The Forgotten World

by R Gene Curtis

  I looked at the results and gasp.

  It’s him, I’m sure of it, though the picture shows a much thinner Karl than the one I met at the arch. I click through the picture to a LinkedIn page for a Karl Stapp, a graduate student in computational biology at Carnegie Mellon University.

  I laugh out loud. No way! It’s only been a half hour, and I found him.

  Karl stares back at me, his sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes are confident.

  I have to call him. But not right now.

  The door slams open and Maria walks in, giggling as she tells Brian something before slamming the door closed behind her. She throws her backpack on the bed and walks to her closet.

  “Hey Lydia!”

  “Hi Maria. How was studying this afternoon?”

  “Strong biceps, well-shaped shoulder muscles, irresistible lips. I’m ready for the final,” she shrugs, glancing back at me. “Hey! Isn’t that the guy from Arches?”

  I blush at her expression and nod.

  “How in the world did you find him?”

  “I was trying to figure that out when you came in. I only looked for a few minutes.”

  “No way.” She pulls a stick of gum out of her pocket and joins me at my computer.

  I shrug.

  “When are you going to Pittsburgh?”

  “I’m going to call him.”

  “That’s not exciting. Will he even remember you? You need to go out there, silly. You need to dress up cute—not overdone—but nice. That way he’ll be willing to talk to you. You have a nice voice, but guys are visual. If you’re dressed right, he won’t say no.”

  “Maybe.” I don’t tell Maria that some guys don’t talk to cute girls, and sometimes guys talk to girls that they don’t think are cute. That would ruin her worldview.

  “I’ll help you pick your outfit.”

  “It’s got be something that goes well with crutches. And I don’t do jeans.”

  “A skirt. It will show off your legs.”

  “Leg. Just one leg.” And one big cast.

  “I wish I could go with you, but my parents say I’m not allowed any more trips until my grades improve.”

  “I’m calling, not going.”

  “You have to go. Love’s spell doesn’t last forever.”

  Love has nothing to do with this. But, Maria is probably right. He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me.

  ✽✽✽

  Four days, four phone calls. Maria was right. Of course, it’s easy to tell someone to travel across the country when you have means to do so, aka a car.

  Since I sold my car, I have no means to get to Pittsburgh. I can barely get to the soccer field to watch the team practice.

  They’re almost done by the time I get there. I stand by the entrance, watching the girls run through the drizzle in the distance.

  The cold rain slowly seeps through my sweatshirt.

  I should be over there with them, but I don’t move close enough for them to see me. I can’t run anymore. I can’t play. It doesn’t matter how hard I worked to make the team. I’m hurt. I’m out. Forgotten.

  The team finishes, and a few girls run past me. They don’t stop or even say hi.

  Brit trudges off the field in my direction. Her head is down, and her shoulders are slumped. She almost walks right by me, but I reach out and grab her arm.

  “Oh! Hi Lydia.” Brit’s eyes are blotchy.

  “Rough practice?”

  Her body droops even more, like a wilting plant finally sinking to the ground after a week without rain. “My brother died this morning.” The words choke in her throat and she starts crying. I try to maneuver my crutches so I can put my arms around her. I hate these crutches almost as much as I hate the pit forming in my stomach. I close my eyes, but all I can see is the face of the police officer who told me Mom was dead.

  I pull one of my arms back and reach into my pocket and clutch my phone. I shouldn’t have called my mom that night. I shouldn’t have done it.

  Her sobs continue. I take deep breaths and my panic slowly subsides.

  Finally, still a little dizzy, I step back and balance myself on my crutches. “How did it happen?”

  “A car crash.”

  Oh no. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Hold, two, three. Breathe.

  “I’m such a baby.” Brit looks at me for the first time and I force a smile. “Of all people, you know about losing someone you love. I suppose you dealt with it better than I’m doing. I can barely do anything.”

  “That’s not true.” Even my voice is quivering. “I still miss my mom.” If I grip any harder, I’m going to crush the phone in my pocket. I lean heavily on the crutches.

  Brit nods and looks away. I don’t tell her that she will feel the loss everyday of her life. That she will see her brother every day in the faces of others. I don’t tell of the anger or the depression that will be her new companions.

  “When are you heading out to Wisconsin?”

  “Next week, right after our second game with Stanford.”

  “You’re going to play?”

  “I have to keep my scholarship Lydia, I have to!”

  They have special arrangements for these kinds of things, but Brit doesn’t need advice. She needs love. And someone who knows what will help her. I’m sure I’m not the right person for either. Not if I’m going to have a panic attack every five minutes just at the thought of what she’s going through.

  “Is your boyfriend going to drive back with you?”

  Something other than grief flashes through her eyes. “Oh no. He can’t make it.”

  “What a dud of a boyfriend.” That was the wrong thing to say. Brit starts crying again.

  And then I realize how close Wisconsin is to Pittsburgh. Is Maria right? Should I really visit Karl?

  Calling certainly isn’t working. If I have any hope of seeing Karl again, I need to go to Pittsburgh. I think he’s the one to take me back to Arches, just like he does in my dreams.

  And Brit needs my help.

  “Can I take you?”

  “I can’t ask that of you,” Brit sniffs and wipes her face with her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I really want to. I actually really need to get to Pittsburgh. Soon. If it isn’t too much, could I take you and then borrow your car to visit Pittsburgh?”

  Brit looks at me skeptically.

  “I’m serious, I really do need to go to Pittsburgh. And I want to help you. I know what you’re going through.” What I’m going through.

  Skepticism morphs into relief. “Thank you, Lydia! I’m sorry I’m such a mess. Of course you can borrow the car.”

  We hug again, and the light, drizzly rain turns into a downpour. With a quick goodbye, we part ways—Brit to change and me to drop a few books at the library.

  I decide to wait out the rain in the library. I don’t want to be walking around on crutches in a river running down the sidewalk.

  I wander the aisles of the library aimlessly, shivering in my damp clothes. Not really in the mood for reading, I crack open a few old books and smell the hundred-year-old pages. There are probably books in here that have never been opened.

  A large book on the shelf catches my eye, and I pull it down. Things You Never Knew About History. It’s heavy and dusty. Its spine creaks as I open it. The pages are yellowed and beautiful. I flip through the pages, and then start to close it when I notice the headline on the last chapter.

  Visitors from another world come through magic portal.

  I lean the book against the bookshelves and keep reading.

  Believe it or not, early American history holds several accounts of visitors from other worlds. Most notable is the record of Lovina Hurt, who wrote a brief history about how she fell in love with one of these visitors and had a child with him before he disappeared.

  This hard-to-find record is found in a small library in Washington DC. It seems that historians have not given enough clout to the story to ensure its preservation
.

  However, there is more to this story than meets the eye. Three independent accounts mention meeting the people Lovina included in her biography. Although these accounts disagree on some details, each refers to a forgotten world and the order of the blue flower.

  My free hand slides under my shirt and fingers the texture of my flower tattoo. A blue flower. I turn the page and nearly drop the book when I see an old photograph of Lovina’s diary. A blue flower is on the cover. It matches the mark on my chest.

  Is there something in Lovina’s history that could help me get back to that meadow?

  I push the book into my shoulder bag, and I move to the computers to find out.

  17 Revolutionary

  Lydia

  It isn’t long before I find the full text of the journal. I settle into the seat and read.

  I am Lovina Hurt. Knowing that I will soon die, today I sit down to write my unique story. Perhaps future generations will discount what I write, but I know that it is true, and I want my descendants to know it.

  I was born in Philadelphia in 1770, right before the war that separated us from Britain. My father was a passionate man, believing in the cause of freedom. He died in that war, leaving my mother to survive by herself with three living children, of which I was the third.

  My brothers were both sent off to apprenticeships when they were 11, but I stayed with Mother. We worked hard and life was tolerable.

  Despite the great victory in the war, it did little to improve our lives in the new country. And so we struggled on.

  It was during the summer of my 17th year that a large convention came upon Philadelphia. Delegates from each state descended on the city, and despite the heat, they stayed all summer. The influx of guests provided many opportunities for work, for which Mother and I were grateful.

  At the time, though I was older, I continued to live with my mother because of my inability to find a proper suitor. My station, dowry-less, with a mother to support as well, left young men estranged from me. I was often lonely, and although Mother often called me pretty, potential suitors did not agree.

  It was during this time that one night I was hurrying home late in the evening. I had helped prepare a large meal for a social gathering. After the meal, I had stayed, hiding in the back and watching the ladies and gentlemen as they listened to a fine chamber orchestra and dancing. The food was a success, and I had been invited to return the following day to help with the cooking again. Fortunately, I hadn’t been caught in my spying, or I would have lost the job.

  As I hurried down the street that evening, I was stopped by the most peculiar of people that I had ever seen. Two men approached me, dressed in strange attire, and although they held themselves as if they were noblemen, they were not wearing wigs.

  As I approached, the larger man hailed me. It was dark, and I feared to oblige. I was not a whore. But there was nowhere to run, and so I stopped.

  “I’m King Togan,” he said in my language, “and this is Kinni.”

  For a moment, I thought he was jesting, but I could see from his expression that he thought himself serious.

  “We have no kings here,” I said, marveling at the man’s strange attire. The clothes were nothing like I had ever seen. My heart jumped when I looked at the man he called Kinni. He had to have been the most handsome man I had ever seen. Even in the darkened street, I could see his strong features and his confidence.

  “What! No kings, then how are you governed?”

  “We are governed by the people,” I said, acting with boldness, unbecoming for a lady of my station. I repeated words that I had often heard the strangers from the convention say to each other, not sure what they meant. The man said he was a king, and I surely thought myself very important conversing with him in such a manner as this.

  “By the people? Then surely you have anarchy.”

  “Indeed no, sir. The people choose who governs them.”

  Taking my eyes off of his companion, I could see that what I said interested the young king. “I must understand this better. Young lady, can you tell me more?”

  “No, sir. I do not understand the ways of men. However, fortune has smiled on you, as here in Philadelphia this summer, reside some of the greatest political minds of our time.”

  “Then you must introduce me to them.”

  “You cannot go around dressed as you are, for others will see you as traitors and foreigners. You will not be safe.”

  I didn’t want anyone to hurt the man called Kinni. He smiled at me, and I blushed, grateful for the darkness to hide the redness of my cheeks.

  The king nodded and commanded that I take him and Kinni to my home. I dared not resist the will of a king, despite living in the land of no kings, and so I led them to our home. Mother was nervous at the appearance of the strangers, but they did not hurt us. That night, Mother procured gentlemen’s clothing for them through the maid of one of the delegates from North Carolina.

  The next day, I pointed out delegates to the king, not daring to approach them myself. The king spent the day in great discussions with many of them, Kinni always at his side. Every chance I got, I would sneak to the main square and watch him, concealed among the crowds. The man was quiet, and he obediently followed his king. I was in love with him.

  As I watched them depart the next morning, Kinni left his master and approached me.

  “Lady Lovina,” he said, “Thank you for your kindness.”

  Never before had a man spoken to me with such respect. I blushed from head to foot, and despite myself, I returned his kind gesture with a lady-like curtsey. I looked into Kinni’s eyes. I will never forget those eyes. His eyes were of a brighter blue than I had ever seen before, and despite his piercing gaze, they were full of kindness.

  They left then, and life threatened to go on as before. I could not stop thinking about the kind young man, Kinni. I dreamed about him constantly, that he would one day return and take me with him back to his own land.

  A year passed, and although the delegates left our town, the memory of the man named Kinni did not fade.

  At length, at the same time of summer that following year, we heard a knock at our door early one morning. I opened the door and was delighted to see the king with his servant Kinni at his side.

  Kinni stepped forward and bowed to me saying, “Kind Lady Lovina, King Togan of the Order of the Blue Flower requests lodging at your place once again.” He handed me a flower, which I dried and have kept to this day.

  I let them in and we served them our finest meal. They were pleased with the food, especially Kinni. Although I told them that the delegates had finished their work and departed, the king insisted that he had come to speak with the people about their new government.

  “If the government is truly by the people, then I must understand how it works for the people,” he said.

  After breakfast, Mother departed for work and the king and Kinni went out to meet with the people. I cleaned up the remnants of breakfast and was about to leave myself when Kinni walked into the house.

  “Did you forget something kind sir?” I asked, my heart beating faster at the sight of him.

  “No ma’am,” he responded, “I have returned here alone. My master is not in need of my assistance today.”

  “What business do you have here, then?” I asked, not daring to hope that he had indeed returned to see me.

  “Only the business of my heart.” Kinni stepped forward and looked at me with love in his eyes. Feeling the happiest feelings of a young girl first blessed by love, I impulsively rushed to Kinni and kissed him. We spent the day together blissfully ignoring the harsh reality of our pending separation.

  The next morning Kinni and the king prepared again to leave to return to their own land. Not standing the thought of losing Kinni after only one day, I boldly approached him while he made final preparations to depart.

  “My kind sir, I implore you to take me with you to your own land.” I was shocked at my own boldness, bu
t unable to restrain the words.

  “My lady,” he responded. “I come from a distant land, one where a magic portal lets two pass from land to land. Those that go through the portal must be from my land, and no stranger can pass through. Only those who have come here through the portal may go back.”

  “Then stay here with me,” I inveighed, losing all sense of propriety.

  “Ah, this I also cannot do,” Kinni said with sadness in his eyes. “The only way to get through the portal is with two, hands joined. I cannot keep my master here. But I think there must be a way. I will try to find a way to come back to you.”

  At that moment the king entered the room and we said no more to each other. Kinni left with his master that morning, taking my heart with him.

  He never returned, but he left me a gift besides the flower. Kinni’s son is strong like his father, his complexion and facial features just as foreign and handsome. Most blessed of all, the babe was born with Kinni’s bright blue eyes. Many have ridiculed me for my child, but I have never confessed to anyone until now the father of my child. Despite the disdain that has followed me since his conception, I have stayed here in this, my childhood home, to await Kinni’s return.

  I’m old and will die soon. My son has grown and bought a farm. He has a goodly family and has cared for me in my old age. He has entreated me many times to move with him and his family to the land they call Ohio, but I’m waiting for Kinni.

  I will always wait for Kinni.

  I close the webpage and look around the library, barely recognizing anything. I push my hand against my collarbone and feel the skin where my tattoo hides underneath my clothes. Then I stand up and wander back to my dorm room.

  18 Romance

  Karl

  I trudge up Dithridge, my head down, my eyes scanning both sides of the street. Pearl told me to find a church building here. For some reason, I’m doing it.

  Eventually a large red-brick building comes into view on the opposite side of the street. The lights on the building reflect bright against a white steeple, which stands out in sharp contrast to the sky behind it. I stop under a tree and shiver. Snowflakes drift around me. Light snow falls on the sidewalk, and the cold of the night leaks through my old jacket.