The Secret of the Maples

Balmy air surrounds you, as you walk down the curved path lined by tall maples that seem to dance in the evening breeze. The setting sun causes the sky to be a particular color of pinkish purple that only is seen during this time of day. You have walked this path many times; walking past swing sets and vacant park benches that in the day time are welcome seats for young lovers that come here as an escape from parents' watchful eyes and mothers who bring their children to enjoy the outdoors. The warm summer breeze blowing through the maple leaves make a "swoosh" sound as if whispering something in your ear. Every evening they tell you the same unrecognizable secret. You have stopped trying to decipher their secret language a long time ago.

But then, as you pass the last maple, the last park bench, the path ends, and a crystal clear lake appears. This lake has been there for a long time and you have visited it on many occasions even swimming in its cool waves. You sit on the soft grass and close your eyes as you listen to the water splash against the bank. It too has a language of its own. Slowly, the whisper of the trees and splashing of the water combine and become a new language; a language you understand. Your eyes shoot open as you are surprised by this new understanding. You notice a young man sitting next to you, also looking dreamily at the lake. This has never happened before. You are usually alone in this sacred place, and the conversation of the maples is always a private one. You look at the man for a long while. He is still; maybe even asleep.

He sits motionless, for what seems like an eternity. Then suddenly he turns to face you. No, he is not asleep. He is very awake in fact. As you look in to his eyes, you discover that they are the same clear blue-green color of the lake. You gasp. As you look longer the whisper of the trees and waves become more and clearer, almost like human language. You look at the man's lips- pink and formed into a crocked smile. No, he isn't talking, so where is the voice coming from? You clasp your eyes shut again. What on earth is happening? You try to block out the voice, but also to concentrate on what its saying. "Oh dear God..." you say. You are beginning to panic. You open your eyes, praying that the man is gone, but he is still there, staring blankly at you, only this time his hand is stretched out, welcoming yours. As your panic grows, you try to move. You fail. Your breathing quickens as the voices become louder. All you can do is sit there. Tears come to your eyes and you cry out. Only your cries aren't heard. The more you scream, the more the voices muffle your desperate pleas for help. The man sits motionless with his hand stretched out to you; the crooked smile still on his face. "This must be the end" you think to yourself. With nothing to loose, you slip your right hand into his. He gives it a firm squeeze; giving you a sudden feeling of peace. You become calmer. Your breathing slows, and your sobs become quieter. You close your eyes as this peace embraces your body. Now that you are calmer, you can make out what the voices are saying.
"Live while you can." You are confused. Live while you can? What is that supposed to mean? Before you open your eyes to ask the man, you feel a sharp pain in the palm of your right hand. You cry out, but when you open your eyes, you are no longer in the tranquil park, but lying in your bed, the evening sky replaced by your egg shell colored ceiling. You look at your right hand and rub the painful spot. You take it as a nightmare, but as you the morning paper, you are shocked to see the same blue-green eyed man from your dream on the front page; the headline reading "One Killed in Car Crash at Maple Park."