My Invitation
You
are what they call the human season Love me for Wide-eyed but Soothe
the angry voice that keeps us quiet Drowsy contemplation She
has such an awful lot of soldiers
You are all the alphabet in
one
You are every colour of confusion
You are all the silence
I've become
Stupid reasons
I like those
most
Worth believing
God knows
The editor whose work is never
done
Keeping pretty words between my teeth and
Sweet
confessions underneath my tongue
Do I
let you in
This is my invitation
But how do I begin?
Quite a lovely army all her
own
Night and day they stand before the fortress
Very safe but
very all alone
My Invitation is the property of Sarah Slean.
Author's Note: This is a story written for the Degrassi-Boards Sellie one-shot contest. I am doing the Ellie/father season seven option, with the story taking place in late December.
The hall is warm, fragrant with the smell of lush poinsettias, red bows tied around their green pots. A whole slew of them greet her as she approaches the registration table, tiny white cards with calligraphy neatly arranged on its surface. The set-up reminds her vaguely of a reunion, though she's only had one graduation, last year from Degrassi Community School, not nearly long enough to be missing that place. Besides, the tone is less celebratory.
When she received the invitation in the mail, she didn't know what to think. Her mother hid in her room, which she supposes is better than nursing a bottle next to her on the couch, or heading out for some air, a.k.a. heading for the bar. Living with Marco and Paige, she didn't pick up the signs as speedily as she usually did, but her mother stumbling into the house as she folded her laundry during that last week of October was all the proof she needed. Like the true best friend he was, Marco helped her pack, sadly smiled and said nothing as she headed back home. Even Paige wasn't her usual prickly self, offered to come over and fix some microwaveable meals since Ellie wasn't the best cook. Ellie gently refused, came home to dirty dishes, and a mumbling Caroline Nash. That first night home, she knelt next to her mother's knees, covered in a blanket, and slept. At least they'd be waking up together.
"Oh dear, she looks so tired," she hears a woman mutter as she approaches the table.
Ellie collects herself, pats down her long, sleek red hair. She did her best to look her best. Clothed in a fitted black business suit, with silk lining, feet housed in low black heels, she was going for mature, but a little dressy. And it's the holidays, so she pinned a red carnation to her black jacket. After all, red was her father's favorite color.
"Well, don't you look pretty," says a woman in a pink, wool sweater in the most patronizing of voices.
"Hello," returns Ellie. "Eleanor Nash."
"Nash...Nash...," whispers the woman, finger going down the list. "Oh, here we are. Near the middle."
The other lady at the table is older, in a green crocheted shawl with several political buttons attached to it. Ellie guesses she worked painstakingly on the item of clothing. She has nothing like that to wear.
"Enjoy tonight, sweetheart," says the more talkative woman, handing Ellie a card.
What is this, a dance card, she asks herself, as she reads it. Eleanor Nash, daughter of Colonel John Nash, Canadian Army. So formal. Well, wasn't this whole event supposed to be formal, anyway?
"And your mother," continues the woman, handing Ellie another card.
"Um, she's not coming," says Ellie, shaking her head. "Thanks."
The two women exchange a surprised glance, turn to another young couple waiting behind her. Was it a shock that some people weren't going to show? Her mother can't be the only one. I mean, this is a pretty intense time of year, reasons Ellie, starting to the gymnasium.
Ellie wonders if army base gymnasiums are different. The gyms she's seen are the gyms at Degrassi and the University of Toronto. Neither were particularly perfect for formal gatherings. Sure, the Degrassi formals were fun, but the dance floor was cramped, the food was undesirable, and the teachers were annoying. She has the feeling she won't have any of those complaints tonight when she enters.
Silver and white streamers flow across the ceiling, red and green balloons tied meticulously at the corners and near basketball hoops. Tables, with gold or white tablecloths, are spread throughout half the room, the other half empty due to a constructed dance floor. Ellie's fairly sure there won't be too many people dancing, and if they did dance, chances are the songs will be slow and melodic.
You couldn't get her to dance, that's for sure. She hasn't in awhile. In fact, she had to lie to Jesse about not liking it. Her mood swings lead to the end of their relationship, something she pretty much saw coming. It was slightly awkward in the Core offices, with Ellie receiving her assignments and immediately leaving, but Jesse recognized good work as always. The last piece she wrote, on student plans for Christmas and New Year's, didn't have her usual touch. She tirelessly composed a few drafts, edited them, the words never seeming good enough. Instead of bemoaning the outcome anymore, she simply handed it in, and Jesse, maybe from guilt, okayed it.
Ellie sits at her assigned table, table seven. None of her fellow diners have arrived yet. Perhaps they won't. She'd eat alone, pay attention to the ceremony, go home to her sleeping mother.
Luckily, she's not alone for long, a blonde-haired gentlemen and his wife sitting to the left of Ellie. They grin at her shyly, the wife immediately fixing her husband's awkward blood-red tie. Caroline Nash used to that for John Nash, Ellie seated in an opposite chair, trying to remember the tucks and pulls. To her, it appeared to be a delicate operation, with a lot of patience and closeness, a semi-simple gesture of affection. That's how Ellie liked things. Simple.
"Are you here with someone, miss?" asks the husband.
A cheerful waiter sets down a basket of rolls, lights the red candles in the center.
"No," admits Ellie. "Our family's pretty small."
The wife blushes. "So is ours. All that matters is that we're here, right?"
Sure, thinks Ellie, offering her a half-hearted nod. We're here, and some of us won't be. How many people could fill these seats? Her mother, most likely ill from booze? Ashley, stuck in examination mania at Banting? Marco, visiting his grandfather in Naples? The people closest to her are gone.
Lights are lowered as more people fill their seats. Based on her coverage of several campus events, she can detect there's around sixty-five people, not a bad turn out. It was far more than the supportive crowd of the University of Toronto's water polo team. In the shadows, she can detect movement. The shine from the barrel of a gun greets her eyes, metallic, black. Ellie straightens her sleeve.
Guns are positioned on a few shoulders, baring insignia, gold stripes for colonels, arrows for corporals, two crossed swords under crowns. The doors part to a sighing, thoughtful crowd. In straight lines, a group of soldiers march into the room, flags draped as they are held over heads. The clacks from their black shoes pound in Ellie's ears. Ellie smiles fondly.
"Attention!" yells a strong, authoritative voice from the midst of the soldiers.
Uniformed men turn counter-clockwise, step in time, on either side of a grey-haired man in full regalia, shirt carefully decorated with marks of honor.
"Present arms!" calls the same man.
The men to the left snap their guns from their bodies simultaneously, then quickly clip them back. Ellie was always impressed with that movement. It definitely called for a lot of concentration and swiftness, traits she doesn't think she's had lately. Although, given the circumstances, can anyone blame her?
"March!" orders the leader.
In quiet synchronization, they go past the tables, Ellie reading their stoic faces. Some of them were old, weathered faces that have seen way too many battles, too many lives lost. They probably had some idea of the cost, but not everything that went with the full price. Other faces are younger, polished with inexperience, or having seen the violence somehow remain optimistic and well-intentioned. That last one is always behind the face that comes into her mind so easily.
His blue eyes were so piercing in their diligence, shoulders broad like when he held her most nights, uniform ironed and perfectly fitted. She should be looking for him, the one who introduced her to her love of the written word, storybook on both their laps as they read side by side; the guy who remembered to get vanilla ice cream, because it was the best to make root beer floats during the summer; her father, Colonel John Nash, respected member of the armed forces. But she can't.
"They're having some random movie marathon," complained Ellie, rapping the top of the television set to make it work. "Princes. Prince of Tides, the Prince and Me, Prince and the Pauper...a royal flush, if you ask me."
"Careful, because that's an antique," teased Caroline Nash.
"Bad jokes kind of go with the territory," apologized Ellie. "I've been reading dull political manifestos all day."
"Well, you can relax now," assured Caroline, on her third cup of coffee.
If I can find the remote, sighed Ellie inwardly. Her mother managed to drag her away from her isolation, Ellie alternating studying and washing clothes. Ever since the incident with Craig, she felt like being by herself. The way he took advantage of her feelings, the stress he put her through...yeah, she'd take the mind-draining laws of their fair country over those fresh memories. Truthfully, all her homework is done. She was just getting ahead.
Ellie flopped down on the couch, grabbed a pillow. Caroline sat next to her, putting an arm around her daughter.
"So glad you came home this weekend," said Caroline, squeezing Ellie lightly. "It's lonely here. No one to bug, no one to dote on. I can hear the refrigerator making ice. Maybe if I get a plant or..."
"A ferret," joked Ellie.
"Ugh, rodents," groaned Caroline. "No, I'll...I'll just let you be the animal person."
The doorbell rang...once. Hmmm, Ashley was supposed to be dropping off a movie she borrowed from Ellie, but she said it would most likely be tomorrow. Ellie shrugged, patting her mother on the shoulder. Eh, Ash was known to do things early. She, like Marco, didn't like being forgetful.
Ellie sighed, opened the door to a man in a tan uniform, a service uniform. His green eyes were sullen, mouth parted in alarm. He immediately took off his hat, shiny gold badge above the black rim. What kind of outfit is this?
"Are you Caroline Nash, miss?" asked the man in a deep voice.
"I'm Ellie, her daughter," replied Ellie.
She really didn't like the tone of his voice. And what's this guy doing here? If any man's coming to their house in a uniform, it should be her dad. He looked guilty too, as if he shouldn't be talking to her mother. Ellie cast a nervous glance in her mother's direction. Caroline stood awkwardly, shutting off the TV, buttoning her sweater. What was this about? Was she...was she having an affair?
"Mom?" asked Ellie, puzzled.
Caroline joined Ellie in the doorway, hands shaking as she put an arm around Ellie's waist.
"He's hurt, isn't he?" whispered Caroline.
Hurt? Who's hurt? Ellie darted her eyes anxiously from her mother to this stranger, this stranger who's apparently making her mom very upset.
"Ms. Caroline Nash, it is with deepest regret that...I'm very sorry, but your husband, John Nash, perished last week in a siege in Kabul," stammered the man, tears lining his eyes. "I..."
"No," wailed Caroline, covering her mouth, arm falling away from Ellie.
Ellie shut her eyes, to the autumn leaves falling from the dying bark of trees, the newly rescued pumpkins from pumpkin patches, the twilight of their street that will soon go completely dark. Her heart beats with no clear rhythm. She read so many news pieces, but never has news been so immediate, made her grow so cold.
"I'm so sorry," said the man, reaching to touch Ellie's shoulder.
Opening her eyes, she stares at his hand, so strong and moving, so alive. You could see the veins, veins that actually worked.
"You can't come here and say that!" yelled Caroline, pushing the man off the stoop. "You can't...you can't!"
"It's my duty to inform families about...about the fallen," whispered the man. "I've met him a couple times, at the base. He was such a good man."
"Well, you weren't his wife or his daughter," whispered Caroline, glaring at him. "We've been waiting..."
Caroline crouched to the floor, Ellie sitting Indian-style near her. Just seconds ago, her mother was trying to make Ellie feel better, so it's only natural she hold her too. Caroline collapsed into her daughter's arms.
"We've been waiting, Ellie," whispered Caroline against Ellie's hair. "It's...it's not fair. What were we waiting for?"
Ellie provided no answers, her tongue too dry to speak, lump in her throat. Her response was to cry too, because tears are the only words that matter...aren't they? She asked herself the same question. What were they waiting for? The signs started to add up. Her father hadn't called, and he usually did around this time of month. His last call was to wish her a wonderful freshmen year, and to congratulate Caroline on two years of being sober. That meant so much to them, that he remembered both, because he was always so busy. The other sign? Well, Ellie had trouble sleeping the past week. She thought it was over Craig, but...she usually fell asleep anyways. There was absolutely no sleep for two days, before crashing in her room. That hadn't been a problem for her since her father was called to Kabul three years ago. She would stay up nights and worry about him. Sometimes all the pieces fit after all is said and done.
"Of course, there's a service," informs the man, bending to them. "Um, I have a packet, with numbers you can call, details about the funeral...John insisted he have a joint ceremony if it ever were to be the case that he...very loyal to his brothers."
Ellie nodded, accepting the manila envelope.
"My number's in there...Greg Kitson," said the man. "Please read it through and don't hesitate to call. I'm very sorry for your loss."
Greg Kitson tipped his hat to each of them, gently closed the door to them as they huddled in the foyer. When were they going to move? Not sure, thought Ellie. When were they going to make these calls? Not sure, thought Ellie. When am I going to break? Ellie knew the answer to that.
"Mom," choked out Ellie, crying, tears burning into her palms as she covered her face.
"Oh, El, baby," consoled Caroline, holding her tight. "We're going to make it. We're going to."
Ellie snaps to the present, as the familiar face climbs the steps to the stage, slowly, head erect. Greg Kitson offers them a glowing, hesitant smile, goes to the podium. The rest of the soldiers stay in position, the white and red flag fluttering despite a lack of wind.
"Welcome to you all," says Greg Kitson. "My name is Greg Kitson, retired lieutenant and present employee of the Casualty Assistance Department. It is with great honor and a heavy heart that I greet you tonight. Two months ago, our encampment in Kabul was brutally besieged by our enemies. The loss was remarkable, despite the best efforts of our men. I don't need to tell you that they stood strong late that night, despite a lack of sleep, fatigue from that day's peace-keeping efforts. They shielded the weak from harm's way. Because that's what lay in the hearts of these men. They were rescuers by nature, protective of women and children and men, the families of dignitaries who were promoting peace during a difficult war. Thus, it's a tragedy that they were attacked when they were at their most vulnerable, and a testament to their strength that they fought so brilliantly, even if it meant they weren't coming home."
Coming home. Ellie used to have all these grand ideas centered around that sentiment. She and her mother would greet him at the bus station, the same one where they saw him off. They would have their first three-way hug. He'd make some joking comment concerning her new hairstyle or the reduced amount of black in her wardrobe. She'd smell the same soapy smell when he clasped her to him. It would've been better than graduation.
"Yet tonight, we hold their memories close to our hearts, in a season with the same goals they upheld, the goal of peace. Peace unto all men, especially men who fought for our well-being. During this first Christmas, we know it will be hard, yet our community felt compelled to honor your loved ones. We honor them tonight by listing their accomplishments, and honor you, their wives, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, all family members, who have also made sacrifices for our freedom. Those sacrifices being the loss of those dearest to you. It is my privilege to reward these emblems."
Ellie notes some steady tears streaming down a few girls' countenances, some heavy sighing from several men in the audience. It's as if she's right back at her father's funeral, handkerchiefs wiping noses,her mother staring at the casket, Ellie fumbling with a white rose in her lap. Worse was the gun salute, the popping of shells so loud like they were firing directly into Ellie's heart. The act didn't seem to fit a peace keeper like John Nash.
"Present colors!" calls Lieutenant Kitson, folding his hands behind his back, and stomping.
Several men advance from a side entrance, begin to unfurl a wrapped Canadian flag for the audience to view. The husband of the couple with Ellie grabs his wife's hand.
"Our newest recruits will read the biographies of the deceased, and present a symbolic flag to the appropriate parties," announces Lieutenant Kiston, without the need of a microphone. "We hope that you will take them with our sincerest gratitude."
A youth with flaming red hair, identical to Ellie's, comes forward.
"Sergeant Tim Alway," reads the recruit. "Enrolled in the Royal Canadian Army Cadet program at eighteen, Sergeant Alway..."
Ellie's mind drifts as she presses a red-painted thumb against the silver tablecloth. It'd be awhile before they got to Nash, she knows, and she's grateful for that. Anyways, it was her that wrote the obituary, not some biography, for her dad. Caroline just couldn't function. Her mother told her a lie, that they'd make it together, but at the time, she had no clue it was going to be a lie so Ellie can't fault her.
Caroline sniffled, took a shot glass from underneath the counter, opened the bottle of vodka. Ellie, eyes in her Faulkner, walked right past her. Why did she walk right past her? Sleep deprivation, probably. Already enveloped in chapter two, Ellie reached for a mini-bag of pretzels, heard something being poured in the distance. Wrinkling her forehead, Ellie turned, dropped her book instantly.
"Ellie...Ellie, let me have it," snapped Caroline as Ellie went for the bottle. "You...you don't understand. Now you're...you're just a child."
"Eighteen," corrected Ellie, tugging harder. "What are you doing? Two years sober! Don't throw it away!"
Tears fell on her cheeks as Caroline gave one more resolute tug, securing the bottle as Ellie fell to the floor.
"Ow," moaned Ellie, quietly. "Mom...Mom, don't."
"I've already been to the bar, Ellie," confessed Caroline. "Why I was so late today? There's no point in stopping the inevitable."
"Who says it's inevitable?" argued Ellie, skin growing warm. "I need you...more than before."
"I need your father, but that didn't work out," sighed Caroline, then laughing drunkenly. "Cheers!"
"Mom," whispered Ellie.
"Leave me alone, Ellie," sighed Caroline.
Caroline stumbled to the couch, the same couch where they were happy before, preparing to watch some stupid movie. Ellie rarely sat on that couch anymore. The way too familiar sight of her mother drunk on those ugly cushions forced Ellie to retreat to her room, slam the door.
"I can't do this," whispered Ellie, hotly.
She couldn't go through another year or more looking after her mother, letting her schoolwork take a backseat, being afraid to look for romance and to bring Jesse or anyone home.
"I can't!" repeated Ellie, hitting the door with her fists.
The pain doesn't prevent her from clearing her desk hard, pencils and paper meeting the floor, and the program for her father's ceremony in the center of the carpet. She kneeled. Why did he want a joint ceremony? All these names alongside his? He couldn't even have an individual funeral. Why'd he go to Kabul? What did he last say to her? Be brave, Ellie. Well, why'd he have to be so brave? Go on this mission? He assured her everytime he talked that he'd be fine. Well, he wasn't fine, was he?
Savagely opening the drawer of her desk, she found a compass, lay on the floor. She'd bleed too, bleed along with her father, be united in pain with her father. The gleaming metal was so inviting. She can't do this, but one cut won't hurt. Her left hand involuntarily found the right, snapped a rubber band. Felt good. So good. The rhythmic effect forced her eyes to close, and for those few seconds, she was dead to the world as sleep finally won.
Crossing her legs, Ellie starts paying attention again as three other recruits march to the center of the stage. The recruit in the middle has a hat that slightly obscures his face, the black brim casting a shadow over a small nose and full mouth. Ellie didn't view these cadets, as they had come through the gymnasium doors immediately following Lieutenant Kitson's presentation.
As the first of the three recruits reads a speech for Corporal Kyle Nailer, Ellie focuses more sharply on the recruit next to him. His uniform was the most crisp of the three, and you could see his toned build from halfway across the audience.Ellie's aware basic training only takes ten weeks so these guys must be working really hard, and wonders why they aren't taking the night off for some relaxation.
Once the Nailer speech comes to a halt, the recruit steps back. A shaky woman, who Ellie believes to be his widow, walks to him, tenderly takes the flag. She wobbles to her seat, and is comforted by her son. The recruit allows the other low-brimmed recruit to step forward. A voice she hasn't heard in so long echoes throughout the room, more confident than she's ever heard, more resonant in her soul than in anyone else's.
"Colonel John Nash," says Sean Cameron. "A native of Toronto, John Nash enrolled in basic training for the Canadian Army at the age of twenty-one, after obtaining a degree in political science from the University of Toronto, where he received a full academic scholarship. He exuded the qualities of leadership and compassionstaying with the armed forces despite a burgeoning law career. In his career, he served as instructor for many basic training programs, particularly assisting in key areas like topography and engineering. His brilliant mind and kind nature lead to a promotion from Corporal to Sergeant to finally a first division Colonel, and one of the heads of the Afghan-North American Peace Alliance. In his celebrated life, he's served in Cairo, Israel, Pakistan, and Afghanistan, remarkably loyal, incredibly respected. He is survived by his wife, Caroline, and his daughter, Eleanor. Colonel John Nash, we miss you dearly."
Ellie feels sweat at the nape of her neck, nervously runs her hands through her hair. This isn't happening. I mean, the boy I was in love with two years ago can't just magically be in this room, reasons Ellie. My mind is wandering, perfectly understandable given the events of recent months. Last she heard Sean was working for some garage, a rumor she believed when she overhead Marco and Jay talking at Emma's house party. Sean isn't in the army. Well, the army and him would make a good fit, she can't lie. He was so protective of her when they were together, and he tried to do the right thing, and...it isn't him. She's fooling herself.
Taking a deep breath, Sean hands the other two recruits either side of the flag, and they fold it slowly, with precision, making a neat square. They did something similar at her father's funeral, only they presented it to Caroline, who was there. She didn't take up this invitation, however, Ellie standing, chair leg screeching the floor as she walks to the recruits.
Boy, did Ellie wish she was there, though, because this is awkward. Dozens of eyes follow her as she tries to conjure a smile. Failure. Ellie's smile isn't to be as her heart thumps rapidly against her ribcage. Because...it is Sean. He's standing across from her, and he's holding a flag in memory of her father.
Sean's eyes flutter maddeningly, a grin crossing both their lips. His hair is shorter than it was at the party. She'd seen him then, a little disappointed that he kept it so wild and unruly because it wasn't flattering, but didn't have the nerve to talk to him. She was dating Jesse, and he was dating Emma, and after Craig, scrimping on the boy interaction was a necessary evil. Sean's eyes are definitely the same, engaging and sweet. But he's not to be admired that way, because he's taken. She can admire him as someone doing this, though.
"With respect and admiration for your father's contributions to our armed forces," says Sean, loudly.
Ellie blushes, quietly taking the flag.
"Thank you," she whispers, fully smiling now.
Part of her would love to stay here, and part of her knows she has to go back to her seat. The practical trumps the personal, and her feet guide her. Ellie sits.
"You got a cute recruit," kids the wife, beaming at Ellie.
"Stop it, honey," says her husband, shaking his head.
Throughout the rest of the names, Sean stands in the group, never looking at her. Very much aware that's what he's supposed to be doing, it still bothers her. He's the only one she knows in this room, besides Lieutenant Kitson, and really the only one she cares about. The last name read, Lieutenant calls for the men to retreat, doors opened again for a ceremonial exit. With each thudding footstep, Ellie can feel her heart growing weak, her mind going foggy. What if this is the last time she sees him? She didn't get to thank him. Well, not the way she wanted to.
"Ah, dinner," remarks the husband, settling the flag of his own father in his lap.
Sure enough, there are waiters scurrying to each table, with trays of salad in each of their arms. Ellie's nearly bumped in the back of her head as a waiter runs past them to get to another table. In a hurry much?
"I'm not even that hungry," admits his wife, removing a packet of crackers from her purse.
"That's cause you snack all day," teases her husband.
"Well, if the food's good, you can laugh at me then," returns his wife.
Ellie demurely smiles, glances around absent-mindedly. She's starting to wish she had invited someone. Ashley would've been willing if Ellie played the sympathy card, but she wasn't a big fan of the sympathy card. Marco was in Italy, and jerky Craig was in rehab. Jesse was probably bitter over the break-up. Alex? Alex might've been a good choice.
Picking at the salad a waiter sets in front of her, Ellie grimaces. They put croutons in the mix. Ugh, she hates...
"Croutons?" says a voice to her right. "What? They don't want you to eat?"
"Conspiracy," replies Ellie, turning around and staring up at Sean.
Sean removes his hat, holds it in his right hand. Wow, the closer he gets to her, the more gentlemanly he seems. So odd to think that the guy she's seen under car hoods and fixing bathroom sinks is on his way to being an officer.
"You can pick them out, line them in a row, pretend it's strategy," offers Sean, shrugging.
Ellie laughs. "But would I offend anyone?"
"Something tells me Ellie Nash wouldn't care if she offended anyone," whispers Sean, leaning in.
"You'd be right," replies Ellie.
"Mind if I sit?" asks Sean.
"Oh, an empty chair," says Ellie, gesturing to where her mom would've sat. "Might as well."
There's an awkward pause as Sean fills the spot, the young couple staring at him with interest, particularly the wife. Ellie's not sure she likes where her gaze is going.
"Any skinny on what the main course will be?" asks the wife.
"Prime rib, I heard," provides Sean.
"No vegetarian option?" bristles the wife.
"What's wrong with meat?" says her husband.
"Hello? More fat!" explains the wife.
"Vegetarian lasagna," clarifies Sean. "That's what I'm eating."
Emma would approve, thinks Ellie, biting her lip. Eh, those thoughts aren't good to have. Just don't go there, Ellie, she tells herself as the waiter receives their orders.
"I'll have the lasagna too," says Ellie, smiling at Sean.
"Staying trim for a certain someone?" questions Sean, arching an eyebrow.
"None of your concern, Cameron," replies Ellie, straightening the gold nametag on his uniform.
Hmm, she's guessing Sean had no idea that she dated Jesse, or if she was in a relationship at all. Is he fishing? No, it's polite. Then again, should she be polite? Ever since he moved to Wasaga, there have been no calls, no e-mails. Contact was a foreigner to them. He left her in debt, to mail his belongings, to wonder what the status was between them. Well, that last one, pretty obvious. Done. Finito.
Sean sips some water, Ellie clearing her throat.
"So how's life treating you, Sean?" asks Ellie, sarcastically. "Basic training a breeze? Guess you don't have to pay to stay on base, do you? Not like an apartment?"
Spitting out the water, Sean stares at her, cheeks turning pink.
"Was it something I said?" says Ellie, smirking. "Excuse me."
Ellie stands abruptly, weaves through a few recruits who whistle appreciatively in her direction.
"Don't," she hears Sean chastise them as she walks to the hall.
The room adjoining the gymnasium is far more silent now, the two women who greeted her gone. Sifting through her purse, she looks for her car keys. Maybe sitting in her car for a few seconds will help relieve these stupid anxieties. Why does she care that Sean's being ogled by a horny wife, or that he's choosing vegetarian options? It doesn't matter to her who he dates, or what he eats, or that he read that wonderful speech.
"Ugh," mutters Ellie, as she tries to push through the heavy doors.
Of course, they're heavy. They're on an army base.
"It sticks," explains Sean, reaching over her and easily getting the doors open.
"Thanks," says Ellie, refusing to look at him.
Ellie steps into the night, snow whirling around the sidewalk, past her in the parking lot. It's a soft fall, a silent fall. Chilling snowflakes brush across Ellie's nose. Glancing at Sean, he's handsome in the faded streetlights near the building, black army dress pants warmer than her stocking-covered legs.
"Clothes don't cost much either, I'm guessing," says Ellie, shivering.
Sean begins to unbutton his jacket, coughs.
"You won't get in trouble for disrobing?" says Ellie, stopping him. "Don't. Pretty sure it's not allowed."
They stare into each other's eyes, Ellie grinning reluctantly.
"Least I can do," says Sean. "Besides, I'm still in basic training. Don't know any better."
Removing the jacket, he drapes the jacket around Ellie's thin shoulders, and she lets him lead her to the parking lot, a short distance from where they stand.
"Why'd you read my father's name?" questions Ellie, watching the snow blanket the tops of cars, the branches of trees.
"Asked to do it," admits Sean. "Saw his name on the list. The biography basically confirmed it was him. Your dad was a real legend on base."
"I had no idea," breathes Ellie.
"Because he was modest, like you," consoles Sean.
Modest? Not exactly.
"I wasn't modest at the dinner table. I'm sorry," apologizes Ellie.
"Nah, I deserve some digs," waves off Sean. "Leaving you...to do all that."
"You did," says Ellie, grinning.
"Are you going to torture me all night?" sighs Sean. "Please say no."
"Umm..ummm...the jacket won you some points, so no," teases Ellie.
They exchange short glances, Ellie amused the good communication they used to have has remained in tact. Hey, it didn't take much convincing to get him to keep Bueller, did it? And after Craig said "I love you" in a coke-addicted plea, Sean ditching her ranked a little lower on the tragic, romantic scale. At least his "I love you" was genuine, Ellie fiddling with the gold buttons on Sean's jacket.
"I'm sorry for the mess I left you with," says Sean, wrapping the jacket more tightly around her frame.
She can feel Sean's hot breath on her cheek, more thrilling than the heat from the jacket.
"That's on the record?" whispers Ellie.
"For the record," says Sean, rubbing her arms gently. "How's your mom?"
Ellie's eyes fall to the ground. "Not...not good. I mean, there was a good spell. Then, Dad was gone...um, I don't want to talk about it."
She manages to maneuver out of his grasp, Sean gazing at her with curiosity. Let him remain curious. He's in a happy position in his life, with a career, and a girlfriend. She can't unload her problems on him.
"Well, who are you talking to?" whispers Sean, going to her. "Group?"
Ellie looks away.
"You're still going?" asks Sean.
"I've been so busy lately...," begins Ellie.
"That's important, Ellie," interjects Sean. "They really stress teamwork here. You need a support system."
Like he supported her when he left? No, he's speaking out of turn. No dice, Sean.
"Especially now, right?" throws back Ellie, glaring at him. "Because I'm so confused and lost and lonely. Pathetic."
"No," insists Sean.
"Whatev," says Ellie, coldly laughing, starting for her car.
Sean blocks her, folds his arms. He is shivering too, clearly pretending not to as he stands in her way.
"Ellie, you're in college," says Sean, gently. "The walking example of your dad. And you're far from pathetic. You're strong, or else you wouldn't be here tonight. I couldn't face my parents, and you're...you're coming here to acknowledge that your dad's gone? So brave."
Sean has no right to compliment her, not that she's not appreciating them. They're probably some of the kindest words anyone's said to her, significantly better than those countless "I'm sorry for your loss" comments. Man, she got so sick of those. What Sean has no right to say is that she's strong.
"I...I...almost...I almost...," chokes out Ellie.
"Cut?" fills in Sean, lowering his voice.
She starts to cry, vision blurry, snow sticking to the folds of the jacket.
"I'm so tempted," confesses Ellie. "That's why I don't go to group...it's like half of me would love to do it. My mom's drinking so why...why not...why not, Sean?"
Sean swallows a lump in his throat, collects Ellie in his arms. She's not supposed to let him, give in so readily, let her heart be this unguarded. It's just...he's here. He's always been here, with the cutting, her mom, a good chunk of her life. He may've left, but he's here.
"I don't have any strength left," whispers Ellie against his ear.
"The strength comes when you need it most," says Sean, resting his forehead against hers. "That's what they tell me in training. When you're face to face with the enemy, or when you're facing yourself. It seems pretty cheesy, but...I think it applies."
"Been on auto pilot since that last week in October, when Kitson came to our door," says Ellie, eyes burning into Sean's. "Maybe that's how I've been applying it."
"See?" insists Sean. "You'll go to group again? Another cheesy army saying...strength in numbers?"
"I'll go to group," promises Ellie, nodding.
He releases her, too fast, too soon. Okay, yeah, he's off-limits. Why does she keep forgetting that?
"Maybe it'll curb my insomnia too," says Ellie, shaking snow from her hair.
"We have to get up early here...so lame," confesses Sean. "I do like the physical stuff. And the food's not bad."
"Do you study hard?" asks Ellie, wiping her eyes with her hands. "I seem to remember begging you to crack open those books."
"When there's no Montreal Crew around, yeah," returns Sean, winking.
Ellie laughs. "Or Avril Lavigne impressions. What a shame we didn't get to hear Amy's rendition of Girlfriend."
"Coincidentally, one of Manny's favorite songs," informs Sean.
"How appropriate," smirks Ellie. "How is Emma, anyway?"
Sean scratches his neck, twists his lips. "We're...good. Good friends."
"Oh," says Ellie, tucking some hair behind her hair and smiling awkwardly.
Sean beams, shifts his gaze.
"What? What is that look?" demands Ellie.
"No, what was that look?" interrogates Sean, staring knowingly at Ellie.
"You think of yourself way too highly," condemns Ellie, playfully, rocking back and forth on her feet.
"Old habits never die, I see," says Sean, pointing to her feet.
"I always do this," says Ellie, blushing. "You're just used to me doing it in boots. Man!"
Okay, so hearing the Emma information got her a little jittery. He doesn't need to make a big deal of it.
"Hmm, you mentioned cracked open...," starts Sean, walking to the heavy army doors.
Ellie follows, uncertain what's about to occur.
"What, is Jay smuggling in some contraband later tonight?" teases Ellie. "Chocolate cupcakes? Triple X-features?"
"Dirty playing cards...once," reveals Sean.
Ellie gasps.
"Traded them for Eminem's latest CD," explains Sean. "No explanation needed?"
"Not really," replies Ellie.
Sean grins, manages to part the doors, finding a doorstop to keep the open. A beautiful piano melody flows through the hall, out into the night, accompanied by a beautiful, confused voice.
You are what they call the human season
You are all the alphabet in one
You are every colour of confusion
You are all the silence I've become
Sean extends a clean, gentle hand to Ellie. She hasn't danced in so long, and tonight, honoring her father, should she? Shouldn't this be a night where she stays still, reflects? However, isn't she strong enough to go on, move on from the fears and hurt?
"We don't have to," reassures Sean.
"I'm out of practice," admits Ellie, taking his hand.
"I'm not," says Sean, wrapping an arm around her waist.
Ellie, shyer than she'd like to be, folds her arms around Sean's neck as the music plays. There were days when she could've danced with her father, when a flag marking his passing wasn't sitting on a chair, several Christmases perhaps that went by. Yet, would she have felt this secure, this beautiful?
"Never going to dance with my dad at my wedding," says Ellie, on the verge of new tears. "That's a silly thing to think, isn't it?"
"Nah," replies Sean. "He'll be watching."
"Yeah," says Ellie, firmly. "Probably."
"I love dancing with you," whispers Sean, tugging a strand of her hair.
"No complaints either," says Ellie, turning red.
Love me for stupid reasons
I like those most
Wide-eyed but
Worth believing
God knows
Continuing to dance, lyrics coating their movements, Ellie does imagine a wedding, with the colors of midnight blue and silver, perhaps in January, because despite the annoying nature of snow, Ellie's always kind of liked winter. The groom's in black, and she's in white, Ash in dark blue, Marco in silver. The wedding march plays, as pristine and solid as the march of soldiers she used to watch, her father among them, proudly doing his duty. She would've have loved for him to do this duty, to give her away to another man.
Sean tenderly strokes Ellie's cheek, Ellie's heart racing.
Soothe the angry voice that keeps us quiet
The editor whose work is never done
Keeping pretty words between my teeth and
Sweet confessions underneath my tongue
Drowsy contemplation
Do I let you in?
This is my invitation
But how do I begin?
Eh, things never work the way you want them to, and the proof is at home. Her mom had a relapse, and Ellie was close to caving as well. Although, Sean is right. She hasn't caved yet, and given the heartaches, the tiredness, and the temptation, she's made it out alive, a soldier. John Nash would be proud she's here tonight, and proud of her for staying strong.
She stares at the building of the base, grounded, and the boy who grounds her most. Breathing, her visible breath travels between their mouths, and their lips follow suit. It's a kiss of urgency, a hunger to know what else can be. Maybe it's foolish or fast or both, but she can't make her lips stop, her heart stop. Sean pulls her inward, and she believes he feels the same. After a few seconds, they separate, Ellie resting her chin on his firm shoulder, warm in his arms.
"I didn't want to move too fast," assures Sean.
"Don't move," whispers Ellie, feeling Sean halt.
Her heart halts, after having been alive for the first time in weeks. Snow glows in front of her eyes. She can feel the wind in her face, a soft caressing wind, a wind that tells her she might be okay with the passage of time, with the passage of her father.
She has such an awful lot of soldiers
Quite a lovely army all her own
Night and day they stand before the fortress
Very safe but very all alone
When the wind fades, the snow comes down harder, more pressing. It may take awhile to end, but it will. This grief will end. With Sean, she'll wait and see. He's not going anywhere...for now. Let the world stand still. Let the cold be beaten by the warmth of them for a second. Let this cover the grief like snow. It's allowed.