A/N: I have to say, I'm actually happy with this one. I hope you like it, too. One day I'll get to writing characters OTHER than Chichi or Goku, but heck, when inspiration strikes, best thing to do is kick back and let it happen! Anyhow, this one is different from anything I've ever written. It's a Point of View from a different perspective, with flowery wording instead of the usual straightforward approach I take when writing from someone's viewpoint. I do hope you like it, though.
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When the Dandelions Grew
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I looked out of my window this morning and my heart stopped beating.
The dandelions were growing.
It wasn't the first time the little nymphs brought tears to my eyes, but never had their presence attacked me with such a grief. Their subsistence had always given me a sort of peace in times of tribulation and an anchor in times of incertitude. But it wasn't so much the flowers themselves as it was the memories I associated with their attendance.
In days far past, times whisked away by the dawning of maturity, I vividly remember a small boy with ebony hair and the girl who adored him in a field full of dandelions. Having met only earlier that day under whimsical circumstances, all of their bashfulness melted away as they blew seedlings at each other. That was the day I met my seraph. It was a peculiar and extraordinary occurrence that we ever came to know each other in the first place, and by all accounts incredible that we ended up as we did. I fancied myself refined in those days, and he had no more respect for aristocracy than had an insurrectionist. But I'd never fallen so hard in all of my days as I did on that one, so I know that the Keeper of the Stars had more than a hand in it.
But regardless of scrutinizing evaluations, I always ally my first encounter with Goku in exquisite clarity by the presence of dandelions.
On our wedding day they congregated about my feet as I walked towards my fiancé, no longer a scruffy, thickset adolescence, but a tall, svelte, willowy young man. His gentle, caring nature and delicate touch settled the butterflies flittering inside of me, but the intense wildfire that chorined in his sable eyes discorded my confidence.
I loved him, that I knew, but was I, a child of eighteen years, qualified to commit my faithfulness, my loyalty, my heart and my life to a restless, star-crossed voyager who ran with the wind and danced among the clouds? My dilemma was not one of easy reconciling, and I found myself doubting the potency of my actions.
In a capricious attempt for conciliation, I picked a dandelion and made a wish for assurance in my motives. It was a childish performance in a show of such foolish superstition, but I was hardly an adult and needed any kind of promise to which I could cling. I inhaled deeply and blew in an attempt to scatter each seed from the base, sacrificing their fortunes to the four winds. All of the seedlings were gone by the time my breath was extinguished, thus affirming my wish would be granted.
I felt slightly better after that, but I wasn't completely sustained.
My heart raced as I took my place beside him. A sea of doubt washed over me and deep-laden insecurities scuttered about my mind like a languished zephyr. I was nearly to the point of quaking when his eyes caught mine. They were as restive as ever, but I saw a glint of another sentiment beneath their dark, elfin exterior.
There was an uncertainty in their glossy depths, a sight uncommon for his person. But there was also found an extreme determination, a fiery forge of purpose flickering within him.
I knew in that moment that he was experiencing something akin to my feelings. That he wasn't always self-assured, and that he, too, was having his doubts.
And something about that made it all right. To this day I can't explain why.
I subtly reached over and took his hand in mine. I was surprised to find it shaking! I had no idea he was so nervous! A sudden calm filled me and I squeezed his hand. As I did, I visibly saw his diffidence melt away. He smiled slightly and returned the gesture. And as he did, I felt secure.
I kissed him then without any insecurities plaguing my consciousness, even though the butterflies still refused to disband.
As the years rolled by, the coming of the spring dandelions always made me appreciative of what had been given to me. Life with Goku wasn't always easy, and I'd be a liar if I said we never fought, but when the presence of the tiny seed blossoms invaded the perimeter of our yard, I realized how much I loved him. With the dandelions came the memories of significant times in our life together, and they inadvertently called my attention to my husband.
And though I loved him more in those moments than I had loved him at first, I found myself wishing that I could experience it over again. I don't know then what I would have given, but it would have been much and of great value if I could only return to a time before when the dandelions grew.
The dandelions pervaded the air the day that our son was born. The warm, May breeze blew the delicate buds against the transparency of the hospital window as I held our first-born in my arms. Goku held me in his. I never remember feeling so simplistically contented as I did in that moment.
I saw Goku in ever part of our son, in every movement, every turn, every smile and every touch, Gohan grew to be like his father. I preferred it that way. As much as I'd never admit it to Goku, I preferred it that way.
Life was good and times were peaceful, and with each spring dandelion my life grew happier.
Then, one horrid day, both of my loves left. I knew Goku would come back, but I wasn't sure that I'd ever see Gohan again. That spring was spent alone and was one of the loneliest times I'd ever known. Every day of the season when I'd happen upon a seed blossom, my spirits would drop as I thought of Goku, so far away and gone for so long.
The dandelions gave me little happiness that year, and I'd have given so very, very much to return to a time before when the dandelions grew.
But, months before the next spring, Goku and Gohan both returned to me. Never had I been so relieved for the safety of anything, yet I alluded my relief with anger and indignation on Goku's part. I did so because I couldn't let him see how much I cared. I wasn't supposed to love someone so much, but I did.
To show my affection for Gohan was easy, as it was maternal and expected, but to openly display my source of weakness in my feelings for my husband would have torn me. I wanted so to leap upon that unforgiving hospital bed and wrap my arms around his broken body, yet I retained my compulsion for my pride's sake.
Imagine my remorse when he left me again. I had seen my son off with hugs and love, but my husband had received neither. I affirmed that at his inevitable return I'd tell him all that I kept inside.
But when the dandelions showed again that spring, Gohan was the only one who had returned. Goku was said to be alive, though some doubted. The dandelions had never drooped so that spring. I even found myself wishing on them again for his return. I'd have given nearly anything in those days to return to a time before when the dandelions grew.
The following spring he had still not come home. I kept myself from thinking of it, because when I did, I grew frantic. I knew he'd come home. He just had to come home.
One late summer evening, around about dusk, when the silver clouds collide with the lavender shadows of the amber sun and the evening skies sprinkle themselves with stars, I felt his presence within the deepest part of me. I whirled around, and as sure as my soul lives he was there, the dying rays of Sol illuminated him and set little shadows about his face.
I flew to him and wrapped my arms around him so tightly I thought that they'd break! I wanted to tell him so much, about the things that I'd missed about him and all of the times I had been wrong. But in that stitch of time, I was unable to do anything more than cleave to him with all of my strength.
When I began to cry, he kissed me and promised never to leave me again. The sincerity of his vow blazed with such a passion that I cried just for the knowledge that I'd never be alone again. He kissed me again before picking me up and carrying me into our house, trampling dandelions beneath his boots as he did so.
True to his word, years passed and he never left me once. I was truly happy once more, and my life was a surrealistic fantasy.... Until reality came to call.
The last time I remember being contented at the dandelions was a time of no real consequence in our life. Gohan had gone to bed, and we lie together in ours. The winds of midsummer beckoned us, so we opened our bedroom window. The dusty beams of the silver crescent moon lighted our entire room in an ethereal embrace. The warm breeze passed through the open frame, causing the curtains to dance softly. It breathed warmly over us, and he drew me closer against him, making me even warmer than before. The last thing I was conscious of before lulling to sleep was the airborne dandelion seeds floating in sporadic waves into our room.
Just days later, my Goku started complaining of heartburn. I ignored his expostulations and told him to slow his eating habits. If only I had known.
Shortly after, he was cultivating his skills on the front lawn as was his routine. I was watching him through the kitchen window as he practiced his martial arts. Suddenly, he fell to the ground in a heap, clutching his chest desperately.
I ran to him and was by his side instantly. At first I thought he had merely injured himself amidst his training until I saw his hands pressed to his chest. But more than that, the tears streaming down his tawny face led me to know something was terribly wrong. I ran back to the house and called for help, but when I returned, he was no longer thrashing.
Uncertain of what to do, I hit my knees and pulled his head into my lap, stroking his hair and whispering gently. I thought at first he was unconscious until he reached up to still my hand.
Then, through airy breathing, he began talking of the old days when we were children, when we were married, when Gohan was born. I credited his talk to dilution, but it scared me.... It scared me worse than I could admit.
It wasn't until he told me that he loved me that I started to cry. I was more than scared, I was terrified at his words. I tried to reassure him that help was coming, but he didn't seem to understand or care. Taking notice of my tears, he laid his hand against my face and apologized for being gone so long. When he did that, I broke entirely.
I held his head tightly against my chest and let everything go. I told him how sorry I was for the times I didn't apologize and how I wished that I could undo everything. He murmured a pardon, but it did little to comfort me.
I could hear the vehicle approaching our house, winding speedily over the mountain at rapid speed. But just before I was able to catch it in my sight, my Goku fell limp against me.
When they would get here, we'd take him inside where he would live for a few more hours, but he'd never come back to awareness again. As far as I was concerned, he had died in my arms among the dandelions.
So you see, dandelions mean much to me. They recall me to a time of childhood innocence, when a young girl fell in love with a young boy.
The beckon my vision to a girl, dressed in white, holding the shaking hands of a boy at the alter, or of the steady hands of a man holding the mother of his newborn son in a hospital room.
They call to mind a lonesome woman, waiting restlessly for her son.... And then for her husband, who arrived to her late one evening in the brilliance of the amber sunset after a years worth of prayers
They remind me of a husband and a wife lying in complete euphoria in the tranquility of a midsummer's night.
And they remind me of a woman, dissolved to a scared little girl as she held the body of her dying husband in her arms.
Now you know why dandelions make me cry sometimes.
But even though Goku all but died as I held him, even as I felt his pulse still as he lie in our bed, even as I wept relentlessly at his funeral, even as I was forced to bury him in the cold, dark earth, I somehow felt as if he was going to come back to me someday. That one evening, I'd walk out into the yard and he'd be there as he came before.
But, this morning, as the sun kissed my face and filled the empty place beside me....
This morning, as I walked into the kitchen to open the window and let the cool, spring breeze blow through the house....
This morning as I looked longingly onto the little mound of dirt where my Goku lies....
This morning the dandelions grew over his grave, and I knew I wouldn't see him anymore.
It all hadn't been real until this morning, and that's why I cry.
Maybe it's Goku's way of saying hello.... Or maybe it's his way of saying goodbye. I suppose I'll never know.
But now, with all of my heart, I swear I'd give my very life just to return to a time before....
When the dandelions grew.
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A/N: This one's for Chrystalline, whom without there would be no Goku and Chichi romances. This is also for Mira, my best friend on earth, whom is my inspiration for every day life. I love you both. And to you, thanks for reading.
