Ada: The muse of my life
This is a story about the prettiest flower, the brightest color, and the muse of my life..my Ada.
Our neighborhood in the 1970s was a small, close-knit community where everyone knew each other well. We had a public school where all the kids went and a couple of buildings where our parents worked. My life was simple and revolved around school, hanging out with friends, and listening to the radio/watching television with my parents.
One day, while coming back from school, my friends and I noticed something unusual as we passed by a house. There was a room in the backyard with the door open, revealing piles of books inside. I was intrigued but remembered my mother's warning: “Finn, never go near that house; a peculiar lady lives there.” So, I came home.
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about the room, the books, and the mysterious lady. I decided to visit her house the next day.
Little did I know, my life was about to change as I knocked on her door. The lady opened it with a smile on her face, and she didn’t seem peculiar at all. I asked her about the room in her backyard filled with books, and that’s how we started talking. We spent the whole day discussing books, and she even lent me a book to read, “Five on a Treasure Island.” It was the most exciting day of my life. I was introduced to the world of books by this lady, who was not peculiar at all but indeed very sweet.
Her name was Ada, a bookworm in her early 40s. She had a gorgeous smile, long black-brownish hair, and dimples as deep as the ocean. Tall and lean, with blue eyes like the sky over Bloomsville, baked the most delicious cookies I have ever had. She was so beautiful.
I didn't tell my parents; afraid they might stop me from going to her house. I kept visiting, especially on weekends. We spent entire days talking about books, reading, and sometimes organizing her garden library. It was magical and so much fun. I found it very thoughtful to turn a backyard room into a garden library, ‘I would do that someday’ - I thought to myself.
Ada told me about her parents, who were the heart of our town. Everyone knew them, and they did everything for the city. But one day, 22 years ago, they both passed away—a classic love story; they died on the same day in a car accident. Ada was 20 years old at the time and soon noticed that everyone had moved on with their lives, forgetting her parents, forgetting her. Since then, she kept to herself. “Humans can never be what books have been to me, books are safer than other people.,” she used to say.
Ada and I became best friends. I told her everything about my life and she about hers.
Months went by, and our friendship grew stronger.
Soon after, I was sent to a boarding school. No particular reason, just a 13-year-old boy, far away from his colorful town to this gloomy building of a not so colorful town, with other boys of his age. There was so much I wanted to talk about to Ada, so much to tell her. But I couldn’t, so I started writing in a journal, thinking when I’ll meet her, I’ll tell her everything. Ada told me once, “Writing your heart out in a notebook feels so comforting.” So, I did. And, honestly, I became addicted to it. I fell in love with writing.
Soon it was time for vacations and we were sent home. I was looking forward to meeting Ada and telling her everything that happened in the past couple of months. I even collected some dried flowers in my journal for her, as she loved the idea of dried flowers in her books, and she used to say, “Dried flowers gently pressed between the pages of a book, unfold a silent poetry of their own.” Bloomsville had a variety of leaves and flowers that Ada collected and kept in her books. This was something that I really liked about her and picked it up as a habit instantly.
When I came home, I couldn’t wait for the weekend. Saturday approached and I went to see her - that’s when I got to know she passed away a month ago due to a heart ailment. This was the first time I felt a needle stuck in my chest or a lighter burning up my insides. I felt breathless and I swear, no amount of oxygen at that point could help me get better. I came back home and within two weeks went back to the boarding school. I read the journal pages that I wrote incessantly, for her. She is my best friend but she is no longer by my side. How will I deal with the world? I lost all hope. Hope in life, experiencing joy, people, and myself.
Years passed by and with that I kept losing my mind. After turning 18, I came back to Bloomsville and started writing. It took me 2 years to write my first Novel. It was about this beautiful lady who lived in the world’s most beautiful city and who changed my life forever, just in a couple of months. I thought writing about the time we spent, about our conversations, about the lessons she taught me with the help of books - would eventually make me feel better and move on with life but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get better, but I did get famous. People started reading my novel, and they got to know about our pretty town, about me and Ada but they will never know her as I knew her. I don’t think anyone knew her the way I knew her and no amount of words would do justice to how beautiful she was as a person.
I continued with my writing journey. I immersed myself in books and writing all day long. I lost track of time, then track of days, and eventually track of everything. Soon, I became Ada - the isolated person who lived at a house in Bloomsville. I was 35 when doctors told me I have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and chances are I wouldn’t survive for long, but that’s okay because I died long back with my Ada. I relate so much to her now that I am a grown man. Her wise words, and the lessons she taught me about life and everything. She shaped not only my childhood but eventually my entire life.
I am famous. A lot of people, including children, read my books. I used to write for the newspapers and now for the internet. I spend most of my days on my bed, with my journal. My room, actually not only my room but my entire house is made of books. Am I a happy man? Sure. Have I lived a happy life? Definitely. I experienced something that most people nowadays don’t and probably never will. But I am so grateful that I did. That knock on the door changed my life and I eternally would be thankful to my stars for that.
As I sit on my not-so-fluffy
bed, with a zillion pillows by my side to support me, famous but lonely, I
think about her, about what she used to say, “Humans can never be what
books have been to me.” And I’ll say, “I relate to you Ada, the
prettiest flower, the brightest color, and the muse of my life.”
