The Last Message:
Chapter Five
He was there every time I needed him. First as a stranger, then a friend, and then for one brief moment, a lover. But always, unfailingly as a protector. Surely, there couldn't be a stronger love than one that lasts a lifetime.
When I think of the other, so new, so comfortable, I feel torn. There, too, is friendship and love.
But it's different,
Alien.
I wish I could say he came back the week after the dance or even the month following. But it was years before our paths crossed again. As always, money showed up on the counter in the months leading up to my graduation. Though I had cause to question how it got there and why Mother never came home, I never found answers. In time, I stopped looking.
As time marched forward, I got a job, Jordan and I started dating, and slowly I let my silent fade from my life. I had taken to leaving his notes around my home, a constant reminder of his existence. When it became clear he would not return, I forced myself to gather them up. I moved them back into my room, to my bed, under the pillow, and then finally, a box beneath my bed where I had no cause to remember.
Perhaps he would have been erased forever at that point, but fate had other plans.
I was 21 when Jordan and I began talking seriously about marriage. We had been together several years and it was the next logical step in our relationship. There were all sorts of details to figure out; things I had never considered important suddenly became life or death decisions on a daily basis. Would we live in his apartment in town or my childhood home? Dog or no Dog? Should we elope or plan a large scale, black tie event? I was frazzled perhaps, but in love. Even disagreements glistened in a rosy light and I couldn't be happier.
It was late one night, as I pored over wedding announcements and printing options with my soon-to-be husband in my room. The wind had been particularly brutal to the house that night, beating it into tears. The rain was only marginally more forgiving. I suppose, on such a blustery night, that the crack of thunder should not have startled me so. But to my tired, stress-afflicted self, it caught me unprepared. I jumped where I sat, sending the piles of paper tumbling from my lap.
"Little jumpy, hon?" Jordan teased.
I might have glared, but he was already on his knees, gathering announcements.
"Make sure you get the ones under the bed too."
He peeked under, making a face.
"You realize there's only two that fell under here?"
"You never know, maybe one of those is the perfect one."
"I bet you'll find one you like even better in the other 600."
"Please?"
He smiled easily, giving in quickly as I knew he would. His head disappeared briefly beneath the bed skirt before it popped back up, with announcements in hand. Only, I was not anticipating a wooden box to resurface with him.
"What's this?" he asked, shaking it gently like it was a Christmas present.
I took it from him, cradling it with hesitant hands. "I'm not actually sure."
"Isn't it yours?"
"The box, yes." Whatever it held… I couldn't say.
"Shall we have a look?"
Some inner part of me must have known exactly what was in that box. Jordan reached for it, but I clutched it tightly to my chest. He couldn't see inside. He couldn't know…. Know what? I asked myself. What could be so bad about a child's box under the bed?
For whatever reason, I would not be swayed. Jordan gave me a strange look, but he let it go. We returned to the decisions at hand and solved the latest crisis on the way to our marriage.
But later, when the thunder stilled at last and the rain was little more than a whisper on the window, I slipped from the bed, my precious box in hand.
It was perhaps three in the morning by that point, but my mind was anywhere but the shores of sleep. I pulled on a coat and boots and left the house at a brisk walk.
How could I know my feet would lead me to the creek where we met so many years before? How could I know all the hesitation and fear I had about an upcoming marriage were more concerned with a little wooden box than with the actual wedding? These things slipped elusively at the edge of my conscience, nothing more than the barest hint of instinct guiding my thoughts and actions.
Regardless, I did indeed end up at the creek, clutching the box, fighting inexplicable tears, and swallowed by doubts one hundred fold. The wise thing would have been to throw the box away and with it all my fears.
But I was not wise. I was in love. Just not with Jordan.
I stared, heart-stricken, at the dozens of letters begging to be remembered. Words of comfort, laughter, sadness, all penned in blood, all received with love.
I fell to my knees, tears pouring fast and uncontrollable. My love, my silent, my best friend in the world, he was gone. But all the feelings remained stronger than ever, wrenching my heart.
Loving Jordan was calm like the spring sun, but loving Him was something so deep and instinctual it consumed every thought and feeling. It was blood and tears and losing loved ones and growing together. It was strange, unnatural chemistry, curiosity and awe. It was real.
I longed for his presence, imagined his arms wrapping around me, cradling my damaged heart in his hands. Instead the wind enveloped me and light rain kissed my cheeks. At last, I was forced to face the truth. He wasn't coming back.
My silent would never return home.
I refused to go out the night before my wedding. I didn't have many friends to go with anyway, and the ever-constant pain in my heart seemed worse than usual. I sat in my jim-jams, a little wooden box held in gentle hands. I couldn't remember the contents, but I had learned the lesson well enough to never open the box again. It was enough to simply hold it and wonder at the sadness I felt.
He was there with me that night, watching from the shadows. I never saw him; he made sure of that. But I felt his presence, a second sadness weighing heavily upon me. And when I cried that night, I'm sure he unsuccessfully begged his own body to cry. And when I fell asleep, curled into my shattered self, strong arms carried me to bed.
He placed the box lovingly away, brushed the hair from my face, and gave to my sleeping form the closest thing to a kiss he could manage. I would only remember this as dreams, haunting my sleep. I would vaguely remember arms holding me close in the night and words whispered tenderly in the darkness. And in the morning, when I stepped into billowing white majesty, I would find on my arm, a last message written in the ink of a bleeding, broken heart.
I love you.
A/N I'm sorry for the delay. I quite honestly didn't really foresee that happening. There's just been a lot going on in my life and the desire to finish this story is completely gone. I sit down to write and I just feel disconnected from the story and from the readers. As a result, the quality probably isn't that great. So sorry about that. But there's on probably only one more chapter left so it doesn't really matter I guess.