A Smile For Charlie

Emma was a carefree spirit. A single woman by choice with plenty of alone time where she would dream of her perfect life. She would keep those dreams simple and plausible. She considered herself a chaser, someone who went after her dreams.

Most would have given up but not Emma. She dreamed of the day she could sit surrounded by white sand and blue water and write. Writing was her passion.

She spent her days, overworked and underpaid, juggling numbers. Work was plentiful but the stress was taking its toll. Daily affirmations kept her calm and positive despite the pressure.

She used to get paid to write until she let a man talk her into his dreams rather than her own. She failed herself.

Emma was a "words" girl at heart. Through her soul searching and revelations, there was one constant factor - the beach. Her love for the beach was well known but this was something deeper. It was a calling, a force compelling her.

She needed to taste a small piece of her dream. So Emma decided it was time for a trip to the Bahamas. She had been there many times. She knew the beauty and peacefulness of the island. It was just what she needed.

Her flight landed by late afternoon. She wasn't wasting a single minute. She took her tablet, grabbed a drink at the bar then headed for the sand.

She walked down the beach, stopping at the riprap, where the giant rocks separate the beach. She sat on a flat rock, just to inhale the view. The sun drenched her skin. Such an amazing feeling, she could almost feel herself melt. She reached down to take off her flip flops. Something caught her eye. There was something wedged in between the rocks.

Emma got down on her knees for a better look. It was black and resembled a wallet. She tugged on it, easing it out of its hiding spot. It was a little black book.

She was excited to see what was in it. She opened it up and read the first passage. Page after page of someone's deepest thoughts, She wasn't sure if she should be reading it, it felt like a violation but she realized she would probably never find the owner. The book was weathered so it was probably there for a while. She looked toward the sky, as if for guidance, and was overwhelmed with a feeling that she was meant to find this.

She began to read:

"Collective thoughts."

Like the shells on the shore

Broken and scattered

I sit amongst them

Waves crash

Pulling them back to sea

Yet they always return

As my thoughts do to me

Emma was an analyzer so she was enthralled with deep thoughts. Whether she wanted to simply make sense of them or perhaps find some hidden meaning, she was determined to find her own inspiration. She continued to read:

Someday my words will flow

Like the tide, in and out

But not today

My words are as dry as

My bottle of rum.

Her love for words connected her to the mystery writer. She knew the pain of being without words, and without rum as she finished her drink.

I see a ship beyond the horizon

How fancy they've become

Imagine the days

When exploration led to discovery

The sea full of bounty

I would have made a great pirate

Because I dream and I believe

Emma looked up from the book in clear view of the horizon. She would have loved to be a part of that history. Ships bunkered down with chests full of gold and jewels, pirates running amuck, Emma imagined herself as a fierce wench, fighting for her share.

She wanted to keep reading but the sun was kissing the water goodbye for the day so she made her way back. She stopped for another drink and placed her treasure on the bar.

"Oh my," Steven, the bartender exclaimed. He was staring at the book.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"You found Charlie's little black book." he said with a big smile. It was as if he knew just how much of a treasure it was.

She told him she would love to return it to Charlie.

Steven told her that wasn't possible. He went on to explain that Charlie was a writer in his younger days. But as the years progressed, Charlie ran out of words. He claimed he lost his muse.

One day Charlie came to the beach determined to write again. He would make the trip every day, carrying that little book and a bottle of rum.

"One day, I sat with Charlie," said Steven. "He told me that he was dying and didn't have much time left."

"A few days later," Steven continued, "Charlie walked off the beach and sat here. He wanted a glass of rum. I asked him where his little book was and he told me that he hid it on the beach."

"He told me that his time has come to an end and he wanted to leave his words for someone to find. He said he hid it where only a person who appreciated the beauty of the island would find it. Charlie passed away later that night."

The next morning, the sun was barely up when Emma grabbed her coffee, tablet and little black book. She made her way to the beach.

She opened the book:

The water is still

A pool of reflection

Just like my thoughts

Still, yet drowning my muse

She turned the page. Each verse contained both beauty and sorrow, a fascinating combination.

Day after day I sit

Upon the sandy floor

I watch a crab

Burrow down beneath

I watch the ripples

Grow then fade

I watch the sun

Give way to the hours

Weeks have passed

My little black book

fills quickly with nonsense

Perhaps I dream too hard

She wished that she could have met Charlie. She knew they would have connected. Emma was a dreamer, she often dreamed too much, and like Charlie - too hard.

As time goes by

I appreciate the days

where the sky opens up

sprinkling tears of joy upon me

Albeit for a moment

It sets the stage

She read this passage over and over. There was something compelling about the stage. It was then that she knew he was trying to tell her something. She just had to figure out what it was.

My eyes are drawn left

Around the bend of rocks

Lined with salt-loving trees

After every shower

The stage comes to life

It's calling me, I hear it

Yet as the sun beats down

My hand cripples around my pen

And instead I choose to stay

Again, "the stage" her mind whispers.

Today, a slight breeze captivates me

Is it fate that has me sitting here?

How can a mind be so clear

yet so weighted at the same time?

Emma questioned that all the time. The mind of a writer is often too complex.

My time here is ending

I have decisions to make.

I thought I was prepared

All I ever wanted in life

Was for my words to matter

To make a difference

Even if only in one life

I feel as though I have failed

I am thankful that

Heaven will still accept me

Tears poured from Emma's eyes, rolling off her cheeks, making puddles in the sand.

It's my last day here

My serenity, my bliss

Although my muse stayed buried

My time here was well spent

My only regrets are the things

I put off for another day

I can still see the stage

Surrounded by all its glory

I can hear the cheers

I can feel the heat of the lights

Another day, another day

Suddenly the sun dimmed, clouds streaked with gray suffocated the blazing light. Amidst the breeze, Emma looked to the sky as the warmest rain washed over her. It lasted a minute. She looked to the left and just like Charlie said, a rainbow appeared. She smiled as she read his final words:

If you have read this far, I thank you. I never got the chance in life to

emerge as a writer but I spent my life trying, never giving up on myself,

even when the words gave up on me. My final wish is that whoever finds

this little black book takes the time to read my words and that those

words in some way touch them and leave a legacy, even if just for a

moment. They say the world is your stage. If you sit here long enough,

you will see that stage. Don't be afraid to stand up on it, to dance on it, to

sing as loud as your voice will carry you. Then I ask just one small favor.

Look up to Heaven and send me a smile.

May peace and happiness be yours always,

Charlie Madison

Those final words did not bring any tears. Emma sat there, soaking in the sun now shining down on her, soaking up his words.

She looked to the left again. She could see the bend of rocks lined with salt-loving trees. The rainbow had dissipated but there was something in its place. Emma could see a stage. Just a mirage, no one else could see. But Emma saw it. She knew what she had to do. It couldn't wait for another day.

She gathered her things and clutched the little black book. She made her way to the bend of rocks. They were huge boulders creating a stage between the beach and the canal. She had been to the other side many times before but never with the words of Charlie Madison in her heart. The rocks were eroded with craters. It didn't make for an easy trek but she took each step with a grace she never knew she possessed.

Charlie said he could feel the heat from the stage lights. Emma felt it too. Maybe it really was the scorching sun shining down but a dreamer needs to dream. Charlie said he could hear the applause. Emma heard them too. Although most would say it was the crashing of the waves upon the rocks.

Emma began to twirl around in circles. Her soul was dancing. Music played in her head so loudly that she could not contain herself. She began to sing.

At that very moment, she looked down and saw the brightest sparkle she ever saw. It was all but blinding. Something was under the water that pooled up in the crater of the rock she was standing on.

She knelt down and reached her hand down in the hole. She pulled out a handful of loose trinkets and dropped them on the rock. There, in all its bountiful beauty laid coins of gold mixed with colorful jewels.

Her heart was beating so fast as she collected her fortune and packed it in her bag. She looked around as if she was waiting for a pirate to jump out. She was ready to fight for her treasure but she wouldn't have to.

She stood in amazement. She looked up to the sky and smiled. "Thank you Charlie Madison, thank you for your words."

Emma spent the rest of her week talking with authorities and collecting her reward. She received $20,000 for her find. But she never got to sit on the beach and write. It was a dream come true yet she failed to follow her own dream. So she knew what she had to do.

She left her job and spent the next few months sitting on the beach filling tablet after tablet with words. Each day, before opening her tablet, she would look to the sky and smile.

Emma's words ended up on the New York Times best-seller list. Those words, A Smile For Charlie, were just the start of a dream too hard.