* * * * * * * * * *
Hawkeye pushed himself up onto the cot and poured himself a martini. "Once
upon a time," he started mildly, drifting off into memories.
A small child sat underneath blankets, smelling his mother's familiar scent of lavender and cinnamon on the afghan she had knitted, as well as the small bed and pillow she had fluffed and folded every day for the past ten years. Now something was wrong.
Hawkeye knew his mother was dead. But dead was just a word to him. He knew that death was something very bad, because it was always what his dad had talked about when he came home late from work, that dejected slump in his shoulders as Mom hugged him gently and lead him to the couch, directing Hawkeye to go cheer his father up while she fixed brandy in the next room.
He knew death was bad. But until now, he had never understood it. Because death had never happened to him. it had always been a distant term. Now, the pieces of the puzzle were finally together, as he sat under the blanket with his mother all around him, but not really there. Death was being gone.
And now he understood. So mixed in with the scent of lavender and cinnamon became the scent of tears and grief as a little motherless child sank back onto his pillow and drifted off to sleep. ~~~
~~~~ Dreaming in color was something that came very naturally to Hawkeye; he had a vivid imagination and spent time concocting little stories that he eventually dreamed into a state of subconscious.
Tonight, his dream involved him underneath a table, looking out into a homey looking kitchen. A stove across the room crackled heartily, and the room smelled of vanilla. 'Why am I hiding under the table?'
Footsteps came into the kitchen and Hawkeye could see a set of tiny, barefooted feet walking across the wooded floor, padding gently as they walked by the table, stopped, and reworked themselves to the table again.
The adjacent legs bent gracefully and a very lovely woman leaned down to where Hawkeye was curled up under the table.
"Hawkeye," the lady said gently. "You can come out now." She coaxed him softly and pulled him out of the table to sit at it, whilst she turned to tend to the stove again.
Hawkeye looked at her, perplexed, as she moved gracefully about the kitchen, her red checkered dress swaying in time with her steps. Her hair was swept up into a simple ponytail, but it glowed warmly against the flames of the stove.
"What are you cooking?" Hawkeye asked. His voice was high and childlike, not yet reaching the deep alto he would become later on.
"Cookies, Hawkeye. They'll be done in a minute," came the answer.
"Who are you?"
"Brooke, sweetie. I came to help you after what happened the last few days."
"How did you know about my." The words would not come out, and Hawkeye struggled to translate as his eyes watered again.
Brooke turned suddenly and walked over to where Hawkeye was sitting miserably, and wrapped her arms around him to hoist him up. She carried him gently to a tiny bed and cocooned him in warm blankets, rocking him and whispering soothing melodies and brushing his tears away.
After a few minutes, she lay him down and covered him the rest of the way, before planting a butterfly kiss on his forehead. " You'll feel better in the morning."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hawkeye looked up to his friend, shrugging and smiling nonchalantly. "That's when I first met her. That was twenty years ago."
BJ nodded, and picked up a martini glass of his own, shifting it from hand to hand. Finally, he spoke. "So she was sort of just your creation to comfort yourself after your mother died."
Hawkeye nodded. "I think that's what it started out as. I didn't want to be left alone. And then I got attached to the dream, and it kept coming back."
"That still doesn't tell me why you just ended up on the floor."
Hawkeye smiled and laid back down in his cot, looking up at the tent again. "Beej," he admonished jokingly. "That's only part one in the Crazy Chronicles. My dreams get weirder then that."
"Hawk, you can tell me in the morning. There's supposed to be a lull on and I've got the morning shift. Stop by and we'll talk while I make rounds."
"Ok, Beej." He paused, and then turned to his side to face his friend. "And Beej?"
A low muffled grunt of recognition answered from the cot next door.
"Thanks."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ASTERTICKS!! bwa ha ha ha ha!! yes, dearies, I return after a LOONNGG commercial break with chapter four. sorry about the delay.I should be back in the swing of things for a little while anyway. So keep the feedback coming!!
A small child sat underneath blankets, smelling his mother's familiar scent of lavender and cinnamon on the afghan she had knitted, as well as the small bed and pillow she had fluffed and folded every day for the past ten years. Now something was wrong.
Hawkeye knew his mother was dead. But dead was just a word to him. He knew that death was something very bad, because it was always what his dad had talked about when he came home late from work, that dejected slump in his shoulders as Mom hugged him gently and lead him to the couch, directing Hawkeye to go cheer his father up while she fixed brandy in the next room.
He knew death was bad. But until now, he had never understood it. Because death had never happened to him. it had always been a distant term. Now, the pieces of the puzzle were finally together, as he sat under the blanket with his mother all around him, but not really there. Death was being gone.
And now he understood. So mixed in with the scent of lavender and cinnamon became the scent of tears and grief as a little motherless child sank back onto his pillow and drifted off to sleep. ~~~
~~~~ Dreaming in color was something that came very naturally to Hawkeye; he had a vivid imagination and spent time concocting little stories that he eventually dreamed into a state of subconscious.
Tonight, his dream involved him underneath a table, looking out into a homey looking kitchen. A stove across the room crackled heartily, and the room smelled of vanilla. 'Why am I hiding under the table?'
Footsteps came into the kitchen and Hawkeye could see a set of tiny, barefooted feet walking across the wooded floor, padding gently as they walked by the table, stopped, and reworked themselves to the table again.
The adjacent legs bent gracefully and a very lovely woman leaned down to where Hawkeye was curled up under the table.
"Hawkeye," the lady said gently. "You can come out now." She coaxed him softly and pulled him out of the table to sit at it, whilst she turned to tend to the stove again.
Hawkeye looked at her, perplexed, as she moved gracefully about the kitchen, her red checkered dress swaying in time with her steps. Her hair was swept up into a simple ponytail, but it glowed warmly against the flames of the stove.
"What are you cooking?" Hawkeye asked. His voice was high and childlike, not yet reaching the deep alto he would become later on.
"Cookies, Hawkeye. They'll be done in a minute," came the answer.
"Who are you?"
"Brooke, sweetie. I came to help you after what happened the last few days."
"How did you know about my." The words would not come out, and Hawkeye struggled to translate as his eyes watered again.
Brooke turned suddenly and walked over to where Hawkeye was sitting miserably, and wrapped her arms around him to hoist him up. She carried him gently to a tiny bed and cocooned him in warm blankets, rocking him and whispering soothing melodies and brushing his tears away.
After a few minutes, she lay him down and covered him the rest of the way, before planting a butterfly kiss on his forehead. " You'll feel better in the morning."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hawkeye looked up to his friend, shrugging and smiling nonchalantly. "That's when I first met her. That was twenty years ago."
BJ nodded, and picked up a martini glass of his own, shifting it from hand to hand. Finally, he spoke. "So she was sort of just your creation to comfort yourself after your mother died."
Hawkeye nodded. "I think that's what it started out as. I didn't want to be left alone. And then I got attached to the dream, and it kept coming back."
"That still doesn't tell me why you just ended up on the floor."
Hawkeye smiled and laid back down in his cot, looking up at the tent again. "Beej," he admonished jokingly. "That's only part one in the Crazy Chronicles. My dreams get weirder then that."
"Hawk, you can tell me in the morning. There's supposed to be a lull on and I've got the morning shift. Stop by and we'll talk while I make rounds."
"Ok, Beej." He paused, and then turned to his side to face his friend. "And Beej?"
A low muffled grunt of recognition answered from the cot next door.
"Thanks."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ASTERTICKS!! bwa ha ha ha ha!! yes, dearies, I return after a LOONNGG commercial break with chapter four. sorry about the delay.I should be back in the swing of things for a little while anyway. So keep the feedback coming!!