Waiting For You

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of death and gun violence.

Twelve hours.

I wake up in a boy’s bed. The light from the sun hurts my eyes. I wish to bury myself in the boy’s wondrous sheets and sleep for a few hours more, but I know that his mother will wake soon and that I have much to do today. So, I rise and pick up my discarded undergarments and dress myself. The boy, of course, has not awoken. He is pale and still. I kiss him on his soft lips before departing through his window.

I wander through the boy’s neighborhood for a short time. The little white houses which sit side by side with their neatly trimmed yards and untarnished fences are comforting in a way that I don’t quite understand. The sun continues to irritate me slightly, but I am enjoying myself too much to mind. It is too early for there to be many people out of their homes, but the few of the boy’s neighbors that I do see all smile and wave at me.

Ten hours.

I venture to the town’s market as the sun rises, and more people begin to venture out of their homes. A few of the people confuse my age and ask where my parents are. I politely lie to them and say that they are just across the way, or waiting for me in their car. Those few that are brave or curious enough to approach me are usually quick to accept the lie.

At a distance, I suppose I look like a normal young lady. The closer the people get to me, the more unnerved they become— the more they squirm. Perhaps there is some primal instinct that tells them to fear me. I do not dwell too much on their stares for too long.

I am overtaken by the most beautiful arrangement of flowers. Reds, blues, yellows, whites. I do not know their names but I am entranced by their bright colors and inviting smells. The woman who runs the stand is old and I imagine she cannot see me well as she smiles at me even at this close a distance.

She asks me which ones I like the most. I tell her I love them all. She seems to take great joy in this; she smiles and asks me if there is someone dear to me in my life. I find myself smiling for the first time that day as I answer yes.

I think of him then, and see this kind woman and her flower stand as a sign. I ask her how much it would be to have one flower of each color. She insists that I take them for no cost, as long as I promise to always follow my heart and show my love just how much he means to me with the flowers. I answer truthfully when I say that I will.

Seven hours.

The sun does not last long. After I depart from the small market, the skies darken and rain soon follows. Any other day I would dance and enjoy such wondrous weather, but today I have to keep my new possessions safe. I find a small coffee shop near the market and use it as sanctuary from the elements.

There are few people, of which I am glad. The kind woman at the flower stand had given me a card with a lovely design of two small ducklings kissing in a pond. The inside was blank; she had provided me a pen to which I could fill the card with my own words. I promised her I would return her pen as soon as I was able.

I spend a long time in that coffee shop. I am not used to this— writing my feelings. Though, I suppose all of this is new to me. It is both exciting and frightening at the same time. The words come eventually and I write in the card. I hope with all my heart that he can understand how I feel through just a few words.

Five hours.

The rain passes but the sky is still dark. I walk the streets with a new bounce in my step. I feel lighter than air. I do not even pay any mind to the men and women who look upon me with a mixture of fear and desire. He is all I can think of now. I grip the flowers and card close to my chest.

Four hours.

Although I desperately want to see him, I cannot hurry my pace. Anxiety weighs me down as I walk through the town’s park. I wonder if he will accept my gifts. If he even still remembers me. I do not care if he rejects me— in some ways I am expecting it. What would hurt most would be him not even seeing me. Being no more than a phantom to him. Someone that had no weight in his mind or his heart.

These thoughts almost convince me to give up. I even stop before the lake and stare at the reflection of the full moon for awhile. I want to give up, but every time the thought comes across my mind I hear the kind flower woman’s words of encouragement. I stare at the beautiful assortment of flowers and remind myself of the promise I gave her.

Three hours.

I am past the park and I am walking with more purpose to his home. The town itself is small in population, but its people are spread out so far. There are no taxis like in the bigger cities, people either have their own cars or they walk. I abandoned my shoes a few miles ago as they hurt my feet. I begin running as the night wears on.

I run through underbrush and through puddles. I don’t mind when my dress tears and becomes stained by mud. He saw me for who I was on the inside. If my love remembers me, he will not care how I look now.

Even though I run, I know it would still be a while longer before I reach him. But it does not sway me and I will not tire. My love strengthens my muscles and gives energy to my being.

Two hours.

I finally see his farm in the distance, nestled on a hill. I allow myself to walk when I see that his lights are still on. All is dark and still as I walk the cobblestone path that leads to his property. My love owns a great deal of land, so it is still awhile more before I can reach him— but I no longer hurry. I am confident now that he is waiting for me.

Since the first time our eyes met, I knew he would be expecting to see me again. There was a true spark there. I cannot believe I almost did not come. Now that I am so close, I realize it was foolish to have all of those past worries. I breathe in the flowers. Many have wilted or disappeared on my way here, but I do not mind much. The card has been dirtied a bit by the mud but my words were still visible.

The feeling of joy is overwhelming. It has been so long since I have last seen my darling. I hope he did not miss me too much.

One hour.

Fireflies light my way as I walk up the hill. I pass by his cows that are all grazing. They do not pay me much mind. I am careful not to make too much noise.

I am thankful that the night is so warm. I do not have much clothing left. Perhaps he would not mind. Perhaps he would even enjoy it.

The wide moon is covered by clouds. His hill is entirely consumed by the night. I am glad for this. I did not want my love to catch me before I can surprise him.

I finally reach his home. It is large and made of wood. I step onto his porch and peer into the window beside the front door. I see an older man, perhaps his father, asleep on a chair. There is a bottle in his hand. The room is dark save for a blue light from the television which leaves many shadows. If I had to, I could probably make my way through that room to reach my beloved, unnoticed.

I creep around to one side of the house where there is another window. An older woman, the mother, possibly, is right behind it. She appears to be very involved with what she is doing. I step right up to the window and see that she is busy washing dishes. The window is partway open. I can reach out and touch her if I want to.

There are no windows behind the house or on the other side wide enough for me to squeeze through. When I return to the front, I see a final window on the second story of the house, above the porch. I bite down on the stems of the remaining flowers and on the card so I can use both of my hands. I climb up the porch, using one of the support beams. From the top of the porch I can easily reach the window. I am pleased when I discover it is his window.

He appears to be changing for bed. I watch him carefully as I approach the window. I am careful not to be caught before the right moment. He is in the process of removing his shirt when I tap on the glass.

He stops almost immediately. His shirt is about halfway off, still covering his head. I watch as he slowly pulls it back down and looks at me through the window.

Our eyes meet, and the recollection is clear. His beautiful blues widen as his face grows very pale. His screams pierce the small space of the room as he runs out through his door.

It was more than I could bear. The tears come as I open his window. I step inside as the feelings threaten to overwhelm me. I walk to his bed and place down the flowers and the card as neatly as I can.

He remembers me.

I smile as I hold my hands to my heart. I could still hear his crying and bellowing from downstairs.

He remembers me.

I am too consumed by joy to move immediately when his bedroom door bursts open. His father points a large gun at me. In the moonlight he can see what I am. I am hungry and I no longer have the energy to hide it.

He fires and it hits my chest, but I do not feel it. I turn and flee out the window as he fires again, destroying one of my love’s action figures in the process.

I run through the fields. The cows and the fireflies flee from me. The warm night air soars around me as I descend the hill. I think of my love going to his room, seeing the flowers, and reading the letter. I imagine the love and happiness he will feel as he reads the words:

Every night at midnight I will return to you, my love

No matter what happens I will always find you, so do not worry

You are in my heart forever

My sweet, sweet little dove

You may find me in your closet, in your shower, or under your bed

Each night a new surprise

Oh how I long to look so deep

Into those big blue eyes.

Twenty-four hours.