Ships

How much further? he asked panting and looking at me with the doubt of a person who starts feeling tricked. I looked ahead, saw the giant tree and pointed at it. We'll turn around at the tree.

We were both so quiet as we approached it, the big tree who saw all my friends on my walks back from school. Last year I went back to see my friends and the big tree. The tree was gone, the ten year olds are gone, my friends were gone. His mother's gift seemed to be the only thing left of an entire city to travel quietly along with me.

When I go to sleep and delve into my past, the memories of that day, his yelling at me to keep the steer straight, his mother's gift, all seem like they deserve the double l in his spelling mistake. In the darkest hours I cling on to this extra l as the purest memory of my life.