Story Corner

The door creaks open, and she slides effortlessly onto the newly restored leather seats. The engine comes to life with that unmistakable Ford growl. It is the sound rich with history and the echoes of her grandfather’s stories. This car was more than just a mode of transportation or blast from the past. This vehicle was an heirloom, a vessel of memories. For a moment, she allowed nostalgia wash over her, only to be pulled back to the present as the flickering light above pump 23 starts its nightly dance. It blinks indecisively between "on" and "off," casting fleeting shadows. With a soft click of her seatbelt, she and her steadfast companion, a car she referred to as Old Faithful, roll into the quiet embrace of the night.

Driving cross-country had its rewards, with breathtaking scenery unfolding around every bend. Yet, certain roads always had a way of tying her stomach in knots. The sharp curves and sudden drops are reminiscent of a thrill ride at a carnival. Tessa gripped the wheel tightly as she navigated Interstate 75, her determination focused on reaching the city limits before nightfall. She exited the service drive onto what became 86th Street in the early 70s after two bordering cities insisted on a court battle the right to name the street. Her mind began to calculate the remaining distance. “8 miles to go,” she whispered to herself. Before heading home, she liked to reacquaint herself with the flow of city roads. Highway driving had left her hands and feet heavy with tension , more than she thought possible.

The city streets were sluggish, choked by afternoon traffic that forced everything to a crawl. She took a quick right turn onto Sophia, only to be struck by how much had changed. Granted she had been away from three years, but she had not expected such a drastic change. The playground at the corner still shimmered under the glow of the few streetlights on at this hour, but the surrounding stretch of pavement was lined with decaying homes, their proud histories crumbling with time. What was once a vibrant neighborhood where everyone knew each other by name, now resembled a dying village. She remembered the early mornings filled with the sounds of little league games, the cheers of parents filling the air, and the boisterous chants of cheerleaders celebrating every change in the scoreboard. It was hard to believe that a neighborhood swimming pool had once stood beside the football field, its waters alive with children’s laughter and the loud splashes of belly flops. Young lifeguards had watched vigilantly, rotating shifts as the sun blazed overhead.

Her reverie broke suddenly as her car clipped a piece of forgotten construction equipment, jerking violently to the right. The vehicle spun, colliding with the brick wall of an abandoned family flat. Tessa’s body lurched forward, her chest meeting the steering wheel with an unforgiving force. Darkness fell over her like a curtain, the blaring of the car horn echoing into the empty silence of the desolate neighborhood. There was no one to hear it. When her eyes fluttered open, she wasn’t in the car anymore. She found herself seated on a familiar handmade bench. Her grandfather had crafted a bench in his garage workshop. The bench was one of many projects along with the rocking chair every generation used their fair share until it was broken.

More impressive, was the tabletop town complete with train that circircled its perimeter with the flip of switch. He was a handy and crafty man which gave her more of a reason to admire him. She remembered the summer days when he’d tend to his grapevine, fermenting his own wine with a pride like a teen buying his first car. It was in this very garden that he planted the seeds of her adventurous spirit, sharing miltary stories that made the world beyond the horizon feel reachable. She once planned to join the Navy after high school, inspired by his tales of service. But he had stopped her with a firm, “Not my granddaughter!” War, in his eyes, was no place for a women, especially given the turbulent state of the world. So, she chose college instead, miles away from home, where she learned that even an ordinary life could unfold into an extraordinary adventure.

As she steps into the house, a sudden movement catches her eye causing her to freeze, followed by a sharp intake of breath. To her right, a figure cloaked in a smoky shadow of vivid victory red looms. An elderly woman with flowing silver hair stood there, dressed in a red, floor-length cloak. The plunging neckline that exuded timeless elegance while her presence radiated a quiet strength, a blend of wisdom and command. Tessa glanced down and realized her own clothing had changed. She was now wearing the outfit she’d worn on her first day of high school. She knelt instinctively at the woman’s feet, struck by the strange familiarity of the moment. As Tessa looked up, their eyes met. The woman’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, as if she were preparing to share a truth Tessa was destined to hear. She spoke with a calm earnestness that demanded attention.

“Imagine waking from a deep slumber only to discover that everyone around you is still dreaming. Yet you can’t wake them, not because you lack the power, but because they aren’t ready to leave the dream. So you choose to move forward, understanding your soul is well-rested and ready for the next journey. Before you go, you leave behind a note—a record of what prompted you to arise, who guided you, and the journey that unfolded after. These are the tales of a mind that has found its peace in elevation." These are the stories Sophia knew would live on, no matter where the next path led.