by Jason Gibbs
I had gone for a walk in the park when I first saw her. I’d found a nice spot, with a bench facing a grassy bank next to a pond. On the bank was a solitary snowdrop bravely heralding the end of winter.
She ran past me, and my eyes couldn’t help but follow. Her gait was fluid, athletic and mesmerising. She was beautiful. She didn’t see me, or if she did, she didn’t acknowledge me. I was in love.
After that I’d walk to the park every day hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I’d sit on the same bench, staring at the snowdrop as it slowly, day by day, faded. It was never joined by any others. Sometimes she’d be there, sometimes not.
After a week I heard her name, Caroline. I was oddly disappointed. It didn’t seem to suit her. In my mind I thought she’d be called Iris, or Poppy perhaps. Not Snowdrop though, that was reserved for the flower, my lone companion through those mornings.
My brother called, he was worried about me. I told him about Caroline. He didn’t understand, he called me hopeless and suggested I needed to get a grip. He couldn’t understand, he’d never been in love like this. I described her, her motion, her joie de vivre, her beauty…
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It’s been two months. I don’t know what happened. She doesn’t come to the park. My brother says I probably scared her off. I know he thinks he’s joking, but. Well it makes me sad. And the snowdrop has withered. There are poppies there now, but they aren’t the same.
I miss her, and I miss the snowdrop.
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I sit on the same bench in the park, staring at the snowdrop, when my own Snowdrop comes bounding up, licking my hand. In my private thoughts I can’t help but compare her to Caroline. Their coats are very similar in colouring, though in my memory Caroline’s was more golden. I think Snowdrop is a little bigger, and, like all Labradors, she’s always hungry. She is my new love, but I’ll never forget Caroline, and my first snowdrop spring.
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