2010
By Rachel Mead
She sat on her bed,
peeling off the butterfly wallpaper stuck on the walls from years before. It
had blue and purple butterflies, fluttering through rainbow flowers and bright
green blades of grass. The border had lifted her childhood room into a euphoric
state of fantasy and imagination. Her memories swiftly moved to the weekend her
parents determinedly plastered her beloved wallpaper to the walls. Tears were
shed, sweat was poured and surely a few drops of blood were spent. But, in the
end, her desire for that wallpaper had come true. Her parents finished their job with a pleased
smile and a “thank you Mommy and Daddy,” from their daughter.
“Maggie,” her mother said knocking softly.
“Yes Mom?” Maggie said.
“How are you?”
Maggie turned away from the chipped wallpaper to face her
mother. Her face was tear stained and mascara created large black streams down
Maggie’s cheeks. Her hands shook slightly as Maggie removed them from the wall.
“Oh Honey,” her mother said, walking across the room.
Without a word, Maggie’s attempt to stay strong fell to
shambles. She bawled at the top of her lungs as her body clung to her mother.
Maggie felt like giving up right then and there. It was too painful, this hole
in her chest. Her life wasn’t supposed turn out this way. His life wasn’t
supposed to turn out this way. They had a plan. Why couldn’t that be followed?
Her mother held Maggie, feeling her body shake with
unimaginable grief and sadness. Her own heart broke for Maggie. She would do
anything in her power to take the pain from her daughter’s shoulders. She
pulled away from Maggie; her wrinkled face was lined with sincere sorrow.
“Come now,” she said. “You can’t sit here and drown in
your own depression. Be strong for his family.”
“I do need to go see Cathy,” Maggie said in between
sniffles.
“Yes, you do. Would you like me to come along?”
“No, I need to see her alone first.”
“Alright, I’ll leave you be then. If you need anything
you’re father and I are right down stairs.”
With that she left Maggie alone in the childhood room of
fantasy and imagination.
It took quite some time for Maggie to gain strength in
her legs. She sat on the bed for awhile, looking around longingly. He was here
before. He stood in front of the dresser mirror, admiring himself. He sat in
the corner where dust now lingered. He laid on the bed, tickling Maggie as she
begged in between giggles for him to please stop. He was here once and how she
loved him.
For the next thirty minutes Maggie struggled to change
from her pink cotton robe to a simple white shirt and jeans. She refused to
wear black.
She slowly made her way to the staircase and walked, step
by step, down until she completed the final step. Her parents sat on the couch
across the room.
“You going to Cathy’s?” her dad asked.
“Yes,” Maggie responded.
“I told you that Stan,” her mother whispered under her
breath.
“Can ya drive?” he continued, ignoring his wife.
“I…don’t know,” Maggie said.
Before either parent could reply to Maggie’s bewildering
response, she walked out the front door with the pickup truck keys in her palm.
Maggie could imagine her parents, staring at each other with shock and proceed
to rush to the window as they watched their only daughter drive off, not
knowing if she could actually handle it. But, no matter how afraid they were
for her, they knew not to come outside after her; Maggie was absolutely sure of
that.
The red Ford F-250 pickup truck sat complacently in the
gravel driveway. Maggie hopped in and looked at the passenger seat beside her.
Empty. Just a month ago a body was there; the warmth of a human being wearing
blue jeans and a black polo with a tan cowboy hat sat there once. He smelled of
freshly cut grass and his forearms were a slight lobster red.
Now emptiness. Cold, airy space mocked Maggie as she
stared.
With an effort, Maggie put the truck in gear and backed
out of the driveway. Her eyes kept glancing toward the passenger seat.
Without looking, she turned the wheel to exit the
driveway. The back of the truck made a crunching noise. Startled, Maggie
snapped her head outside the window.
“Shit,” she said as she looked upon the mailbox crushed
beneath one of the back tires.
She put the truck into drive and moved forward off the
mailbox. For an instant, she thought about going back inside and asking her dad
to help fix it. Instead, she reversed, avoiding the broken mailbox and sped
off. There were more important issues in life. A broken mailbox could wait its
turn.
After fifteen minutes of driving past small suburban homes
with American flags hanging of the garages, Maggie turned right onto Magnolia
Street. The suburban homes dissipated morphing into large plots of land with
pastures, barns and farm houses. A cloudless blue sky with the round yellow sun
could have made the day perfect for riding horses or driving down to the river
to fish. Instead, Maggie turned left on to a long paved driveway while a blonde
haired middle aged woman waved from a wrap-around porch. She quickly made her
way to the driveway and walked to Maggie’s pickup truck.
As Maggie opened the door, the woman lunged herself at
Maggie, hugging her for dear life. Maggie responded the same way. She just
didn’t want to let go.
Once they separated the woman smiled. Her eyes were
extremely blood shot.
“I’m glad you came darling,” she said.
“Cathy, I wish I came sooner,” Maggie said.
“Nonsense, you’re flight came in only last night. I spoke
to your mother earlier this morning,” Cathy said. “Come on in, I made
sandwiches.”
Maggie followed Cathy into the house. She could breathe a
bit easier now.
“His favorite?” she asked Cathy.
“Of course! Peanut-butter and grape jelly with the crusts
cut off,” Cathy laughed. “He was such a kid at heart.”
“He never stopped being one.”
“No he didn’t, did he? Come on, have a seat at the table,
I’ll bring the sandwiches.”
Maggie sat down in the casual dining room, a small bright
peach colored room filled with windows. The antique dining table and chairs
were a dark oak brown. All along the walls were family pictures. There was
barely one without Kyle. His large smile allowed his pearly white teeth to show
through. His short black crew cut hair was a reminder he was in the military
and served his country. The plastic leg, attached at Kyle’s right side was
hidden in most pictures. After losing his leg, shorts were not much of an
option for him. He didn’t like other people knowing of his “handicap.”
As Maggie looked around the room, she could almost feel
his presence, could almost smell his scent. She could’ve sworn maybe only a few
days ago he ate breakfast here, probably fried eggs and toast. His favorite.
She retraced his imagined footsteps over in her mind. He
would’ve sat across from her, in his usual seat. Then, after fiddling with his
fork a bit, he would have picked up his plate and walked through the hallway,
making his way toward the kitchen. Instead of leaving the dishes for his mother
he would have taken the initiative to do them himself. Would have; All now
would haves. He would have or could have, but no longer will or do or be.
“Here we are,” Cathy said, bringing in two plates with
sandwiches neatly cut in triangles.
She sat beside Maggie, leaving the seat across from her
empty. His usual spot.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie blurted out. A tear already started
to roll down her cheek as she spoke.
“Me too,” Cathy said with a sad smile upon her lips. No
tears fell and she strayed from looking at Maggie directly. “I’m just thankful
the last thing I told him was ‘I love you Kyle.’ God granted me a gift before
taking my boy and I thank him for that.
“I miss him already,” Maggie said.
“It hasn’t hit me quite yet. I keep thinking he’s off in
Afghanistan and will be back soon.”
“I wish that were true.”
“When do you have to go back?” Cathy asked.
“Sooner than I would like. I have a week of leave, so
about three days after the funeral I go back.”
“You know, I was always worried about my Kyle. I knew
he’d join the military just like his father and his Poppy. I always expected
him to come back in one of those pine wooden coffins. He lost a leg over there,
but in the end lost his life on American soil. I never thought that would
happen…never.”
As Cathy mulled her words over, Maggie felt the need to
say something to break the silence. “It’s crazy,” she said in a self conscious
whisper. She didn’t want to disturb Cathy’s thoughts, but the silence was too
much to take.
“That it is my girl, that it is. Ugh,” Cathy sighed and
then took a large bite of her sandwich.
“I warned him not to go out in that weather. It was
pouring buckets; thunder and lightning, flood warnings. But Kyle said he needed
a few things from the hardware store. Always was a stubborn mule,” said Cathy.
It was unbearable to listen to. Maggie could see the
entire situation playing out before her. But she couldn’t say anything. Her
mouth was glued shut with peanut butter and she was hesitant to interrupt Cathy
in any manner.
“Only 20 minutes after he left this house I got the phone
call. Car accident right up on Hightner’s Road, near the highway. A tractor
trailer hit Kyle head on. Police told me the truck’s windshield wipers stopped
working and he swerved into the opposite lane. Kyle’s truck had bad tires…but
I’m not sure that would have mattered in the end anyway. I got there as fast as
I could manage, but nothing much was left by the time I arrived.”
“The ambulance had already taken him away?” Maggie piped
up.
“No.”
“So you saw him, before they took him to the hospital?
Was he still conscious?” This was Maggie’s last link to Kyle. Perhaps Cathy
could tell her Kyle’s last words, his goodbye message to all he left on Earth.
“Maggie…Honey, there was nothing left of him to see. Kyle
died instantly.”
Maggie placed her sandwich back on the plate, no longer
able to stomach food. He was dead. But she never thought his body would be
completely destroyed, shredded and unrecognizable. Maggie thought at the very
least she would be able to see him once more. In his casket, dressed to impress
and peacefully awaiting his own burial.
“I can’t believe this,” she said.
“I know, none of us can. Mike has been at the church
praying all morning. Guess that’s all he can do. I think he’s asking for God to
bring back his son.”
“I loved your son very much Cathy,” Maggie said.
Cathy took Maggie’s hand. Her soft fingers rubbed against
Maggie’s consolingly. Maggie took a deep breath, again trying to build up
courage.
“Kyle asked me to marry him,” Maggie said.
“What?” Cathy said, shocked.
“Last month, just before I left. We were down by the
river. He got down on one knee and proposed. He…he said he wanted to get on
with it before we were separated again.”
There was a long silence. Uncomfortable. Tense. Maggie
didn’t know what to say.
“He would’ve told me,” Cathy finally said.
“But-”
“No, he would’ve,” she repeated. “Did you say yes?”
“What?” Maggie asked. The question caught her off guard.
She had not expected Cathy to react in such a way.
“Did you accept my son’s proposal Maggie?”
- The end of the short story has not been given.- 