No such thing as an ending

In my final workshop in my final MFA residency we were given a prompt to write a piece with the title “No such thing as an ending” and that the piece should come from the perspective of a place, and to chronicle the passage of at least 50 years in that one spot.

I don’t write things like this, typically. But it has been such a joy, especially after spending the last 9 years on a singular book (and the profiles I usually write (and love) take a minimum of 15 hours to complete), to be able to write something in 20 minutes, to start a piece with a vague idea (“I’ll write about Florida!”) and not know where it is going to end up.

This piece is mostly non-fiction, but, to my surprise, by the very end, I was writing a kind of fiction.

…

The orange trees
The smell of citrus
The smells of orange
Blazing sun
Not too blazing (yet)
The sound of no one
A rare breeze
A hurricane coming, perhaps
Oranges scatter
Explode
No snow
Never snow
Rain. So much rain.
Lightning cracks a tree

 Dirt
Dirt everywhere
Rain. So much rain.
Mud.
Excavation
Big yellow beasts scooping, moving
Earth everywhere
Plans
Paths

 Digging
Rain. So much rain.
But more water is still needed
Water is brought in, how?
Lakes are made
The foundation for a castle is raised to the second floor
The people who will make the magic will hide on the first
To keep the illusion alive

 Cancer comes
For the grove buyer, the blueprint planner
He dies unexpectedly,
drawing
invisible maps
on the tiles of his hospital room ceiling

His brother continues
Oversees the spire
He dies soon after he cuts ribbon

 Boats take children to the castle
Trains woosh through sky
You have a choice

There are trees in front of the castle
A tropical forest lines the walkway to the
Orange bird painted on the brick wall
Yes he is the color orange but I mean to say his head is an actual orange

Inside the wall the people who started on the first floor who have risen to the second to make cold orange treats to hand out to the families waiting in lines, excited to taste orange

 At night fire sparks leap into the sky
A fairy flies from the top of the castle to somewhere unknown
When she appears, everyone
Everyone
Everyone
Looks up

 Kids and families get back on boats and air trains
Go back to their regular lives
Where there are no fairies
No orange birds
No castles

 They carry bags of the stuff they hope will help them
remember
They can’t take the cold orange ice with them, though

 Most are sad to go back to where they came from
They make return plans
Again
And again

 Not because they don’t see beauty other places
This is just a rare place that helps them see better
Forget the horrors, for a moment
Reminds them
Reminds them
So they can breathe again when they leave

 A kid returns
She has a few gray hairs now
She pushes the stroller now
She orders an orange ice for her son
She gets one too
She remembers

 Her son returns
A few gray hairs
He pushes his mom in a wheelchair
They order orange ice and laugh

 Her son returns again
Without her
He walks slower
He gets an orange ice
He remembers

 His daughter turns and asks
“What do you want?”
It’s called the Sunshine Tree Terrace now
There are 7 options
Root beer float
Chocolate ice cream
Raspberry-Lemonade Slushy
“I’ll have the Citrus Swirl Cup,” he says.
“Me too,” she says.

 His daughter pushes him in a wheelchair
Her daughter sits with him, holding an orange bird plush
He’s forgotten almost everything now
She doesn’t ask him what he wants this time
She buys him a Citrus Swirl Cup
She remembers

 Her daughter returns with a few gray strands
Her Citrus Swirl Cup feels good on this sticky day
It looks like rain soon
The sun sets orange behind the castle
She finds a good spot beneath a tree