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Sam waits for the park to empty of the last runners and children and dogs sniffing at shadows. Then takes a final look at the note, traces the words with a trembling finger and tucks the book into the elbow of an elm tree. Beyond the pink edges of canopy, the hollow shells of buildings begin to wink Morse code until the city is aglow again. The sound of water and its message stops rushing through his head and Sam wonders if there’s any chance of finding them here. A faint equation of hope carries him home on the subway.

*

Heidiko watches the clouds of breath float above early morning commuters. Growing up in Darlington, she’d never imagined seeing so many people at once was even possible. Back then, three people at the diner seemed like a crowd. She’d sit in the corner booth and sketch them in her notebook. Drawing had always been her way of making sense of the world since she lost her hearing. Distilling the details into dots and lines calmed her down when the water filled her ears and she couldn’t concentrate. Her grandma Ivy taught her to draw in the garden, observing the fractals of leaves and flowers. Heidiko liked to sketch beneath the trees but it was a certain set of eyes that she found herself inking again and again. She didn’t know who they belonged to.

*

The name first washed in on a river bend. Sam was sung ashore beneath the trees and could feel something in their roots reaching out. He lay down in the cool grass as purple clouds glided above. Closing his eyes to focus on the feeling that pulsed like a heartbeat through the ground, the voice whispered warm as wind. It touched his face and he stayed still, paralyzed by the strangeness of it all. That minute seemed to stretch into hours. It was almost dawn when he heard the words ‘Open your eyes. It’s time. They’re waiting for you.’ The name and messages echoed in his mind in a way he couldn’t shake.

*

After grandma Ivy died, the funeral home returned her ashes in a little wooden chest. Before Heidiko headed to the orchard to scatter them with the cherries, she opened the lid to say goodbye. Inside was an envelope and folded letter in Ivy’s handwriting.

---

You’ll find the eyes in the city.

Don’t stop drawing until you do.

---

A bundle of bills was tucked inside. The words ‘art school tuition’ written along the rubber band. $20,000 in total. The water rushed through Heidiko’s ears as she packed a suitcase of sketchbooks, farewelling Ivy and Darlington.

*

It rained almost every afternoon that summer. Sam was sure that the message would have washed away by now or the book had been carried by winds and squirrels. Blah, blah, pfff. He tried to drown out the doubt by walking long loops of the city, music pumping as he crossed streets, met strangers and abandoned ideas in trashcans. Half of him wished he’d never laid down at the river. That’s when the confusion first started. The other half knew the story had already been written this way. Sam was just the one to ink it into the pages and wish for it to be found. After he finished the walks, he showered until steam filled his whole apartment. Inside the fog, the messages stopped, it finally felt silent and still. He wrote the name in the mist, then wiped the condensation from the mirror. The eyes looking back at him weren't his own.

*

Today is the anniversary of Ivy’s death. There’s no-one in this city that can hold Heidiko’s sadness. So instead she rides the numb black tunnels to 7th Avenue and trudges to the park to be with the trees. The leaves along the path hush in a way that Ivy would have. It’s all she can do to hold back the tears as morning joggers and squirrels hustle along. By the time she reaches the grove, tears are streaming and her glasses can’t hide enough. The arms of the elm are wide open and she finds her way up into their cool embrace, pressing her face into the bark. When the sobbing subsides she leans back into the nook of the tree and notices a weathered black sketchbook, almost identical to her own. Unsure at first, she prizes it from the branches. It opens to a page where her name is written.

---

Dear Heidiko

The river asked me to write you and place a note into the arms of an elm. If you’re reading this, I know it must be hard to fathom but so is most of our existence. I have only seen you once in a dream and your name has echoed ever since. If this means anything, please look for me as I have searched for you. Our story is just beginning...

---

A photograph of the eyes she has always sketched stares back at her. The water in her ears stops running for the first time she can remember. Heidiko turns to the front of the small black book to find the name of its owner.

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