To My Dearest Evelyn Rose

By
Christian Passen
 In the dusk the man walked, accompanied by only his pain, misery and suffering. T’was

these things however, that carried the least weight in each step. Yes, what weighed him down the

most was his loneliness. This was not your typical loneliness, rather a loneliness one can only

acquire through having the world at ones fingertips and then having to watch it fall through your

hands and land on a floor of shame and regret.

There he stood by the river, unable to so much as look at his reflection. For if he did, he

would only see shame and loss, two things which he couldn’t bear to accept. He reached down

with quivering hands to wipe away the reflection he feared to accept. As the ripples expanded,

his wrinkled, leather-like face, stared back at him in disappointment.

His emerald eyes hid beneath a set of bushy gray eyebrows. To match his eyebrows hung

his scruffy gray mustache woven into his Gandalf-like beard. His long, untidy gray hair hung

half-way down his back, covering up the backside of his brown leather homemade-looking vest.

As this image slowly faded with the restlessness of the water he thought, I wasn’t always this

way. An attempt at a smile raced across his face, to the point where he almost began to laugh.

He was once young and handsome. He sighed heavily, revealing his raspy and hoarse

exhale. He sat back against the nearest tree and looked as if he were lost in thought, pondering a

great deal. And that he was, for he began to reflect on the life he once knew, the life he lived as a

child growing into a man of utmost curiosity- the man he is today.

When Frank was a child, his mother told him that his father was a hero. He was out

saving the world and as a result, could not be around to raise his son or be a husband to his wife.
Although he was eleven years old, Frank could hear the hurt in his mother’s voice as she spoke

of his father. Frank could do nothing to comfort his mother other than do what his father lacked

to do, and that was, embrace her, and show her his love and compassion. From what he could

gather as a child of utmost insight, his father was an abusive drunk that abandoned him and his

mother when Frank was only an infant. He assumed this because his mother was very hesitant

when it came to being touched, and well, Frank had never met his father, so there wasn’t much

else to assume. Despite the fact that it was every child’s dream to have their father be a hero,

Frank knew that a hero was the last thing he could call his father. He had to accept reality and

could not live in a world of imagination.

This was hard for Frank to do, because imagination was all he knew. He had no friends,

no real connection to the outside world at all. It was just him and his mother. His mother said it

was better this way. She would tell tales of how the world outside their own home was too

dangerous, and unpredictable. To make up for Frank’s lack of education, he would read. Night

and day, he would borrow his mother’s books of fairy-tales, and poetry, and he would read them

over and over. Writing fascinated Frank; it brought him to a world outside his own where things

were happy and safe. Franked feared growing up and having to face reality; he wanted to spend

as much time as he could playing pretend in the woods, and getting lost in his stories.

One day while Frank was off in the woods on an adventure, climbing trees, and hopping

rocks, he had lost track of time and noticed the sun had started to go down. He knew his mother

didn’t like him home after dark, and he didn’t want to worry her, so he rushed back as fast as he

could; dodging branches like bullets, feeling like the fastest kid in the world. Upon his arrival, he

fell to his knees at the sight of his mother lying on the floor, beaten to death in her bedroom. The

small cabin was terrorized, things were stolen, and from what he could assume, his mother was
attacked by savages- similar to the tuskin radars he had read about in his Star Wars book. These

savages would kill and steel and do anything they could to make a living without a care as to

whose lives they affected. Frank was at the verge of tears, but he knew it was not safe to stay,

and he could not waste anymore time; he had to leave.

His father was gone, his mother was dead, and he was homeless. The traumatized eleven

year old was lost and didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to run, who to trust, or what

to believe for that matter. Consumed with anxiety and panic, he rummaged through his

disorganized thoughts in search of some stability and certainty for what to do. The fact of the

matter was, there was no certainty. He had to have faith. Through tears he prayed as he ran to the

only place he felt would be safe- the woods. In his mind, the woods represented safety and

solitude. The woods represented everything his mother brought him up to believe in as, “safe.”

He remembered how his mother used to speak of how God created nature and then created man,

so man could live comfortably and peacefully within God’s creation. Frank felt that running to

the woods would bring him closer to nature- God’s original intention for man; closer to God, and

ultimately, his mother.

After years of spending his days hunting, building, and adapting to his new surroundings,

he finally had reached adulthood. He attained the wisdom of the skies, the strength of the trees,

and the heart of the river. He had reached a point in his life that he could call, peaceful. He had

finally allowed himself to embrace his past. He had the characteristics and patience of a

carpenter. He built a cabin in the woods and made it his home. No electricity, no connection to

the outside world, only himself, God’s surrounding grace, and nature’s beauty. As a man of

twenty, he longed for companionship. However, due to his fear of losing another loved one, he
refused to leave the woods in search of a woman. He believed that if God so will it, God’s will

be done. For now, Frank was quite content living a simple life, venturing around in the forests,

swimming in the river, climbing trees, and singing at dawn with the birds.

Everything was absolute bliss. He felt at peace with himself, with nature, and with God.

The isolation and disconnection from society did not bother him as much as you may think. Not

once did he consider himself lonely, for he was always accompanied by the creatures of the

forests, the trees, or the creatures of the water. He understood their way of life and they

understood his. One morning, he awoke with the sun and decided to climb to the highest hilltop

he could find so he could gaze upon his home from a Gods-eye view. If he was proud of

anything, it was his home. His home was his sanctuary. He called it Eden. Every log, every

stone, every part of his house was crafted through the use of God’s gifts, and his own two hands.

The amount of blood, sweat, and tears that was spilled in the process of his work, showed that

his house was stable, reliable, and his very own. He felt he was following in the footsteps of

Jesus in the sense that, he too was a carpenter.

He ran with the excitement of a child to the top of the hill. He was laughing and singing

to the melodies of the forests. He imagined himself being part of the most glorious choir.

He stood on top of the mountain as if he were king of the forests.

“Oh what a stunning view it is from this hill, I can see for miles.” It was still early enough for the

sun to be rising while accompanied with the descending of the moon and its surrounding

starlight. Across the blanket of morning sky, hung the stars- tiny pinpoints of light so bright, they

filled the sky with a glow, so magnificent, he could not describe with just words. And yet, when

he thought he had seen all there was to see, the moon jumped out at him, so big and bold, it is

almost as if he could reach out and grab it with his own two hands.
 His eyes were wide as if he were seeing the world for the very first time; taking in every

sight, smell, and sound around him. He heard the flowing water slowly drift downstream; it was

so calm and peaceful. He would have loved to be as light as a feather and let the water take him

downstream into the horizon. He looked with wonder at how the sun hit the water in just the

right way, as if to reflect each and every particle, allowing it to appear as a river of diamonds.

His eyes over-flowed with appreciation for all that had surrounded him. He inhaled a breath of

fresh morning air and he looked further into the distance.

All of a sudden, he saw a breaking of clouds above the forests; a magnificent glow

pierced through revealing to him an unfamiliar sight. His curiosity got the best of him, and

without giving it a second thought he ran towards the patch of forests where the sun had shown.

Upon his arrival, he felt an unfamiliar, yet soothing presence. It was more than something…

perhaps someone? As his eyes wondered, he suddenly saw her across the river. Oh what a

beautiful sight! he thought.

Sunsets reflect off her magnificence, oceans become calm in her presence, and all clouds

fade. He suddenly felt poetic. Was it she I saw from the hilltop? He thought. How could it be?

He pondered the thought for a moment, but then shrugged it off with a smile of delight. His

fairy-tale like mind started to get the best of him. She must be a princess, probably waiting for

the arrival of her prince; or perhaps a water maiden, fetching water from the river for her master?

Either way, whatever her purpose, it doesn’t diminish her beauty.

Just then his thought was interrupted by a voice, her voice! Slightly startled, he almost

lost his balance on the fallen tree upon which he stood, and came very close to falling into the

river below. He listened with utmost curiosity. Her voice sounded like a choir of angels, but with

the harmony of birds whistling behind her. That is true music. He thought. I hear the pain, the
joy, almost every possible emotion you can fathom in her voice as she sings. However, it is not

just a song, but rather a ballad. It roots from her heart, the very depths of her inner soul. I feel her

voice flow around me like a ribbon around a gift. It sooths my soul, and eases my train of

thought. I can’t help but close my eyes and engross myself in this moment.

“What beautiful music.” He thought aloud. Aware of his presence, she jumped. Scared

and embarrassed, she fumbled for words. She need not speak, for he knew what she had wished

to say, just from the startled look in her eye. Frank nodded and smiled to assure her that he was

considered to be no threat.

“I’m sorry I startled you.” He blurted. “If you can; please forgive me?” She nodded with

a slight blushed smile. “Your singing is beautiful!” he said. She shook her head as if ashamed.

“Don’t be ashamed; your voice is relaxing.” She smiled in response. He slowly began to

approach her with an outstretched hand, “Will you trust me?” She appeared skeptic at first but

then persisted to take hold of his hand and followed him.

He took her to the top of the hill where they laid in a patch of grass and absorbed the suns

magnificent light. He looked at her with eyes of wonder and said, “Excuse me, where are you

from?” Shyly, she smiled, “My name is Evelyn Rose and I’m from the city. I’ve come here to

experience the beauty of the woods. I planned on staying for at least one night under a starlit sky

and just escape life for awhile.” Sadness crept over Frank’s face.

“You plan on returning?” Evelyn replied, “I must. As beautiful as nature can be, I have a

life back home to which I must return.” Frank’s eyes lowered. Home. He thought.

“Where are you from… I don’t believe I got your name?” Evelyn asked curiously. Frank

looked around him and then back at Evelyn.

 “My name is Frank and these woods that surround us, they are my home.” Evelyn’s eyes

filled with curiosity and wonder.

“You don’t live in the city?” Evelyn remarked.

“No, I have been here as long as I can remember.” Frank replied.

“Wow. That is absolutely fascinating!” Evelyn exclaimed. “I would give anything to be able to

leave everything behind and live in a place as beautiful as this.”

Frank’s eyes began to pace back and forth as if to search for an answer to a question that

had yet to be asked,

“Then why don’t you?”

Looking rather confused and stumbling for words.

“I… I… why, I couldn’t; home is back in the city; it’s where I belong.” Sadness consumed

Frank’s eyes. “Come with me!” said Evelyn. “Come back to the city and start a new life.” Frank

looked startled and almost offended. Leave my home? He thought.

“Why, I could never…”

Compassion and understanding erupted from Evelyn’s eyes.

“I understand; this is your home, just as the city is mine. It was wrong of me to ask you to

leave it so abruptly.”

Frank and Evelyn shared a smile and interlocked hands under the moonlight. Longing consumed

both of them. Frank longed to be with Evelyn and to live a life with someone that reflected the

same beauty that he had seen in nature, and Evelyn had longed to be with someone pure and

unique.

The death of his mother and the absence of his father were certainly not forgotten, but in

the essence of this night, Frank felt that it would be okay to love once again. But this trust was
not enough to inspire him to leave his home, and the life he knew behind. On that night, Frank

had to, once again, let go of someone he had loved. He took this last moment with her and held

her hands in his and just stared into the beauty of her eyes. He said,

“I’m sorry, but I cannot follow you.”

Her hands fell from his and a tear dripped down her cheek. He couldn’t bear the pain of losing

another, so he left her there and ran back to his home without looking back. This is why I must

stay in the woods. He thought. The woods are always there. They know me, they comfort me,

and they do not pressure me to leave. They cause me no pain, or loss; only comfort. As he

approached his cabin, his eyes paced back and forth. The woods were all he knew; he couldn’t

leave them behind. And yet, if he did, Evelyn would be there, by his side. She was beautiful,

kind, caring… He was torn between a life of security in which he trusted and a life of unknown

proportions. It could be bad, or it could be absolutely beautiful. But it was too late, he had

already left her standing alone-abandoned with the starry evening.

Nights dragged on and Frank’s anxiety consumed him. No longer had he felt a sense of

peace, but now confusion, and doubt. This doubt was torture. Had he done the right thing? He

felt as helpless as a child. Love had left him scared and alone, and he wanted nothing to do with

it. Nature’s beauty began to look distorted to him now. Insomnia and chaos clouded his way of

thought; he couldn’t see things as clear as he once thought he could. Years passed and his hair

grew long and was stained gray of old age and wisdom. No longer was he in his twenties, rather

just barely touching fifties. Scars were woven into his feet for never again did he trust nature to

heal his wounds, rather he let them remain and scar.

 Needless to say, he became a lonely drunk. He stayed in his cabin for the remainder of

his days, but no more did it reflect God’s grace and nature’s beauty, rather reeked of alcohol, had

writings engraved into the wall, and had candles cemented to the floor by their wax. He walked

along the outside of his cabin to reflect on the years spent their, for he felt his time was nearing

an end. Engraved into one of the walls were the words, “Welcome to Hell, follow me into the

reality of life, or turn back and witness death.” To some, Frank’s drunken words may not make

sense, but the way he saw it was, they need not have to make sense, for he was the only one who

had the displeasure of needing to see them.

Alongside another wall were the words, “I’d like to stop drinking, learn my lesson and

move on, but what would fill the void when both you and my drink are gone.” Frank had always

felt an intimate connection to pathetic poetry while he was lost in his drunken haze. I don’t know

why, but I tend to think in rhymes and it’s rather sickening. I used to think it was poetic and

unique in its own way, but now all I can think is, another damn cliché. A thought then sprung

into his head as he ran outside. He jumped on top of a rock as if it were a stage,

“I now present to you, the newest addition to my poetry collection;

“I find myself looking more and more

Like Bukowski.
The drink is a pleasurable poison
That I refuse to put down.
It floods my body and I remain
Completely immune to its affects.
Fuck you if you disagree…
This poem’s not about you and your thoughts,
It’s about me.
For countless years I have tried
To prove myself wrong, to prove myself right
But no matter where I stand in the argument,
I can’t seem to win
The fucking fight.”
Just as he finished rehearsing his poem in a drunken slur, he stumbled, dropping his drink and

falling to the ground with an impact which had knocked him out.

And now we find ourselves at where the story started. After waking up from his

unconscious state, he couldn’t remember anything. The last thing he could remember was the

night he shared with Evelyn. Where had the time gone? He gazed into the water’s reflection and

saw an old man he did not recognize. He began to reflect on his life and realized just how lonely

it was. Yes, life outside the woods was scary and dangerous, but isn’t it better to see the world

for what it is rather than run from it? He thought. Or even, see it for what it could be…

Evelyn. He thought aloud. Could we have been living a life of beauty; something far

from the life I’ve come to see now? I guess I’ll never know. Evelyn, where ever your beauty lies,

just know that I stand alongside you in spirit. I don’t know how I got to where I am, all I know

is, when I woke up this morning and gazed upon my reflection, I saw myself in a new light. For

the first time, I am seeing things clearly.

To my dearest Evelyn Rose, know that the moment I laid eyes upon you by the river, I

fell in love with everything that surrounded you- your beauty, your voice, your name, your way

of thought, everything about you captured the idea of what God meant to be described as,

“Beauty.” And my darling Evelyn, you are in fact, Beauty at its finest. I pray you forgive me for

being, the beast.

 (Optional Ending Piece)

With those final words and that last breath, Frank passed away. His body collapsed to the

ground. As his stone cold face hit the earth, his eyes remained opened, for he, even at death,

could not look away from all the beauty that had surrounded him.