A Little Love
Mac:
I settle down into the train seat- it is old and it sinks unevenly under my weight doin' my achy joints and numerous bruises absolutely no favors. I don't pay that pain much mind. Given a little time, the pain from a standard beating will fade to a dull roar, easily ignored by a challenging distraction or the mental exercise of escape, providing nothing's broken or too torn up, that is…but it's a different sort of pain that's got my undivided attention at this moment. It started as a pain in my chest when I was forced to stand at the edge of a mass grave dedicated to the victims of the genocide in [*]. I was next, they said; courtesy of my irritating interference to their efforts to civilize their country. Standing at the edge of the pit for a while, I'm sure it was a calculated effort to make me acutely aware of my own imminent demise, but any thought I could possibly have for myself was lost to me as all I could see – all my brain could register – was the deadly dreadful stillness of a set of little hands belonging to a little girl no more than 6 years old. The pain in my chest sunk to the pit of my stomach and took up residence there as I forced my self to look beyond the little hands to the other occupiers of this ghastly memorial – I wanted to see who was there, to pay tribute to those sacrificed, and hopefully escape to let the outside world know the true nature of the cost for this "struggle for national independence".
But sitting here on this train now on my way back to the good ol' US of A, there was nothing I wanted more than to close my eyes and sleep a little and to forget everything I saw…but I couldn't.
You'd think it would be easy to sleep since I sure hadn't gotten much of it lately – but if I did, I would see…that…again. The images and smells of the mass grave and burned villages were carved on the insides of my eyelids and still clinging to my nose hairs. Ghosts were following me. I think I feel another season of insomnia coming on again …wonder how long this one will last.
The bouncing train was doin' a nice job of further mixing up my churning stomach and spinning head, so I decide now is a good time to find out exactly how many bruises and contusions I sustained this time…you know, nothing like a different pain to get your mind off the other, etc etc etc. . The most annoying bit of damage I sustained was a large and lovely friction burn on my left forearm and elbow from when I threw myself down the hill to avoid getting shot. It was oozing blood and whatnot quite nicely, better wrap it up. Waiting for the train in the last village, I took opportunity to swipe a couple of aloe stems from the decorative pot at the station; didn't think anyone would mind. Aloe's real handy; can serve as food, water, weak electrical conductor, and salve. The latter was the use I put it to now. As I felt the burning in my damaged arm ease a little under the aloe and makeshift wrap I put on it, I found myself wishing it was as easy to soothe a burned soul. But how does one reach down that deep and what kind of salve works there? Done with my arm, I leaned my head back to ease my headache and made the mistake of closing my eyes again. Damn! There she was again, those little hands…The knot in my stomach clenched into a sharp pain. I guess it was a good thing I hadn't had anything to eat in a day or two, cos I think my stomach was in no mood for digesting anything and might vote for bugging out.
Drowning in my pain, and starting to feel more than just a little sorry for myself, I shifted irritably in my seat and happened to glance around. Then, I saw her. She was impossibly beautiful; she was looking down at something in her hands, her dark curls loose and free about her face and shoulders. Almost as if she felt my eyes on her, she looked up my way, caught my eyes, and smiled. It was only for a moment, but I was hooked. If I wasn't so all out beat up, half starved, and brain blistered, I'd say I'd just fallen in love. At first sight.
She continued to work at something in her hands, brow furrowing in concentration, while I continued to stare at her. I couldn't help it. The light comin' in through the train window played softly on her face, the dance of light and shadow making magic on her already perfect features, and even the long eyelashes around her dark eyes cast exquisite shadows over her impossibly perfect cheeks. A natural work of art…
Entranced, I found myself longing to go over and say something to her. Just then an errant lock of hair fell into her eyes, tickling her. She shook her head and blew at the strand of hair to get it out of her eye, obviously reluctant to stop what she was doing to push it away with a hand. I felt my hand twitch as if to reach up and out to brush away the offending hair…I wanted to feel the soft skin of her face under my fingertips... Oookay. Easy, big fella. I shook my head to clear it; come on, MacGyver, you must be more out of it than you thought. Besides, you go over there, and you'll scare her to death; you aren't exactly looking or smelling like a bed of roses, you know.
I tear my eyes away to look out my own window, but inevitably I glance back in her direction. Whoops. Caught. Now she was looking shyly at me, a small smile playing about her lips. Was that an invitation? I find myself getting closer to getting out of my seat and goin' over to her…the older woman next to her – her guardian, or parent- was sound asleep…what could it hurt? Just a little hello…if she didn't want me there, or fainted at the smell of me, well, a guy can take a hint. I've always been good at attempting graceful exits.
My eyes still fixed on her, I move in her direction, ready to exit stage left if it becomes evident that I've read the signs wrong. I reach inside my jacket, looking for something to give her; a gift …a guy knows when he needs a little help to make a good impression on a special lady.
Didn't matter we couldn't understand each others' words – we had a different language.
"Hi." I kneel down next to her in the aisle and look at what she had been busy at when I was watching her. A set of paints and paper were out, and several pictures that looked to me to be the prettiest pictures I had seen in long while. "Those are really nice," I smiled and nodded to show my appreciation for her work. She seemed pleased and gave me a brilliant smile in return. Inspiration finally dawned; now I have an idea for a special gift. Pulling out my pen, package of kerchiefs (glad I picked those up before I left, amazed they're still white –mostly!)I prepare to make a little artistry of my own. Keeping the face of my project close to me I was pleased to see her lean forward in interest. There. Almost done. Now for the finishing touch. "Can I use that?" I pick up her red paint brush she had been using for her own art projects. She watched as I painted perfect red lips on the face of her little makeshift doll. "There. She's almost as pretty as you." As I hold it out to her, I watch her face light up in recognition and pleasure as she realizes what it is, and that it is for her. Yup. That was worth it. She pats my hand with her small soft one to say thank you for her gift – yup. Definitely worth it. I pat my jacket looking for anything else a six year old girl might find interesting, and come up with my ball of twine I made back at the camp... I wonder if she'll like playing cat's cradle?...
.
I look up to see the sun setting – almost to the train stop. Where I get off and hopefully get back to my life, and hopefully, with not too many ghosts following me this time. I have a feeling though, that at least any ghosts from this mission will have to take a back seat to memories of a beautiful little girl with a brilliant smile and soft little hands who took the time to play string games with a tired, smelly, soul-sick stranger…
Huh. Funny – just noticed that somewhere back there between tic tac toe and the cats' cradle, the slicing knot in my stomach had retreated to a dull echo. I know I will be okay. I guess what Harry always said was true. To heal some kinds of hurts, all it takes is a Little Love.