A/N: Sorry it's taken a while. I had about a bajillion-and-one papers to write for school, as well as other stuff that consumes my life.
I own nothing. I've tried bartering with Andrew Lloyd Webber, but he didn't think a pair of slippers and an old newspaper were enough for the rights of Whistle Down the Wind. I thought it was a good deal, but I guess it wasn't good enough for him.
PART TWO: THE GIRL
It's been one year, seven months, and eighteen days since he left. And it's been one year, seven months, and seventeen days that I've been waiting for him to return to me. I haven't let anyone know that I miss him, but I'm pretty sure my dad suspects why I'm always staring out at the barn. I always tell him I'm praying, and in a sense, I am; I'm praying for his return.
I've gotten better though. For starters, I've grown friendlier towards Amos. I don't think I'll ever love him like he wants me to, but I know that he does care for me – he proved that to me over a year and a half ago. He kept my secret, no questions asked. But that still doesn't mean I love him.
I've realized that The Man might not have been Jesus, like all of the townsfolk told me. He could have been the criminal, for all I know. But I don't care. Jesus brought him in my life for some reason, and I'm not going to forget that. There has to be a reason why I was the one who discovered him first, the one who he confided in. I trust the good Lord's judgment.
I'm with Amos right now. He keeps messing around with me, trying to flirt with me and such. I keep making excuses, like I'm ticklish or I'm in a hurry or something, but he doesn't seem to understand. It's almost as if it motivates him even more.
He wraps his arms around my waist, and I feel self-conscious. We're in the middle of town, where everyone can see us. I don't want people getting the wrong idea about us. I make up one of my excuses, telling him I'm ticklish as I try to squirm out of his arms.
"Swallow," he says, and I know he thinks I'm just joking around, "one of these days you've gotta get over that."
However, he loosens his grip and I'm able to slide out. I smile at him, relieved to be out of his grip and free. I twirl around, looking up at the clear blue sky.
I glance over at the children, seeing Poor Baby and Brat. The Lord says we shouldn't lie, but it's not lying if I make a guess about someone's feelings, right?
"Amos, I've gotta go. Brat 'n Poor Baby'll be expectin' me, not to mention my dad." And you know he 'ppreciates me spendin' time with you about as much as he 'ppreciates the devil." She." I can just imagine his face if he found out who I was with right now. I run over to Amos and wrap my arms around his neck. "I'll see ya later, alright?" I give him one last smile before I run off.
As I near the children, I feel like there's a barrier between us. I used to be so comfortable around them, playing their games and laughing at their jokes. But ever since that night one year, seven months, and eighteen days ago, it's like I've changed. Childhood games just weren't the same to me, and it felt awkward trying to be with them.
It's almost like I'm an adult – and I don't like that.
I see Brat and Poor Baby run towards me. "Can we play with our friends for a little longer?" Brat begs, her lips all pouty-like and sad. "Please?"
I hold back a sigh of relief. Lately, I've preferred spending my time alone, thinking, and I'm glad that I can enjoy this for at least a few more hours while these two are with their friends.
"Be back before it gets dark. I don't want Dad to worry about you two."
They cheer and run back to their friends, who proceed to chase them around, dust clouds rising from the ground. I smile, watching them play their innocent games.
I walk towards the house, the buzz of the bugs and the chirps of the birds an orchestra of sounds. I look sadly at my surroundings, the drooping plants and brown stalks crying out for water to quench their thirst. The ground is hot and dry beneath my bare feet, and when I look down I see they're covered with dirt.
My home may not look like much, but it's filled with more memories than one can imagine, and it'll be more of a home to me than any other place. I look at the tree by the trailer and remember when Mom would sit under the tree with me, pointing out all of the different kinds of birds and telling me about them; she was obsessed with birds for whatever reason. And way behind the house, where the remains of the barn are…well, that holds some memories I'll never forget.
I check the trailer for my dad, but I see it's empty. I'm glad. I just want to be alone right now. I need to think. I see my mother's Bible and I grab it, clutching it to my heart.
I've been thinking about The Man a lot lately. He's haunted my thoughts, his dark, wild features always there. His eyes, so dark and intense, always stare at me when I close my eyes. I try to forget about him, but he always returns in my thoughts. I just wish he would return in person.
Despite the barn being burned so long ago, we've yet to clean it or rebuild it. My dad says it's because we don't have the money for it, but I see it as a tribute to the man who hid there for days. I go here often, staring at the scorched ground, thinking and praying. I used to come to this barn to pray to God, and I still do that, but it's also a place where I know I won't be disturbed. Dad hasn't approached it since that night when it got burned down, and Brat and Poor Baby think it's boring. No, it's my place of solitude.
I think of the song Mom used to sing to us, and I feel the urge to sing it. My mom had the prettiest voice, and lots of people say that I got that from her. All I know is her song is a part of me.
"Whistle down the wind, let your voices carry.
Drown out all the rain, light a patch of darkness,
Treacherous and scary."
My eyes water, and I quickly wipe away the tears before they fall. Just forget about him, I tell myself. Forget about him and sing your mother's song.
"Howl at the stars, whisper when you're sleeping.
I'll be there to hold you, I'll be there to stop
The chills and all the weeping."
I inhale, pouring my heart into the next verse.
"Make it clear and strong, so the whole night long
Every signal that you send, until the very end."
My voice cracks as I sing the final line:
"I will not abandon you my precious friend"
I can't sing the next verse. I can't stop the tears that flow from my eye. "I wish my mom was here," I whisper. "I wish I could talk to her about all of this. I wish she could hold me in her arms one last time and tell me that it'll all work out.
"Why'd you hafta go?" I ask myself, and I know I'm not talking about my mother anymore. "Why haven't you come back? I know you're alive out there!" Clutching my mother's book, I add, "I can't cry about my mother dying, and yet here I am weeping about a man that I barely know." I don't recognize my voice as I say this – it's almost as if someone else is speaking through me.
The wind blows through the dying corn stalks, and I glance over to them. As I watch the plants, something catches my eyes. It was there for only a second, and I think I might be going crazy, but I thought I saw a pair of dark, piercing eyes staring back at me. I've known only one person who had eyes like that, and I haven't seen him in one year, seven months, and eighteen days. I take a step, as if to tell myself that I'm just seeing things.
"Swallow, are ya out there?" My father's voice is carried on the wind to my ears, and I sigh. I look at that patch of corn one last time before I run towards the trailer.
My dad's grown so much older in this past year and a half. His face has so many wrinkles, and his hair is a lot grayer than it used to be. I can't help but think I contributed to those things, and my stomach churns with guilt. I really do love my father – I just wish he could recover from Mom's death. It's been almost two years, and he still seems to struggle with smiling or laughing. I pray to God every day to have Him help Dad, but it seems like it's going to take a long time for him to heal.
"There you are, Swallow." Ever since the incident at Christmastime, he's kept a particularly close watch on me. It's almost as if he doesn't want me to get hurt. "I was wondering where you were."
"I was just thinkin'", I say, "and praying for some rain."
My dad nods. "Well, I'll be in the trailer."
He exits and I return to the barn. I look at the spot where I saw the eyes, and I feel my curiosity intensifying. I approach it, pushing aside the stalks. There's no one there, and I'm about to leave when I notice some crushed cornstalks nearby.
So there was someone here. I approach it, only to find that there's a trail of broken corn stalks. I glance behind me, as if to make sure there's no one following me. I follow the path, my heart racing. He could be here right now! I might finally be able to see him and tell him my feelings!
I reach the end of the cornfield, running into a small clearing by a dried up creek. I look around and see a shape kneeling by the edge of the dry creek. I run to him, a smile forming on my face. His hair is shorter, and he's wearing different clothes, but I'd recognize him anywhere. I want to call out to him, but I remember that he's not really Jesus, and that I don't know his name. So I just yell, trying to get his attention.
He turns, and his face is filled with shock. He's got something in his hand, and he quickly stuffs it in his pocket. Panting, I near him, my face beaming.
"Hi," I say shyly, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
"Uh…hi," he responds, unsure of what to say. "What are you doing here?"
"I saw you and I wanted to see you again. It's been so long since I've seen you, and I've missed you."
I tried to take a step closer, but he backed away. I looked at him quizzically.
"You should head on home, Swallow," he whispered. "You shouldn't be here now."
"But I want to be here!" I cry. "It's been so long, and I'm not a little girl anymore!" I shake my head. "I'm not leaving. I don't want to leave and know I'll never see you again."
He clenches his fist, his jaws stiff as if fighting the urge to yell. He turns and scream out, releasing his anger and frustration. I step away, taken aback by his behavior. He spins around and grabs my shoulders. "Can't you see that this isn't right?" His eyes lock with mine, and I know I should be afraid, for his eyes are so dark and piercing, but I'm not.
"What's not right?" I look right back into his eyes. "It doesn't matter if you're Jesus or not. He brought us together, and we have to accept that."
His grip tightens. "I can't," he hisses.
"Why not?" I rebut. "I love you-"
"Don't say that!"
"I love you, and I think you love me too! You're just scared of what might happen, and I'm telling you that I don't care!"
Our eyes lock, and it seems like forever until he looks down. He releases my shoulders and walks away. I follow him. "Say somethin'! Anythin'!"
"What do you want me to say? I'm not right for you." His back his facing me, and I wish he would turn around.
"Yes you are! I know it and so do you! So stop being scared!"
"If I stay here, I'll just hurt you, and I'm not going to do that anymore." He sighs. "Please, leave."
A stare at him, shocked. Doesn't he know that the only time he hurts me is when he's not near me? "You won't hurt me. I promise." I walk up to him, my legs taking control of my body. I look up at his face and, standing on my toes, I lean in and before I know it, our lips are touching each other.
The only other boy I've kissed is Amos, and it was only once. That kiss wasn't anything like this kiss. When I kissed Amos, it was strange – not bad, just strange. I guess you can say I'm not very experienced at it, but this kiss between me and this man felt exhilarating, and I yearn for more.
His body stiffens, just like the last time we embrace, and he pulls back, leaving me hanging there. "What are you doing?" he hissed, groaning as he walked away.
"Remember when you asked me to bring you your package, and you asked me for a goodnight kiss?" I put my hand on his shoulder. "That was your kiss."
He shakes his head. "Swallow, I-"
"I want to be with you. I'm not the little girl I used to be. I know what I want, and I want you." I feel my eyes sting with the threat of tears and I look down, trying to hide my emotions. I whisper, "I need you."
He groans. "You don't even know my name."
"I don't care!" I'm crying, the tears long past stopping. "No one's ever looks at me the way you look at me! Don't you see?" I force him to look at me. "When you look at me, I know that you love me. Deny it all you want. I know it's true."
He grabs me, and I don't know what he's going to do. He pulls my face towards his, and the next thing I know, we're locked in a kiss. It's so passionate, it seems almost sinful. I know I should pull away, but I can't, both by choice and because he's holding me pretty tight, so I don't know if I could move away even if I wanted to.
He pulls back and I smile. "Stay with me," I whisper, looking up at him.
He returns my smile with the first real smile I've ever seen him give – not forced, like when the children were around him, or when he was trying to get me to do something for him. It's a genuine smile. My hopes are high, and I'm excited for his answer. I don't think I'll be sad anymore.
AN: If you guys don't know what he says, then I'm gonna have to bash my head against my computer desk for hours, and that'll hurt, so I really hope I've made it clear.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope that the time wasn't wasted.