Confetti
Another one shot, inspired by the song "My Kind Of Rain" by Tim Mcgraw (yay for country/western songkicks, right?). No copyright owned by me for anything here.
She sits quietly there, water in a jar,
Says,'baby why are you trembling like you are?'
She's my kind of rain, like love from a drunken sky,
Confetti falling down all night,
She's the sun set shadows, she's like Rembrandt's light,
She's the history that's made at night,
She's my lost companion, she's my dreaming tree,
Together in this brief eternity, summer days, winter snows.
He's sitting on the windowsill of Andy's room, looking out at the gathering clouds, much in the same way Jessie used to when she was brooding at Al's apartment. Only this time instead of an owner to pine for, there's a lost love.
Stealing a glance back over behind him at the room, he can see the nightstand just to the other side of the bed. There, sitting in plain view, is the modern, silver bottomed, red shaded click lamp.
Sitting in HER place.
Nausea rises in his throat. He must have looked at that lamp a hundred times. It never gets any easier.
Turning back, he can see her reflection like a mirage in the closed windowpane. Shimmering there, smiling at him.
She used to smile like that all the time. The first time he saw her in Andy's room, she was standing on the table near Molly's crib, back when the children shared a bedroom in the old house. He remembered hauling himself up there to greet the newcomer, and on laying eyes on her, he was smitten. And for all intents and purposes, she was too.
She moved around over the years, from nightstand to to the desk and then back to the nightstand. Every time she froze on the lamp, she was perfectly still, quiet, a composition, a painting, a statue, a piece of art.
But throughout it all, he knew he was hers, and she was his. The kiss they had shared at Christmas just after they had moved to the new house still burned a hole in his memory. Either way, she left her mark.
The thing that really haunted him was her leaving. She had pre-empted it, told him about it, and they had shared their love a few weeks previous, made history and memories all at the same time.*
Shortly after, she'd caught him sitting alone one bright summer day, pondering to himself, and settled herself down on his lap, her skirts flitting merrily outwards.
"What's the matter, cowboy?" He shrugged, and she poked his chest. "What's got you all atremble?" He shook his head and she smiled down at him. "You're worried about us being separated, aren't you?"
He nodded slowly, and she pushed his hat back so she could look deep into his eyes. "It hasn't happened yet."
"I know, Bo." He sighed, and wrapped his long arms around her slender waist. "I just…I don't know what I'm going to do around here without you. You're my companion."
"You have Jessie and Buzz for that too." Bo reminded him with a smile, and Woody laughed.
"Oh I know, Bo. Believe me. But you're my rock."
Bo raised an eyebrow. "Nice analogy."
"You know what I mean."
"I'd rather not be something small and stout."
"Okay, fine…you're my…." Woody glanced around, and in doing so, noticed the birch tree, outside of the window. It had just started to blossom a few days ago, and was sprouting white blooms.
"My dreaming tree."
Bo laughed delightedly. "I like that."
Woody smiled. "I've got an idea." He got up, and took her hand, leading her to the door of the bedroom.
"Woody!" Bo gasped, "I've never been out of this room. Where are we going?"
"Shhh," Woody urged her, tugging her from the room.
About five or so minutes later they had peeked through the flap in the door where Buster usually came and went. The coast was clear, so Woody hopped through and assisted the shepherdess through, making sure her skirts didn't get caught.
Outside, he led her round the house, so they were standing right by the birch tree. There was a wind blowing, and Bo clutched her bonnet with her free hand to stop it flying off.
"Woody, please, what…" she started, as the wind gently jostled the beech tree, the petals of the flowers flying off and swirling down to them.
Woody held out his hands. "You remember that wedding Andy took me to when he was a little boy, that friend of his mothers who got married?"
Bo nodded, it was a few years ago now.
"They had this ceremony, I don't know what it was for exactly, but afterwards the guests got to throw this paper stuff, I think they called it confetti." Woody grasped at the air, plucking the petals falling down, then turned to Bo and sprinkled them over her.
Bo laughed quietly as the soft white petals danced down her dress and caught in her hair. She took her bonnet off and shook out her hair, grasping Woody's hands and pulling him close to her.
Woody embraced her, pulling her close and tipping her chin up. Bo dropped her bonnet on the ground as their lips met and the petals continued to fall around them.
When they pulled back, Woody pushed her blonde hair back out of her face, and took her hands again. "You're right, I've been thinking. I don't want you to leave me. But at least we've had this brief eternity together. And I wouldn't change that for the world."
"You're not afraid?" Bo whispered.
"Of course I am," Woody admitted gently, not letting his gaze falter for a moment. "But I'm not going to let it worry me. You're right. It hasn't happened yet. And I intend to love you for the rest of our days together."
"You love me?" Bo asked, her eyes wide, and Woody nodded, leaning down to kiss her.
"And now, m'lady, how about we go up to the roof and watch the sunset?"
Bo smiled and allowed Woody to lead the way.
Woody remembered that evening . They'd sat up on the roof until it got to twilight hours, curled up together, then snuck back into the room. It was to be one of the last times they had spent together over the summer.
In the fall, Andy's mother cleaned out the garage, and Andy's room. Woody bit his lip, also remembering his abject horror as Bo was picked up with her lamp and carried from the room.
That was it. No goodbye. Nothing. It just happened.
It was now winter, and Woody shivered a little. At first he thought it must be the memories, and then he took another glance out of the window. To his surprise, there were these petals falling through the air. He rubbed his eyes with both hands and looked again, then at the sky. The rapidly gathering clouds must have been some kind of stormclouds, for it was not petals he saw, but snowflakes.
Outside he now heard the shrieks of the excited children in the garden, and looked over to see Andy and Molly playing and throwing snowballs at each other, all wrapped up in hats, scarfs, gloves and warm winter coats.
When he glanced back at the windowpane, he saw Bo again in the reflection, her mirage shimmering. As he watched her, he saw the snowflakes fall around her as if for real. They settled around her skirts, caught in her hair, and he was once again reminded of that day in the garden almost six months ago.
He opened the window before he could stop himself. Trying to be as quiet as possible about it, so as not to alert any of the family - or any other toys. He popped his head out of the window cautiously, holding out one hand, the snow settling on him as it swirled and fell downwards, caught by the wind. He stepped back, and looked down at himself, covered over with snow, like Bo was covered over with petals.
And he couldn't help thinking this was love sent to him from above.
*refers to my fiction Making Memories.