I remember when it could have been both of us here, but that time is past. I remember, not how it was, but how it could have been. We would have stood here before this supposed barbecue pit, speculating as to what it really was.

   “It’s not what you think,” you’d warn me in a playfully ominous tone. “It’s really a tomb, the body hidden inside, but see, it’s positioned sitting up. That’s why it’s shaped this way.” You would then grin, that mischievous look that should have been out of place on you but never was. “Better be careful around this brick monstrosity.”

   Then I would have stepped away from you to circle around the “brick monstrosity.” “It’s more like stone,” I’d correct. You’d shrug aimlessly, look up at the pine trees, take a deep breath, slap at a bug. You’d ignore me. I’d start a second circle, looking over the L-shaped mass of stonework, touching the cracked mortar, running my fingers over the rusty metal grill. After completing the second rotation, I’d poke your shoulder and grin. “It’s really a disguised cairn,” I’d tell you with a laugh. “Disguised so no one knows what it really is. And,” I’d pause, for breath and to pick up a proper note of mystery, “if we circle around it three times, three sunwise circles, at dawn or dusk, then it’ll open up and take us. . .” I’d pause again, for drama. “Elsewhere.” And I’d try to entice you into circling it with me, to make the third orbit.

   But it would be merely midmorning, so you would shrug off my hand with a patronizing smile. “We’re late for one and early for the other,” you would remind me, exasperated by how I could be firmly planted in reality yet have my soul drifting on a flight of fancy. “It’s just nonsense, anyway.”

   I’d stop in the middle of my third circle, the mass of stone standing between us, a physical barrier to match the spiritual one. After a long moment, I’d echo your words, slowly and sadly. “Yeah. It’s just nonsense.” Then, I would bend down to pick up a couple stones, straighten, and just stand there, lost in thought. One stone would be placed atop the others. One more stone raising the barriers between us. Then, the other in my hand, I’d walk back the way I’d come. Undoing my last circle. Abandoning my dream. And then, we’d walk away.

   I know now that I could never get you to walk into my worlds of What-Could-Be. You would stand on the borders, watching me from over a barrier you never noticed, smiling patiently, waiting for me to return. I know now that you could never come with me, for something inside you was missing, or perhaps hidden. I could not be your passport into What-Could-Be. So I took off on my flights of daydreams, and you would stand aside and wait for me to come back. But finally, I did not return. And you walked away.

   But here is a stone for you. One small stone, for you to do with what you will. I know you will build no cairns with it, break down no barriers with it. It will not be your invitation into What-Could-Be. But maybe, just maybe, it will give you a glimpse of the closest thing, a thing even you can see and understand. Do what you please with this stone, but remember, it is a piece of me, too, and I offer it to you as a passport, not into What-Could-Be, but What-Might-Have-Been.

   After all, your world is not mine.

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"Your World Is Not Mine is copyright 1998 by Elizabeth Starle. All rights reserved. Before putting this story on another page or linking to it, please Request Permission. Thank you.