Memories of Love
He ambles down the hallway in a daze, kicking off his shoes as he goes. His hands are up by his neck, loosening his tie that he flings carelessly to the floor along with his muddy dress shoes. A heavy, mournful sigh falls from his lips as he grows nearer to his destination, the will to move abandoning his muscles with every step.
It has rained all morning; the sky opened up and poured down its rage of gloom and despair, seeming to mirror the sharp pain that shot through him with every move he made for the first half of the morning.
By now, as he walks down the hallway to their room, his suit practically soaked through despite his use of an umbrella, the pain has faded to a dull hum that buzzes in his brain and chest, numbing him from the inside out.
His hands lift to take in the room where they had lay together just days before; she, curled up against him, and he, with his arms surrounding her, promising her, protecting her.
That same room, once a center of solace, of peace, for him, is now in disarray. Clothes are strewn everywhere; some were hers, most are his. He'd torn apart the contents of their drawers and closet as he'd attempted to get dressed. He'd had no idea what to wear this morning.
What does a man wish to wear to bury his love long before he is ready to say goodbye?
The service was lovely, he recalls, as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches for his socks, flimsy and damp, and he pulls his feet free before the socks join the mess of clothing already littering the hardwood floor.
He remembers the flowers - they were lilies, her favorite. Dozens of bouquets had filled the church house, and, at his request, she held a bouquet in her hands as she rested peacefully in her casket.
It only felt right that his love go to Heaven with a piece of her earthly happiness placed in her palms.
Pushing away the memories of the morning, he rises from the mattress and ambles around the room, touching everything, remembering everything. A hand brushes across the comforter that covered the bed at one point and memories rise in his mind. Thoughts of her, and him, tangled up in each other and a mess of white sheets overwhelm him; the feeling of her skin against his as their bodies moved in perfect sync, professing love, and lust, and devotion. The most vivid of these nights, of these memories, is the night they wed.
He remembers the way his hands roamed her skin, the way her soft curves met the weight of his steely form. He remembers closing his eyes once they reached the stars and came back down, and he remembers the ache that filled his chest; the good ache, the one that told him he had found finality with the woman he held in his arms as they breathed one another in. In the days that followed, he recalls, he was filled with happiness, and his heart danced about in his chest every morning when he awoke with her at his side, and it skipped a myriad of beats every time he heard her smile, thinking of an image in his mind.
Today, he did not wake with her at his side, nor did he have her endless smile to greet him. He frowns as his thoughts shift and make the dull hum in his chest grow stronger, sharpening. Remembering her makes him ache more than he wishes to. Remembering her, and that night, hurts the worst.
Sadly, the night they wed is a mere seven months behind him.
Who decides when lovers leave their loved ones? He wonders, as he begins to gather clothes from the floor, tending to hers first. Who decides to tear lovers apart and leave one with hardly a thread to hang onto?
Some cruel, bitter soul, he decides, as he neatly folds her negligee and sets to work on the rest of her garments.
Their room, their home, is a bit of a mess, and it has been for the past few days. He grimaces as he imagines her above him in Heaven, staring down at him, her hands on his favorite hips as she shakes her head, her lips painted in a knowing smile. Normally, his image of her silently scolding him with a smile on her face would make him smile in return, but today he can't seem to manage one.
She was always the neat one – although he was self-sufficient since his accident, sometimes he would miss things to clean. At one point, he had hired someone, until he found it fruitless to be depending on someone and he learned how to work through everything without sight. She had come from living in a guest house, cleanliness practically demanded of her, while he had been living on his own in an apartment, his own cleanliness only commanded at his discretion.
Since his accident in Baghdad, Auggie had learned to depend on himself and only himself. Even though his brothers were in constant contact, all of them lived pretty far away – too far to root up their families to take care of their younger brother. He had insisted not to let his own disability, as he hated his blindness being called, get the best of him. And he wasn't going to let anyone in unless absolutely necessary.
That was, until a pretty girl who took to covert ops like a fish took to water came into his life.
He met her on her first day – kitten heels and grapefruit perfume, he remembered clearly. He had given her a tour, and when she had started to ask about something, he had interrupted, comparing himself to Ray Charles. It turned out that she had only wanted to know what the headphones around his neck were for, not about his accident. It was a first – not pity first, not shock first, but just understanding.
Her name had been mentioned at some point. Annie. Beautiful. In return, he had given his. August – Auggie, preferably.
He and Annie became fast friends, allies in a world where trust was a fragile rarity. He was often the voice in her ear as she went through missions for the DPD. She more often than not gave him rides to his home, so he wouldn't have to spend money on a cab. And drinks after work became a small ritual, along with Friday morning coffee and horror stories of Annie's sister's dinner parties. Mondays had become pastry day, and such, their week seemed to revolve around those rituals, unless one of them, mostly Annie, was not around to participate.
In those cases, Auggie would find himself smiling and telling her that she was gone for Ritual, and as such, she was disowned as a friend. Most times she would hum a quiet acknowledgment and then carry on with her job. Of course, Annie could never be disowned as a friend, especially one Auggie held dear.
On a particular winter Thursday, she had invited him to go to dinner with her, instead of being paired with one of Danielle's duds. He had jokingly implied that he was not a dud, but a stud. But despite his joking attitude, his nerves were awry the entire ride to her house, though there was no reason for him to be so uneasy. Her family greeted them with warm smiles, her sister asking for his coat and showing him where the coat rack was mounted in the closet, where she would place his coat during his visit. He took his shoes off at the door and left them by the mat, following Annie's example. He smiled as he heard her greet her family with cheerful laughter, and, he presumed, tight embraces.
Auggie couldn't help the feeling of home with Annie's family. How long had it been since he had last been at an actual Anderson family gathering? Maybe two or three years, he thought – his accident had always been a touchy subject, especially with his father, and facing that pain so soon wasn't something he was prepared with.
The dinner had been pleasant, not an awkward moment of silence met. The meal had been exquisite, and with Auggie's heightened sense of taste, it had been even more magnificent. Going out with Annie for a walk around her block had been expected, and when she asked about his family, Auggie wasn't surprised.
He told her about her father had been a military man, and so had two of his brothers, and now, one of his brothers was going to be a military physician and surgeon, and the other was an interpreter for all the military branches. And including him, up until his accident, the Anderson family was heavily involved in the military. It was Anderson pride, or so his father would have all of them believe, that made them enlist – they were upholding the family name.
Although he didn't try to resent anyone because of his accident, he had admitted to Annie, he couldn't help but resent his father a little. It was because of him that he had decided it was right to enlist, and that simple action would set off a chain reaction of events that would eventually lead to his blindness.
A silence had ensued, and Auggie had felt uneasy sharing so much with Annie, but it had felt only natural after she had let him into her home, and had let him meet the family she always talked so vivaciously about.
"Well, despite all that, I think you've handled everything well." Her simple words gave Auggie reassurance he didn't think he'd receive from her. "Did you enjoy Thursday night dinner party?"
"I did. It was different." Auggie had admitted.
"A good different, hopefully?" Annie had asked timidly. It was obvious that his good word of her family meant a lot.
"Definitely a good different." He assured her. And that was that.
Maybe a week and a half after the Thursday night dinner, Auggie had gotten the courage to ask her out on a date – a real date. Not a lunch date, or a quick round of drinks after work. He was slightly surprised when she said yes. Though he'd had an inkling that she would, the fact that she indeed had, well, it sort of startled him.
After his accident, the close relationship with his family had burnt a bridge – a bridge that was slowly being rebuilt with Annie's help. Even as more complex missions meant less contact with the CIA itself, and less time hearing Auggie over the earpiece, he never lost her company. Annie was always there when he needed her to be, and vice versa. She came by his place often, to help with simple things that he might've missed. Their relationship was tangible, but unimposing. There was never been any imposing in their friendship, and the next step wasn't different in that aspect.
Annie had mentioned off-handedly one afternoon as she helped him wash dishes from their meal, that she hoped he planned to share those duties with her in the future. "I won't be a housewife, Auggie. I don't work at the CIA for my health," she'd told him, giving him a smile as they both laughed, she knowing as well as he that he would never show her such chauvinism.
His eyes sparkled as the realization of what she'd said dawned on him, and his laughter subsided. "You just spoke of a future with me, Annie," he said softly, unsure of whether or not she realized herself what she'd said to him.
"I did," she replied as she smiled.
"You'd like a future with me, Annie?" he asked. His heart raced at the thought; a future with Annie as his wife. It was a bright future, of that he was certain.
"I'd love that," she'd replied.
A year later found them at another Thursday night dinner – this time at his home, and no duds, just Auggie and Annie. That evening, Auggie dropped down on one knee precariously and asked her to marry him.
Annie said yes, and this time, he was not surprised. Overjoyed, he slid the ring onto her slender finger, and then he picked her up and spun her around, before preparing to make a thousand phone calls to all sorts of relatives.
Planning began almost immediately, the couple managing to get everything in order as they also juggled their careers and moving in together officially. Announcing their engagement at the DPD offices had been followed by a celebration – everyone, even Joan, had given their congratulations and well wishes for a long and happy marriage.
They were wed in the middle of April of the following year. Although Auggie couldn't see anything, he had been reassured by guests and Annie alike that everything was gorgeous. A part of him was in shambles that he wouldn't be able to appreciate his fiancée walking down the aisle, prepared to be his wife. But the moment she stepped forward and he caught a trace of her usual grapefruit scent and lilies, he knew he would manage just fine.
According to Annie, the dress was white, of course, accented with a pink ribbon around the waist and one in her hair, to compliment the bright stargazer lilies in Annie's bouquet.
He stops suddenly, at the memory of his wedding day. He's folded everything he picked up from the floor now, and he smiles as he runs his hands over the t-shirt Annie wore to bed at night, when she wasn't planning to seduce him with that negligee.
He could practically feel Annie floating down the aisle, the small gasps and whispers of admiration. He'd heard from his best man, one of his brothers, that she'd looked absolutely radiant, and although he could not see it, he could feel her smile the entire afternoon, probably stretched across her entire face. The feeling of her smile hadn't disappeared once, and he was sure that her smile hadn't disappeared as well. She was ecstatic, as was he.
Spring was in full bloom – he could tell by the light breeze and the fact that the subtle scent of blooms in the air that it was perfection. It wasn't too hot, nor too cold, and he adjusted his bow tie nervously as he heard her near him before cramming his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants.
He took Annie's hand as her father stepped down both figuratively and literally, and Annie clasped his hand tightly, as he felt her eyes on him and her lips spread into a smile. She whispered "I love you" to him, and he grinned in response. Then, the ceremony came and went.
He realizes as he relives that spring day that he doesn't remember the details of the ceremony. He faintly remembers their vows, but honestly, he was so eager to become Annie's husband that it was all he could think about, and once the words were announced that he and Annie were joined as one in front all their loved ones, he felt his life had just begun.
After a night of festivities and love and hugs from all of their guests, he and Annie said goodbye to their parents and adjourned to the home they planned to share, all of their belongings having been moved from their old apartment into the house in the weeks prior to the wedding.
His father gave him a genuine hug, and he'd actually returned it with fervor. Their relationship had begun to improve in the year prior to the wedding, thanks to the efforts of Annie, never pushy, but simply suggesting that she attempt to talk to him and let the rest fall into place.
Things had fallen into place, he realizes, as he picks up a stack of folded clothing and turns to the dresser behind him. He and his father have something he can actually call a relationship now, which comes as a surprise to him every day, but was more than appreciated today, during the service. His father had given him a long, tight hug as they said a final prayer at the cemetery where Annie now lays to rest. That hug, it meant more than he can ever begin to express through words. He hopes his father knows that.
He pulls open the top drawer and places the clothes inside, smiling as the box Annie left resting in the corner is grazed by his hand. He debates with himself for a moment before he decides to lift the box from out of the drawer, clasping it in his hands as he walks over to his bed to sit down for a moment.
Carefully, he eases the top off the small box, jewelry-sized – it's from a silver choker necklace he'd given Annie for her birthday a couple of years ago. He places the lid beside him on the mattress and pulls the small tape recorder out, along with the first tape.
Tapes. Inside the box, there are countless tapes, all from Annie. Some are five seconds long, some have many background noises and some have only silence and soft breathing as background noises. Each has a label, one in Braille, and one in English, he presumed.
The first he pulls from the box is not labeled, and his smile fades slightly as he opens the tape recorder and places the tape inside. This one is the most recent, he realizes, from about a week prior.
It simply states quietly, with no background noises, "You look pretty great when you wake up in the morning. Don't worry, I'm still here. In the kitchen, making us breakfast. Hurry up with that shower and join me, Lover! Love, Annie."
He smiles as he remembers the circumstance of that particular tape. It was a Saturday; she'd left it on his clothes set aside above the dresser, and he'd found it when he emerged from the bathroom after taking his morning shower.
During the short span of their marriage, Annie left him tapes just about anywhere and everywhere. Sometimes they were reminders to pick things up from the store while he was out; other times, they were sweet little love notes, like this one, tucked into the pocket of his slacks, hidden away in his briefcase. Either way, he's never found the will to throw them away, and so he's kept them tucked away in one of Annie's unused jewelry boxes, hiding it from view underneath some of his t-shirts in the corner of the top dresser drawer. He had learned quickly to always have a tape recorder that could play tapes as well with him. It had become instinctual.
He rewinds the tape and places it next to the lid on the bed before reaching into the box for another one, this particular one labeled with the date and the word 'errand' only.
"We're out of toothpaste. Get some while you're running errands this morning? I like your Colgate smile and lack of morning breath. So keep 'em coming, Handsome. Love, Annie."
He listens through several more until his chest begins to ache with longing. He misses her. He misses everything about her – her hair tickling his chest as they lay in bed in the morning on Sundays, the sound of her footsteps across the hardwood floors, the unexpected kisses she would pepper across his face at random intervals.
Anger fills him now, the ache in his chest turning into a burning sensation built from his rage. He growls and balls a hand into a fist before he begins to snatch up the tapes lying upon the mattress. Before he knows it, tears begin to stream down his face as he struggles to breathe. He can barely pay attention to his remaining four senses with his emotion, but still he clutches the tapes in his grip and furiously shoves them back into the box.
He grabs the lid once the last tape has been placed back into the box and he slams it down on top. An animalistic roar tears from his throat as he hurriedly rises to his feet, practically throwing the box of tapes into the still-open dresser drawer.
He grasps the edge of the drawer to steady himself, but it does nothing to help, as his knees fail him quickly. He descends to his shins now, a mess of a man, and he falls apart in his hands before stretching himself across the hardwood floor, letting the sensation of the cold wood shock his warm, fury-flushed skin. He cries, shakes, convulsing as he fights and continuously fails to breathe properly.
Annie wasn't supposed to go so soon. She wasn't supposed to go like this. She wasn't supposed to leave him without saying goodbye. They'd made a deal; as long as he accepted the fact that she was still working extremely dangerous missions, she wasn't to leave him when he wasn't present to attempt to save her or to say goodbye.
But she had, passing when something had gone awry – a gun shot loudly and that was that. He had left to go get some coffee at Joan's urgency – he had been up for 32 hours straight and either needed to go home and rest, or pick up some energy somehow. Refusing the former, he went to go get coffee. He was only gone for twenty minutes, he recalls. Twenty minutes; that was all.
It had been twenty minutes too long.
He curls into a ball, drawing his legs in and wrapping his arms around himself as he continues to sob. It takes a while for him to stretch out his arms, and when he does, he feels the soft material of his slippers. Pressing upward, he realized that they are slightly pushed under the bed frame. His slippers! He hasn't been able to find them for weeks; when he'd asked Annie, she'd said she hadn't seen them.
Pulling them forward into the light of day, he realizes that there is something inside one of them. His breath catches as he realizes what he has found – a tape, no label whatsoever.
For a moment, he smiles. He has a feeling now that Annie knew exactly where his slippers were. Urgently, he pulls the tape from the slipper, and he puts it into the tape recorder, which was lying idlely on the bed. His fingers trembling all the while, he shakily presses play and waits.
Silence. And then her voice. He rewinds and plays it again, his ears greedily processing every single word, every single movement her mouth is probably making along with her words. He can imagine her recording this, her lips pressed close to the recorder. He rewinds and plays it again. And again. And once more, turning down the volume drastically, so only he can hear the words now.
"When you're home alone, think of me. When your heart will be neither silent nor calm, think of me. Think of the way I touched you; think of the ways in which you touched me. Feel my breath on your cheek. Feel my tears upon your chest. Feel my head in the crook of your neck. Hear your name falling swiftly, sweetly from my lips. When you call upon faith in times of desperation, think of me. When you can't crawl out of bed because you miss me so much it cripples you, please, Love, think of me. When the ache inside your chest burns too fiercely to be ignored, do not turn your back to the pain. Just smile, and think of me. I'll bet you eighty-five cents and a box of lemon drops that I'll be thinking of you, too. Love You Always, Your Annie."
Annie loved lemon drops. They were her favorite candy; it was something he learned early on in their relationship, he recalls with a smile. The first pack he bought her, he purchased them for their first Valentine's Day, and they cost him exactly eighty-five cents.
For just a few moments, he can breathe. For a moment, he feels her, feels her hand upon his forehead, brushing his hair back out of the way. He feels her lips touch the skin of his forehead, clammy and damp with sweat and rain. He's forgotten that he's still wearing his soggy and wrinkled clothing from the funeral, and he lets himself forget for just a moment more.
Then, he rises from the floor and places the recorder with the tape still inside atop the dresser before wiping his eyes. He pushes his slipper back underneath the dresser with his toes to join the other, and then his hands find the box, its lid ajar, in the top drawer.
Carefully, he lifts it out of the drawer and removes the lid fully, placing both it and the box on top of the dresser. He lifts the recorder then, pressing play to hear the words once more before he rewinds it back up, removes it from the recorder, and then he places it in the box to accompany the others, the legacy of Annie's tapes complete.
He covers the box with its lid and lifts it to his chest, clutching it against him once more as he imagines and feels Annie's smile, and then he places it back in the drawer, covering it with the rest of the clothes he's left folded on the bed. He pushes the drawer closed and takes a deep breath.
Eyes closed, he finds a smile, as Annie has asked him to in her tape.
He peels off the wet layers of clothing and as he's heading into the bathroom to take a shower, his fingers tap a jar on one of the nightstands. A jar containing blank tapes, if he remembers correctly, sitting besides Annie's wooden jewelry box. heart racing, he reaches for it and searches frantically for the tape recorder and presses the new tape into it. Finding the one button he's never pressed, the one button he knows is made to record tapes, he pushes it down until he hears the satisfying click, and then a slight whir of spindles working to document whatever he has in mind.
His voice is somewhat shaky, but he works his way through the words. He knows that his baritone is nothing compared to Annie's smooth voice that always seemed to slip from her lips into welcoming air. All recent events considered, his voice sounds foreign to him, and he stutters a few times, but carries on anyway. He presses the stop button this time, and with that, now it's done.
He rewinds the tape and plays it again to make sure he is satisfied with the final product. As his ears listen to the words for on final time, he smiles, and then he heads into the bathroom to let the warmth of the shower soothe his sorrows away, if only for a while.
His tape, displayed for anyone to see upon entering the room, is only there for one soul to notice.
"Hey, Lover. We said goodbye today. I didn't like it. I'd say 'See you soon,' but I know you'd fuss at me. You'd rather it be at least another sixty years or so, I'm sure. So, see you in sixty years. I'll be the cute little old man holding stargazer lilies and wearing your favorite smile. Love You Always, Your Auggie."
I know you guys are probably all thinking: "what a downer. Boo, Evan, boo." But honestly, I enjoyed this project immensely, despite the somber storyline. I know there aren't too many details about Annie's death, but the way I see it, you guys are seeing everything through Auggie's eyes - and he probably isn't ready to face exact details about aforementioned death. I've decided not to include a lot of stuff we've seen, and just kinda incorporate my own imaginings of Annie and Auggie.
Another thing you might have noticed and thought: "Please, Evan, he wouldn't react like that!" was, well, his reaction. And in truth, you kinda have to put yourself in his place, losing the love of his life, his wife, his pillar, practically his everything. As far as I'm concerned (and I haven't seen the season finale, so I don't know if they might mention something about his family, but I doubt it), his family is there, just not constantly strongly there. Just something I made up, unless they do mention something, in which case, I must be psychic. ;)
And the tapes. Why tapes? Well, they seem to be a personality quirk, and I do not know if any of you have read the book Thirteen Reasons Whyby Jay Asher, but the entire journey is done by tapes and I was inspired by this. It's a great book that I read when it first came out in 2007 (and if you must know, I believe I was fifteen then). If you haven't read it, I recommend that you should, or if you've been recommended it before, but feel so-so about it, I'll tell you this: it's beautiful. Sometimes a line would stick out, and I highly, highlyrecommend the read. And that's coming from me, who dislikes recommending books, because when people are upset, they blame the person who made the recommendation. Meh. No thank you.
In a nutshell, I guess it is kinda out of character, but given the circumstances, I think he reacted appropriately, and although not all of us would react in the way, I just see Auggie kinda taking such emotion like that. That, and I think you should read Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why if you have not done so already. Seriously, it's amazing. And if you enjoyed this snippet, drop me a line and let me know. :)
-Evan
P.S. For those of you who read Breakeven, I am so, so sorry. I just have been so busy, and my muse has been uncooperative, so blame the muse. But with this out of the way, and school starting to somewhat slow down (HA! Yeah right . . .), I should have more time to devote to that story and I'll possibly have a chapter up by Sunday. Possibly. Don't take my word as promises, okay? Okay. And I'm officially ending this author's note now, before it becomes longer than the story itself.
Roll credits. ;)
EDIT [as of 9/17/2010]: For whatever reason, my computer was all wonky and at some point during this one-shot, 'Annie' was changed to 'Mia.' That has now been changed, and I'm sorry if I caused any confusion. Thanks for reading!