrant greens and blues unfolded before her, the still water of the lake reflecting the sky like a perfect mirror. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, a welcome change from the sterile atmosphere of the city.
Elara parked the car and stepped out, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet the only sound disturbing the tranquility. She could see the fallen tree in the distance, a colossal giant stretched out across the landscape, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky like skeletal fingers. A sense of anticipation, mixed with a touch of unease, settled in her stomach.
Drawn by an unseen force, Elara found herself walking towards the fallen tree. Its sheer size was even more impressive up close. The trunk, thick as a car, lay partially submerged in the lake, while its massive branches sprawled across the bank, some reaching back towards the water, others digging into the earth. Moss and vines clung to its rough bark, giving it the appearance of a living sculpture, a testament to the passage of time.
Elara ran a hand along the cool, damp wood, feeling the grooves and ridges worn by decades of wind and rain. It felt ancient, powerful, and strangely welcoming. As she circled the tree, she noticed something that had been hidden from view until now: a small, almost imperceptible opening in the trunk, concealed by a curtain of ivy.
A shiver ran down Elara's spine as she peered into the dark opening. It was just large enough for her to squeeze through. Hesitantly, she pushed aside the ivy and slipped inside. The air within the hollow was cool and damp, and a faint smell of earth and old paper hung in the air. It was surprisingly spacious inside, like a small, natural room. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed a small, wooden box tucked into a corner.
She reached for it, her fingers brushing against something smooth and papery. Pulling the box out, she discovered it was filled with old letters and a worn leather-bound journal. A wave of emotion washed over her. Suddenly, Nana's stories about this very tree, stories Elara had dismissed as fanciful ramblings, flooded her memory.
Nana had described spending her teenage summers here, under the shade of the fallen giant, sharing secrets and dreams with her friends. She'd even told Elara about her first love, a boy with kind eyes and a ready smile, whom she'd met right here, beneath this very tree. Could this journal contain Nana's youthful secrets, her hopes, her dreams, perhaps even the story of her first love?
Elara’s fingers trembled as she opened the journal. The delicate pages were brittle and yellowed with age. The handwriting was elegant and flowing, a stark contrast to her own hurried scrawl. As she began to read, Nana’s voice echoed in her mind, not the voice of her older, wiser Nana, but the voice of a young girl, full of hopes and dreams.
The words painted a vivid picture of those long summer days beneath the tree, the laughter, the whispered secrets, the blossoming of first love. And then, a name appeared: Ben. Elara’s heart skipped a beat. This was Nana’s first love, the boy she’d met here, the boy she’d eventually married. A pang of sadness resonated within her.
Nana had never spoken much about her marriage, only hinting at the heartbreak that followed. Now, holding this journal, Elara felt like she was holding a piece of Nana’s past, a past she had carefully guarded for so long. She realized then that this wasn't just a story about first love; it was a story about life, about joy and sorrow, about the choices we make and the paths we take.
Leaving the hollow, Elara carefully tucked the journal into her bag. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. She decided to grab a coffee at the Starbucks just outside the garden entrance before immersing herself further in Nana's story. The familiar aroma of roasted coffee beans was comforting, a small piece of normalcy in the face of this unexpected discovery. Sitting at a small table, sipping her latte,
Elara opened the journal again. As she read on, the story of Nana and Ben unfolded. It was a whirlwind romance, filled with stolen glances, whispered promises, and the naive belief that their love would conquer all. But as the pages turned, a darker tone began to emerge. The pressures of life, the clash of personalities, the slow erosion of dreams – all these things chipped away at their love, leaving behind a residue of bitterness and regret. Elara felt a lump forming in her throat. She had always admired Nana’s strength and resilience, but now, reading these words, she understood the depth of the pain Nana had carried for so many years.
The words on the page blurred as Elara read on. The idyllic romance had crumbled, replaced by a harsh reality. Ben’s struggles with unemployment had spiraled into something much darker – addiction. The journal entries became increasingly fragmented, filled with fear, despair, and the agonizing weight of broken promises. Elara’s breath hitched as she read about the violence, the beatings, the constant fear that had become Nana’s daily reality. Tears welled up in her eyes. She had never imagined Nana enduring such pain.
The strong, independent woman she knew had once been a victim, trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape. A wave of anger washed over Elara, not at Ben, whom she had never met, but at the injustice of it all, at the way Nana’s youthful dreams had been shattered. She closed the journal, her hands trembling. She needed a moment to process this, to reconcile the image of her Nana with the young woman who had poured her heart out onto these pages.
Elara closed the journal, the leather cover soft and worn beneath her fingertips. She left the Starbucks and walked back towards the lake garden, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the emotional turmoil she felt inside. The fallen tree stood silhouetted against the darkening sky, a silent giant guarding its secrets. Elara walked around it, her hand trailing along the rough bark, feeling the texture, the age, the history embedded in its very being.
How many stories had this tree witnessed? How many secrets had it silently kept? It was more than just a tree; it was a living testament to the passage of time, a repository of memories, both joyful and painful. Elara leaned against the trunk, feeling the solidity of the wood against her back. She thought of Nana, the young girl who had confided her dreams to this ancient tree, the woman who had endured so much and emerged stronger, wiser, more resilient. A newfound respect for Nana filled her heart, a deeper understanding of the woman she had always admired.
Elara left the lake garden as the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky. The drive home was quiet, her thoughts occupied by Nana's story and the revelations in the journal. She thought about her own relationships, the fleeting romances, the unspoken fears, the vulnerability of opening one's heart to another. Nana’s story had shown her that love could be both beautiful and painful, a force that could lift you up and then shatter you into pieces. But it had also shown her the strength of the human spirit, the ability to heal, to forgive, and to find love again, even after heartbreak.
She realized that she had been holding back in her own relationships, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of the kind of pain Nana had endured. But now, she understood that vulnerability was not weakness; it was courage. It was the courage to open yourself up to the possibility of love, even knowing that it might bring pain.
When Elara arrived home, she immediately called Nana. "Thank you, Nana," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for sending me to the lake garden." Nana's voice was soft, a hint of knowing amusement in her tone. "Did you find what you were looking for, dear?" Elara smiled. "I found more than I ever expected," she replied. She didn't go into detail, not yet.
She knew that Nana would share her story when she was ready. But in that moment, Elara felt a deeper connection to her Nana than ever before. She understood the unspoken language of the heart, the way memories could be etched into the landscape, the way a silent old tree could hold the secrets of a lifetime. And she understood, finally, the enduring power of love, in all its messy, beautiful, heartbreaking glory. She knew that she would approach her own relationships with a new openness, a willingness to embrace vulnerability, and a deeper appreciation for the lessons learned from the past.
The fallen tree in the lake garden wasn't just a landmark anymore; it was a symbol of Nana's strength, a reminder of love's resilience, and a testament to the enduring bond between a grandmother and her granddaughter.
Tessa Yusoff
19 February 2025
The Journal: A Story of Loss and Connection #ShortStory #Fiction #Loss #Family #Rain #Resilience #Texting
