A Second Chance
Sometimes I see his face in my dreams, his soft eyes, his fierce heart, his confident stride, his prideful young spirit. He was my pride and joy. I sit up in bed as the cold winter wind blows soft flakes of snow onto the roof of my apartment. The frost on the window blurs the outside world like a shroud covering a mysterious room. I get up from my bed and walk slowly to the kitchen favoring my left side. An old war wound from the siege. I put a pot of jasmine tea on and as it boils the smell permeates my thoughts and I look over to the picture on table. His dark hair, the prideful spirit that made him the prince that he was, his stride of self-assurance he was all of these things and more.
His spirit reminded me of the dragons that taught me the true nature of fire bending when I was young. They showed me the heart of what firebending was, is, and should always be. Their wisdom I saw in his eyes, blocked by anger and confusion. I look at the tea and take it off the stove I pour myself a cup and sit at the table of a dark rosewood. Its scent floods the room with a soothing smell of a forest just freshly washed from the spring rain
On fall evenings as the sun sets below the horizon I still go out to the hill outside the outer wall and sit in front of the monument I made to my son. I come once a year to this spot to pay my respects to my beloved son. I failed my son. I couldn't protect him. Every time I saw his face I was able to see my wife again. I looked into his eyes and I would see her behind them and it's like I lost her a second time.
A white shadow slowly perches itself on the snow covered window seal, pecking at the window for me to it in from the cold. I open the window and the bird lands on the counter and starts to squawk pleadingly for some food. I take the message from its leg and give it some cougar fish I bought at the market the day before. I open the scroll and it is a painting of Zuko, Mai, and their new twin children. I look closely at my nephew's handwriting chastising him on his brutish writing style. Above the girl is the name Aria. I look above the boy and I let out a muffled sob, his name is Lu Ten.
As I close the window and look out into the endless gray sky I remember the sunset that day when were at my tea shop. At the time I never noticed it for what it truly was. I saw it as another beautiful sunset but now as I put on my robe to go to the tea shop it was the second of such sunsets I had ever seen. The first was on the day my son died. I notice his picture again as I leave, I touch it like I do every day before I leave, but next to it I set the painting of Zuko and touch it as well. Both of my sons will always share a place in my heart.