Yours Truly, Jenny

I adjusted my jacket and moved the rear-viewing mirror to check my hair. My hands smoothed down the brown spikes and I stared at my light blue eyes for a moment.  With nerves in my stomach I cleared my throat and pushed open my car door.  

I looked at the home in front of me and began feeling giddy.  I had been abroad for the army for about six months.  I told Jenny I'd be home withing seven, so she wouldn't be expecting me.  

I felt my dopey smile fill my face and I adjusted my jacket once more before bounding up the stairs to our home.  

I felt the small box in my pocket and I closed my hand around it gently.  

With a deep inhale, I knocked on the door once.  Twice.  Two more times.  How many times was too much?  I'm not hearing anything, maybe another knock--

The door opened a crack, and I was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes.  Her hair was a lot shorter than it was; no longer falling behind her.  It framed her face gracefully.  

"Danny?"  The shock from her face drained, and I realized I was gripping the box now.  

"Hey Jenny."  My smile widened. 

"Danny, I--"  She half-laughed and fell into my arms, "I thought you weren't coming home for another month."  

I inhaled the soft lilac that coated her and squeezed her against me.  

"I wanted to surprise you, babe."  I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her arm length away to take her in. "You're so beautiful.  Oh my God, you're so beautiful."  I hugged her again.

She motioned me inside, "Come in, come in, oh you must be so tired."  Jenny wiped at her eyes and tugged me into our humble abode.  

Upon entering, I noticed everything was still the same.  The living room still had the old white leather couch, light wood coffee table and matching side tables.  The pictures above the fireplace were at the same angles and it felt the same.  It just felt the same.  Like home. 

That's when I noticed something different. 

"Hey, hon, where's--"  There was a excited yap and in a fluid motion a black blur whirled around the corner and into  my arms, "Luna!" The black lab nuzzled under my arms and sniffed me for what felt like forever, but that dog, my god, was the sweetest thing.  I played with her, letting her get out her whining and loving barks.  Finally she spun in my lap (with difficulty because she doesn't realize that she's not a puppy anymore.  In fact she's one of the largest dogs I've met, but she acts like a cat.  It really is the cutest thing.)  and rested her head on the ground. 

"Danny, when you left she got so sad.  She would stare out the window and just cry,"  Said Jenny as she leaned down to rub Luna's head.  "I'm surprised she didn't come out sooner, but she was sleeping.  So I think she assumed the door was just some random person."

I laughed, "What, you have a lot of random people coming over lately?"  

She squinted, "Just Lina and Jeff with their boys."  Her eyes widened, "They're expecting another!  Lina said she hopes it's a girl because all that testosterone is just consuming her femme fatale, also, my mother wanted to know when would be a good time to visit her and dad-- when you came back, but we don't have to decide anything right now as that would be-"

"Overwhelming?"  I interrupted while laughing.

She grew bashful and kissed my forehead, "Sorry, babe.  I know you just came home.  There's just so much to tell you and I missed you so much.  You got my letters, right?"

I nodded and reached for Jenny's hand, "I got them, read them, and held onto them every time I went out on duty."

She smiled with tears in her eyes. "Good."  Something caught her eye and her smile faltered, "Hon, why did you come back early?"

Luna turned on my lap onto her back, exposing her tummy.  I rubbed it as I explained, "I got shot on duty.  Went clean through my calf.  Hurt like a bitch- excuse me, it hurt a lot."  I corrected after her look of horror. 

"I don't care about you swearing, Daniel, I care about whether or not you're okay.  What-- how?  Are you okay?"  

I nodded, "I'm fine.  I was shocked when it happened and didn't realize it had happened because of the adrenaline state I was in.  A buddy stopped me and called in help.  I had to calm him down in order to tell me what was up."  I laughed again, but grew solemn, "He ah, he died while covering my ground when I was in emergency care.  Grenade."  My throat grew thick. 

"Danny... oh my god, I'm so sorry."  She pulled me against her, "I am so sorry."  I put my hand on her cheek and looked at her eyes. 

"It's okay.  I'm okay.  They discharged me and I am going to be looking for a therapist so I don't develop PTSD, or if I do have it then I can work through it."  I kissed her.  "I missed you so fucking much."  She laughed.

"Language, Danny."  We both sat there, hugging, kissing, talking, laughing, and every once in a while I ended up crying.  Or she would.  I told her stories about my travels and she told me about what had happened here.  

And we didn't notice how late it was until we saw the sun peeking through the window.  

We were exhausted physically, but mentally we were wired.  

So we went for a walk by the park.  See, it had this huge hill that let you watch both the sunrises and sunsets.  

And when the sun was high enough to bring tears to her eyes I went on one knee and pull out the tiny box. 

And when I opened it she cried. 

And nodded really aggressively. 

Like, I thought her head would topple off. 

And I put the small little ring on her fourth finger.  

And we fell asleep watching the sunrise. 

Sometimes Goodbye Doesn't Have to Last

The flower you hold so delicately
has thorns on its stem as it is not so fragile.
The way you caress the satin petals
is as though it will fall through your fingers like sand.
The same fingers that pulls through your hair
as a habit.
But the moment will come when the petals will wilt
and the thorns will grow weak.
And your hands will drop
this limp plant
and it will lay by your feet,
fallen.
But memories last
and the silk that you felt
will linger
hesitantly.

The flower you held so closely
with the thorns that broke your skin
will always reside withing you.
You'll brush your hair
with the same gentleness
that stroked those simple petals.
But there will be another.
With more vibrant colours.
Striking petals.
A stem with less thorns.
A stem without a weight on its shoulders.

But maybe the goodbye to the flower with an ethereal glow
Is not a different greeting other than that of 'Hello'.

Tragedies

She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like.  Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember.  But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan.  The man spoke.  She thought he looked rather dashing.  Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes.  Hm.  Handsome.  She had decided.
I'm coming, James.  Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house.  Rough shape?  Never.  The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman.  Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already.  It was devastating.  This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling.  It could be haunted. 
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
 They paused, admiring the home.  The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close.  She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly.  But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it?  What's wrong?  Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips.  Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing.  Oh James, I don't know about this.  I feel really uneasy.  Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed.  The pristine exterior was black and burnt up.  The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.

A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap.  She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now.  She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up.  But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor.  It felt so cool.  She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers.  It hurt, but she still had them.  They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.

Another flash crossed her vision.  She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her.  From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts.  And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room.  They couldn't get her in time.  They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.

Your Story

There are so many possible stories that occur throughout your life.
Possible choices that lead to possible relationships,
Possible relationships that lead to possible romances,
Possible romances that lead to possible loves,
Possible loves that lead to possible lives.
And each choice you make
Shifts the new outcome.
For instance,
Deciding to take a leap of faith and saying hello to someone
you for some reason find intriguing.
Even
If
You
Don't
Know
Them.
The scariest part though isn't asking them how their day was, oh no this is easy.
The scary part is seeing their response.
From how their faces will either light up or grow bored,
From the way they shuffle their feet or clear their throats.
You only have so much power.
Half the power.
They carry the other half, even though it feels like they carry all the power.
You both need to step forward.
And even that is a new possible story.
Another story is if you step forward and they step back.
Or they step to you but you pull down a veil.
The hardest part is accepting who you are for them to accept who you are.
The hardest part is very similar to the scariest part,
But the hardest part is what you do rather than what they do.
But this is the mentality portion.
You have to build up the courage to force yourself to step forward.
You have to remind yourself to breathe and to stop shaking.
That's the hard part.
But the best thing about this story
Is the story itself.
The build up to events,
The reactions they give.
The best part is going to bed at night feeling waves of content and overriding joy fall asleep with you into pale dreams of a happiness you never thought you would have at this time two, three years ago.
The best part is that the story you are in is your story.
It is intriguing and scary and hard.
But my god,
It's beautiful.