Genysee Mihaichuk

The boy was only staying the summer, at his grandparents' house while his mother worked. The little cabin in the middle of nowhere offered little in the way of companionship or entertainment, but the woods backing the property supplied just enough freedom to satisfy his young curiosity, and so he had little complaints about the arrangement. 

    Every day, the boy would wander around, exploring nature in its entirety. He’d watch the way the rain caught on the tree’s leaves, the way squirrels would run around collecting little red berries, the way a spider would wait to catch a bug in its web. Each day, something new would catch his fascination, and he would play until dinner, when he had to return back to the cabin.

    On one such summer day, he had led himself in just the right enough direction to stumble upon a little pond with still, clear water, and playing in the pond was a girl, not born of man but born of water.

    The boy had never seen such a thing before, and so the young water sprite immediately caught his fascination, and she, who had never interacted with man before, showed her own fascination in kind. And so the two played together until dinner, when he promised to come back the next day if the water sprite would wait for him.

    The next day, the boy returned as he promised, and the water sprite was there, waiting for his return. And so a routine for the summer formed, the two playing all day before the boy had to go home, and the sprite waiting at her pond for his return the next day.

    On the last day of his summer, the boy told the sprite he would be leaving. The water sprite, not understanding human time, thought little of it, and said she’d be waiting. The boy couldn’t seem to get her to understand that he was leaving for much longer than just the night, that he didn’t know when he would be back. 

    But you will be back one day, won’t you? Was all the young water sprite asked.

    The boy nodded hesitantly, knowing he would be back here eventually, even if he wasn’t sure when.

    Then I’ll wait for you, the sprite said, and knowing he could sway her otherwise, the boy left with little more than a goodbye, and he didn’t come back the next day.

    The water sprite sat by her pond and waited. She didn’t mind when the day ended without him showing up. Sprite’s were patient, and the passage of time often was lost on them. She sat like still water, and she waited.

    Days got shorter and the weather got colder. Golden leaves would fall into the pond that she would blow away, but still the little sprite waited. When the water froze over, she would slide around on the ice, watching the tree line for the boy to come play with her. The ice eventually thawed, and the days started to stretch again, and small fish would swim in her pond that she would try to catch but never could because she was looking around too much. The heat came back, and with it, the full force of a new summer, and a new cycle of waiting for the sprite. 

    Time passed, though she didn’t mind the waiting. Whether a day, a year, a decade, it was all the same to her.

    One day, the boy finally returned. Older now, a young man just starting his own life and returning back to the cabin to help his aging grandparents, but still the young water sprite could tell it was him immediately, and thought little about his age.

    The sprite ran up to the young man, excitably asking what he wanted to play. She happily listed off their old games, like it had only been yesterday that they had parted and not the decade he had lived through. 

    The young man stared down at the sprite, not looking any different from his childhood memories, first with confusion, then surprise, then discomfort. He stopped the cheerful sprite’s familiar chatter.

    Why are you still here, he asked.

    The sprite cheerfully told him that she had been waiting.

    The young man frowned, then looked oddly sad.

    Why would you wait for me, the young man asked this time.

    The sprite was confused by the question. She had said she would wait, so of course she would. And now that he was here, her waiting had paid off, and they could go and play like before.

    The young man started crying, looking down at the young water sprite who had been waiting for him, unchanged like still water, and who didn’t understand the time that had passed. He cried as she didn’t understand what was wrong now, still treating him like the boy he once was even in her childish comforts. He cried as she didn’t understand that a young man wasn’t the same as a boy, and the little boy would never be able to play with her again.

    He cried as she waited.