Moonflower1214
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A Short Story: A Destiny
15 min read
I watched his ship sail off onto the horizon, and I knew I would never see him again. This whole time, I thought our lives would be intertwined forever, that he was my destiny. That we would always be a part of each other's lives. The time we spent together, the songs our hearts composed, the moonlit walks, and sneaking into each other's rooms at night. I thought these would become something more.
We spent many summers together, chasing waves on the beach, if we were lucky enough to get our parents to drive us the nine hours it took to get there. It never mattered how cold the water was. All that mattered was spending time together.
He was my best friend and closest confidant. I never divulged my secrets to anyone else. Then again, he knew all my secrets, and many before they even happened.
I remember there was one semester, a few years ago when we were freshmen, when one of our classmates, a pretty, shy girl named Carrie Smith, had a huge crush on him. Haha, it was obvious to everyone but him. She would follow us around school, making excuses to talk to him. He was kind as ever, never bothering to tell her to stop. I secretly thought he liked the attention. This lasted for a few weeks, until one day he stopped in his tracks, turned to her, and asked her why she was following me. Me! This whole time, he thought she was following me! She was so startled, that she dropped everything she was carrying and just stood there, staring at him. Students in the hallway stopped. He stood there, with his eyebrows raised. Next to him I stood with my hand over my mouth, afraid to move, because I had no idea what my reaction would be. She stood across from him, pencil rolling on the floor, book splayed open in a way that was sure to be bad for the binding, and her water bottle slowing leaking. No one said a word. There were even a couple teachers watching, their eyes as wide as everyone else's. Everyone was unsure what would happen. They all knew of her crush, but he didn't. Carrie stood there, watching him, face blank, but eyes alive with a maze of queries. Somewhere a phone rang, but no one answered it, and it went to the answering machine. We all stood there for a few minutes. A bell rang for the next period, but no one moved. It was as though the best scene in a movie was unfolding, and no one wanted to miss it. No one breathed, no one spoke. There were no crickets, and no pin falling to the floor. No one knew who to watch. They didn't know whether to watch him, me, or Carrie. A teacher stuck her head out of a classroom about to speak, but her mouth hung open as she, too, watched the final scene. I finally looked at him, but he was waiting just as the rest of us were. He was watching her, eyes as bright as always, but with a look of firmness that I didn't understand. I thought I knew all of his expressions, but this one was unknown to me. The second bell rang. The scene finally unfolded. Her face lost its blank expression and tears began to roll down her face. His eyes narrowed, and he asked her again. She opened her mouth, but she said nothing. She only looked at the ground. He looked at me, confused and angry. He opened his mouth, but I interrupted him with, "later." He nodded, and stooped to help pick up her books. Everyone else was still watching and waiting. We all knew something had to be said. So I said his name, and he looked up.
"She doesn't follow me," Was all I said. It was all I had to say. He looked at me, and I watched his face change from confusion to understanding, and then a small fraction of anger crept in.
"Carrie," he said to her, balancing on one knee. "I have no interest in you. I'm sorry. I thought this whole time, you had been following Katie."
Her eyes grew wide. A few gasps could be heard in the background. No one had realized his obliviousness stretched into the realm of humility.
"I don't know why I thought that, maybe because she is amazing and if I were a girl, I would want to be her best friend. I guess I thought that is what you wanted. I didn't think you wanted to take her place. Which, will never happen. I'm sorry, Carrie." He picked up her water bottle, and screwed the lid back on without even looking. She took it when he handed it to her. She looked at his hand, and blinked back more tears. Carrie located the last of her things, and stood up. She looked at me with a hurt and angry expression, then turned around and walked to her class. He stood up and turned to me.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you with my obliviousness. I honestly thought she wanted to take my place. I didn't think she wanted to take yours." He took my hand then and gave me a smile so warm, I thought my heart would melt. I smiled back, and blushed. That was the first time he ever addressed the place we had in each other's lives.
The earlier years had been different. We went to school, played in each other's backyards, skipped stones, did homework together, stuff like that. Kid stuff. We never knew of anything else. We never knew of consequences, or responsibilities outside of chores and homework. We never had to worry about our parents, or what others thought of us, of college, and jobs, or where we would live after college. We didn't think of who we would marry, or children of our own. And we didn't think of war. We didn't think of the painful cost of human ego.
No, our early years were easy. Sure we had friends, but we were not as close to them as we were to each other. You know, I don't honestly remember why we became so attached to each other. My mother thought that it was when we moved in next door, he had climbed the tree next to my window and said hello so loudly, that I screamed and he almost fell out of the tree. His mother thought it was when she made a cake for his sixth birthday, and the baby started screaming, so she ran to tend to her and the cake burned. I apparently was so upset at this, that I tried to make a whole cake by myself, and made a giant mess in his mother's kitchen (not my kitchen, but his kitchen), the cake ended up not quite right, and I sat down in the middle of the messy floor, bawling my eyes out. She always liked to say that he had walked over to me, sat down and gave me a hug until I stopped crying. I don't remember this, and he doesn't either.
His first memory of us is one winter, when he was playing in the snow. I had begun to cross the street to come join him, after looking both ways of course, but I slipped and stepped into a puddle. The puddle was very deep for a six-year-old and my foot got stuck. I pulled and tugged but it wouldn't come out, I don't remember much of this, but I do remember being terrified. I remember a car coming down the road, and I couldn't get out of the way. I was sitting in the road, with my foot stuck. He always fills in the blanks for me, and tells this story the best. He saw me in the road and tried to cheer me on, but I looked at him and blinked back tears. He saw the car, stopped cheering, and ran into the road, waving his snow shovel. The car stopped, and he tried to get me unstuck. Well, this didn't work, but luckily the driver got out and helped get me out of the icy puddle. The driver went on her way, and he helped me inside his house. His mother made us hot chocolate! It was really good.
My first memory was a little time before that. He doesn't remember it as much as I do, maybe because it had more of an effect on me than it did him. It was a Sunday and we were all in church. He and I were sitting next to each other, because that's what we did. We always sat next to each other, we don't know when it started. Maybe that's how we met, was because our families went to church together. Anyway, this one Sunday we were sitting on the floor, listening to the priest give his sermon. The sermon was about a wedding, I think. I remember watching the way the dust played in the light; I always liked watching the dust float and dance in the light. He was tracing designs on the rug, when I looked at him and truly saw his face. Now this is very astute for a five-year-old, but I looked at him and saw something stunning. It was almost as if he were my destiny. At this moment, he looked at me and I heard the priest mention something about "Jesus blessing marriage" and what I saw in his face made me think that some day, if God willed it, I would marry him.
We were best friends ever since. He had my undivided devotion.
Like I said, the early years were good years. They were simple and easy. As the years went by, however, responsibilities grew, other friends came and went. He lost his grandmother one spring, and his grandfather soon after. It was a dark time for his family. His mother had lost both parents, and his father's mother was in the hospital. His grandfather was losing his memory, so he had to be put in a old folks' home. We were sophmores that year, and it was difficult. We were able to study together, but we weren't allowed to be alone anymore. We didn't fully understand why at the time, because our feelings for each other had never changed. I remember one night when he came over for dinner, and my parents had a fight because my brother's girlfriend could come over, but he couldn't study with me after my parents went to bed. I thought it was silly because we would be in bed by then anyway, but he got angry with me because he didn't want to go back to his house. We argued unnecessarily. This was our first fight. We didn't speak for a few days after that. I have never cried so much in my life. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I barely spoke to anyone. I didn't even look at anyone. I felt as though the worst thing had ever happened. I only later learned that his grandmother had passed away earlier that evening, and his parents were having screaming matches with his father's siblings. No wonder he didn't want to be there.
I remember the sixth day passing, and I cried myself to sleep, my dinner untouched, my hair dirty, my face sticky, my eyes puffy. It didn't mean anything to me. I wrote in the diary that he had gotten me for my twelfth birthday. It wasn't very full because nothing much happened to me, but once it passed my fourteenth birthday, there were many, many entries.
I wrote in that diary how I felt. I wrote about my pain, about my stupidity, about my betraying him. I wrote about his pain as well, how it must feel to have all of that happen to him. I fell asleep mid-sentence, and didn't awake until at some point, a noise woke me. Every house has its noises, but I hadn't heard this one before. I heard it again. It was very faint, but very real. I looked towards my window and almost screamed. It's a good thing that I didn't, haha, because he was there, perched on the tree outside my window. I quietly opened the window. Luckily it was mid-spring, and hot, so all the bedrooms had fans. I closed the window after he came in. We looked at each other, and I saw the tears running down his face. I felt tears of my own, and embraced him so hard I couldn't breathe. We stayed like that for a while, the darkness of my room creeping about us, the fan, so loud, they couldn't hear us breathing. We finally pulled apart, though he wouldn't let go of me. For the first time, I noticed that his arms were not as scrawny as they once were. He had been helping around the house more, with handyman-type chores, so he had gained a bit of muscle. I looked up at him, and watched the tears creep down his face. I wiped them away and pressed my cheek to his. That was when he kissed me. All of the pain, anger, fear, and sadness went into that kiss. It was a kiss of raw emotion, of everything that he felt, that I felt, finally being exploded into the open. He pressed me to him after that and held me, his body racked with the sobs I knew he would never show anyone else. He kissed me again, and I ferociously kissed him back, showing him that he was mine, and I was his, and I never wanted to be apart like that again.
He held my face in his hands, and kissed my forehead. His eyes met mine, and I blushed. He brushed my cheek, and then opened the window and was gone. I have never slept better in my life, knowing that all was well with us.
The rest of that year and the next were difficult, but we had each other and we had become even more unseparable. Our seventeenth year was one of interest. Our relationship had blossomed, and everyone knew of our feelings. We knew better than they, what we felt and how deep it ran. We knew that no matter how much life gave us, we would always have each other.
My parents were unlucky by that thinking, as my father died that year. He was hit by a drunk driver, and didn't make it to the hospital. My house was broken then. My mother lost herself, and went to a monastery. She left my brother and me to care for each other, which we did, until he left for college that next semester and didn't come back home. I stayed in the house. Alone. He would visit every day and stay until I had to sleep. His parents would not let him stay the night, and I had no decent relatives to help sell the house. So, my mother left the monastery just long enough to put the house together for sale and to sell it. I never spoke to her again.
I moved in with his family after the house sold, because I had nowhere else to go. I had gotten all the money from the sale, and I was saving it for future things, such as an apartment or a house, and college. And a wedding. I used a little here and there, but I got a part-time job as a file clerk for a drugstore, so I used that money for paying his parents rent.
The rest of that year went by slowly, but not much else happened. We did graduate, which was a thing in and of itself.
Then he turned eighteen.
And the war started.
And I am standing here, on the beach, waving to a speck on the horizon, knowing in my heart that all of my love for him will stay with me for the rest of my days.
Two years later, I receive a letter.
I stand at the beach, watching the horizon, longing to see a ship I will never see, longing to see a face that I will never see again. God, why oh why did You take this man from me? He was made in Your image, and now he will be able to see Your face. I am jealous of You, oh God. That You can see his face, and hold him in Your arms. I wish with all my heart, that he is with You, because he is not with me.
I love you, George. My destiny. I will never love another as I have loved you.
I stand at the beach, watching the waves dance on the sand, watching young couples take strolls. It has been fifty years since I last saw you, and my heart still breaks every day. I know I will soon be with you, but it will never be soon enough. Please be there when I reach God's arms. I want to be reunited with the one I waited for for my whole life.
I will see you soon, my love.
I love you.
Love, Katie.
We spent many summers together, chasing waves on the beach, if we were lucky enough to get our parents to drive us the nine hours it took to get there. It never mattered how cold the water was. All that mattered was spending time together.
He was my best friend and closest confidant. I never divulged my secrets to anyone else. Then again, he knew all my secrets, and many before they even happened.
I remember there was one semester, a few years ago when we were freshmen, when one of our classmates, a pretty, shy girl named Carrie Smith, had a huge crush on him. Haha, it was obvious to everyone but him. She would follow us around school, making excuses to talk to him. He was kind as ever, never bothering to tell her to stop. I secretly thought he liked the attention. This lasted for a few weeks, until one day he stopped in his tracks, turned to her, and asked her why she was following me. Me! This whole time, he thought she was following me! She was so startled, that she dropped everything she was carrying and just stood there, staring at him. Students in the hallway stopped. He stood there, with his eyebrows raised. Next to him I stood with my hand over my mouth, afraid to move, because I had no idea what my reaction would be. She stood across from him, pencil rolling on the floor, book splayed open in a way that was sure to be bad for the binding, and her water bottle slowing leaking. No one said a word. There were even a couple teachers watching, their eyes as wide as everyone else's. Everyone was unsure what would happen. They all knew of her crush, but he didn't. Carrie stood there, watching him, face blank, but eyes alive with a maze of queries. Somewhere a phone rang, but no one answered it, and it went to the answering machine. We all stood there for a few minutes. A bell rang for the next period, but no one moved. It was as though the best scene in a movie was unfolding, and no one wanted to miss it. No one breathed, no one spoke. There were no crickets, and no pin falling to the floor. No one knew who to watch. They didn't know whether to watch him, me, or Carrie. A teacher stuck her head out of a classroom about to speak, but her mouth hung open as she, too, watched the final scene. I finally looked at him, but he was waiting just as the rest of us were. He was watching her, eyes as bright as always, but with a look of firmness that I didn't understand. I thought I knew all of his expressions, but this one was unknown to me. The second bell rang. The scene finally unfolded. Her face lost its blank expression and tears began to roll down her face. His eyes narrowed, and he asked her again. She opened her mouth, but she said nothing. She only looked at the ground. He looked at me, confused and angry. He opened his mouth, but I interrupted him with, "later." He nodded, and stooped to help pick up her books. Everyone else was still watching and waiting. We all knew something had to be said. So I said his name, and he looked up.
"She doesn't follow me," Was all I said. It was all I had to say. He looked at me, and I watched his face change from confusion to understanding, and then a small fraction of anger crept in.
"Carrie," he said to her, balancing on one knee. "I have no interest in you. I'm sorry. I thought this whole time, you had been following Katie."
Her eyes grew wide. A few gasps could be heard in the background. No one had realized his obliviousness stretched into the realm of humility.
"I don't know why I thought that, maybe because she is amazing and if I were a girl, I would want to be her best friend. I guess I thought that is what you wanted. I didn't think you wanted to take her place. Which, will never happen. I'm sorry, Carrie." He picked up her water bottle, and screwed the lid back on without even looking. She took it when he handed it to her. She looked at his hand, and blinked back more tears. Carrie located the last of her things, and stood up. She looked at me with a hurt and angry expression, then turned around and walked to her class. He stood up and turned to me.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you with my obliviousness. I honestly thought she wanted to take my place. I didn't think she wanted to take yours." He took my hand then and gave me a smile so warm, I thought my heart would melt. I smiled back, and blushed. That was the first time he ever addressed the place we had in each other's lives.
The earlier years had been different. We went to school, played in each other's backyards, skipped stones, did homework together, stuff like that. Kid stuff. We never knew of anything else. We never knew of consequences, or responsibilities outside of chores and homework. We never had to worry about our parents, or what others thought of us, of college, and jobs, or where we would live after college. We didn't think of who we would marry, or children of our own. And we didn't think of war. We didn't think of the painful cost of human ego.
No, our early years were easy. Sure we had friends, but we were not as close to them as we were to each other. You know, I don't honestly remember why we became so attached to each other. My mother thought that it was when we moved in next door, he had climbed the tree next to my window and said hello so loudly, that I screamed and he almost fell out of the tree. His mother thought it was when she made a cake for his sixth birthday, and the baby started screaming, so she ran to tend to her and the cake burned. I apparently was so upset at this, that I tried to make a whole cake by myself, and made a giant mess in his mother's kitchen (not my kitchen, but his kitchen), the cake ended up not quite right, and I sat down in the middle of the messy floor, bawling my eyes out. She always liked to say that he had walked over to me, sat down and gave me a hug until I stopped crying. I don't remember this, and he doesn't either.
His first memory of us is one winter, when he was playing in the snow. I had begun to cross the street to come join him, after looking both ways of course, but I slipped and stepped into a puddle. The puddle was very deep for a six-year-old and my foot got stuck. I pulled and tugged but it wouldn't come out, I don't remember much of this, but I do remember being terrified. I remember a car coming down the road, and I couldn't get out of the way. I was sitting in the road, with my foot stuck. He always fills in the blanks for me, and tells this story the best. He saw me in the road and tried to cheer me on, but I looked at him and blinked back tears. He saw the car, stopped cheering, and ran into the road, waving his snow shovel. The car stopped, and he tried to get me unstuck. Well, this didn't work, but luckily the driver got out and helped get me out of the icy puddle. The driver went on her way, and he helped me inside his house. His mother made us hot chocolate! It was really good.
My first memory was a little time before that. He doesn't remember it as much as I do, maybe because it had more of an effect on me than it did him. It was a Sunday and we were all in church. He and I were sitting next to each other, because that's what we did. We always sat next to each other, we don't know when it started. Maybe that's how we met, was because our families went to church together. Anyway, this one Sunday we were sitting on the floor, listening to the priest give his sermon. The sermon was about a wedding, I think. I remember watching the way the dust played in the light; I always liked watching the dust float and dance in the light. He was tracing designs on the rug, when I looked at him and truly saw his face. Now this is very astute for a five-year-old, but I looked at him and saw something stunning. It was almost as if he were my destiny. At this moment, he looked at me and I heard the priest mention something about "Jesus blessing marriage" and what I saw in his face made me think that some day, if God willed it, I would marry him.
We were best friends ever since. He had my undivided devotion.
Like I said, the early years were good years. They were simple and easy. As the years went by, however, responsibilities grew, other friends came and went. He lost his grandmother one spring, and his grandfather soon after. It was a dark time for his family. His mother had lost both parents, and his father's mother was in the hospital. His grandfather was losing his memory, so he had to be put in a old folks' home. We were sophmores that year, and it was difficult. We were able to study together, but we weren't allowed to be alone anymore. We didn't fully understand why at the time, because our feelings for each other had never changed. I remember one night when he came over for dinner, and my parents had a fight because my brother's girlfriend could come over, but he couldn't study with me after my parents went to bed. I thought it was silly because we would be in bed by then anyway, but he got angry with me because he didn't want to go back to his house. We argued unnecessarily. This was our first fight. We didn't speak for a few days after that. I have never cried so much in my life. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I barely spoke to anyone. I didn't even look at anyone. I felt as though the worst thing had ever happened. I only later learned that his grandmother had passed away earlier that evening, and his parents were having screaming matches with his father's siblings. No wonder he didn't want to be there.
I remember the sixth day passing, and I cried myself to sleep, my dinner untouched, my hair dirty, my face sticky, my eyes puffy. It didn't mean anything to me. I wrote in the diary that he had gotten me for my twelfth birthday. It wasn't very full because nothing much happened to me, but once it passed my fourteenth birthday, there were many, many entries.
I wrote in that diary how I felt. I wrote about my pain, about my stupidity, about my betraying him. I wrote about his pain as well, how it must feel to have all of that happen to him. I fell asleep mid-sentence, and didn't awake until at some point, a noise woke me. Every house has its noises, but I hadn't heard this one before. I heard it again. It was very faint, but very real. I looked towards my window and almost screamed. It's a good thing that I didn't, haha, because he was there, perched on the tree outside my window. I quietly opened the window. Luckily it was mid-spring, and hot, so all the bedrooms had fans. I closed the window after he came in. We looked at each other, and I saw the tears running down his face. I felt tears of my own, and embraced him so hard I couldn't breathe. We stayed like that for a while, the darkness of my room creeping about us, the fan, so loud, they couldn't hear us breathing. We finally pulled apart, though he wouldn't let go of me. For the first time, I noticed that his arms were not as scrawny as they once were. He had been helping around the house more, with handyman-type chores, so he had gained a bit of muscle. I looked up at him, and watched the tears creep down his face. I wiped them away and pressed my cheek to his. That was when he kissed me. All of the pain, anger, fear, and sadness went into that kiss. It was a kiss of raw emotion, of everything that he felt, that I felt, finally being exploded into the open. He pressed me to him after that and held me, his body racked with the sobs I knew he would never show anyone else. He kissed me again, and I ferociously kissed him back, showing him that he was mine, and I was his, and I never wanted to be apart like that again.
He held my face in his hands, and kissed my forehead. His eyes met mine, and I blushed. He brushed my cheek, and then opened the window and was gone. I have never slept better in my life, knowing that all was well with us.
The rest of that year and the next were difficult, but we had each other and we had become even more unseparable. Our seventeenth year was one of interest. Our relationship had blossomed, and everyone knew of our feelings. We knew better than they, what we felt and how deep it ran. We knew that no matter how much life gave us, we would always have each other.
My parents were unlucky by that thinking, as my father died that year. He was hit by a drunk driver, and didn't make it to the hospital. My house was broken then. My mother lost herself, and went to a monastery. She left my brother and me to care for each other, which we did, until he left for college that next semester and didn't come back home. I stayed in the house. Alone. He would visit every day and stay until I had to sleep. His parents would not let him stay the night, and I had no decent relatives to help sell the house. So, my mother left the monastery just long enough to put the house together for sale and to sell it. I never spoke to her again.
I moved in with his family after the house sold, because I had nowhere else to go. I had gotten all the money from the sale, and I was saving it for future things, such as an apartment or a house, and college. And a wedding. I used a little here and there, but I got a part-time job as a file clerk for a drugstore, so I used that money for paying his parents rent.
The rest of that year went by slowly, but not much else happened. We did graduate, which was a thing in and of itself.
Then he turned eighteen.
And the war started.
And I am standing here, on the beach, waving to a speck on the horizon, knowing in my heart that all of my love for him will stay with me for the rest of my days.
Two years later, I receive a letter.
I stand at the beach, watching the horizon, longing to see a ship I will never see, longing to see a face that I will never see again. God, why oh why did You take this man from me? He was made in Your image, and now he will be able to see Your face. I am jealous of You, oh God. That You can see his face, and hold him in Your arms. I wish with all my heart, that he is with You, because he is not with me.
I love you, George. My destiny. I will never love another as I have loved you.
I stand at the beach, watching the waves dance on the sand, watching young couples take strolls. It has been fifty years since I last saw you, and my heart still breaks every day. I know I will soon be with you, but it will never be soon enough. Please be there when I reach God's arms. I want to be reunited with the one I waited for for my whole life.
I will see you soon, my love.
I love you.
Love, Katie.
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To my Mother on her Birthday
1 min read
I may not be there in body,
to celebrate,
But I am with you in heart.
I wish I could be there.
If I was there I would give you a bouquet of flowers:
Tulips, roses, pansies, hollyhocks, irises, forget me nots, lilies, snapdragons,
Cherry blossoms, peach blossoms, maybe some morning glories
,
and you could add any of your favorites to the mix.
We would put them all into a beautiful vase of aqua sea glass.
If we took it outside it would be flocked with butterflies and hummingbirds of all colors.
Blue, yellow, green, red, pink, white, all the colors in God's creation would come to admire your flowers.
Maybe sometime when I have a garden, I can make you a bouquet as great as the imagination can create.
Until then I hope that the imagination can fill in any gaps I missed.
I miss you very much and love you even more,
and I wish you all the best for this glorious spring birthday ^_^
to celebrate,
But I am with you in heart.
I wish I could be there.
If I was there I would give you a bouquet of flowers:
Tulips, roses, pansies, hollyhocks, irises, forget me nots, lilies, snapdragons,
Cherry blossoms, peach blossoms, maybe some morning glories
, and you could add any of your favorites to the mix.
We would put them all into a beautiful vase of aqua sea glass.
If we took it outside it would be flocked with butterflies and hummingbirds of all colors.
Blue, yellow, green, red, pink, white, all the colors in God's creation would come to admire your flowers.
Maybe sometime when I have a garden, I can make you a bouquet as great as the imagination can create.
Until then I hope that the imagination can fill in any gaps I missed.
I miss you very much and love you even more,
and I wish you all the best for this glorious spring birthday ^_^
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The Tidecaller
3 min read
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Poem for Him
3 min read
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Turquoise and Ice Part One-chs5-10
16 min read
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