A Season for Annabeth

The room was far from dark. Fairy lights speckled the walls as though climbing them. They were strung like ivy, falling and rising and flickering in slow motion. Outside, the snow descended silently from an overcast sky. It was 7:00 am, but not light enough to call it day. The pedestal fan blew at its lowest speed, circulating air warmed by heat turned up high. It was restful and clean. Annabeth Whitmore hoped the stillness wouldn't be disturbed by the pigeons who'd decided to come morning by morning and break the peaceful spell with their incessant cooing. You'd think it would be a nice sound to hear first thing in the morning, but the truth is, Ann preferred the cawing of the crows. Their song had become sweeter, if only because they could assert themselves against the pigeons.

Ann had come to hate how they'd turned her balcony into a place to congregate. It's not that they were ugly birds. The colours in their feathers reflected the sunlight in exquisite ways. Others were so white that their big little bellies captivated the eye. "Peace can be interrupted by things that fly just like love can be interrupted by everything awful in life," Ann thought. "Even love. Especially love."

It was rewarding for Ann to wave a broom like a magic wand and watch as so many flapping wings took flight at once. Yet they always came back, and the cheap metal broom handle was beginning to show signs of wear. "What if I hadn't sent him away the way I did?" she pondered. "Would he have kept coming back like the aggressive coo-ers, undaunted, to call on my balcony? What if I hadn't been so harsh?"

The view was a mixed bag; it was a stark contrast between the large body of water across the street to her right and a parking lot big enough to hold a shopping mall directly in front of her. To her left was the city, and not the nicest part of it. So, as Ann found herself caught between the moon and New York City, she fell in love.

He was a Navy man—a marine. Well, not anymore. He was the Chief now, a flyboy, and Ann was smitten. He couldn’t have been brawnier when she’d first laid eyes on him. He couldn’t have looked sadder, either.

Ann had never felt her heart turn over in her chest. It was like a finger in the hole of a doughnut, holding it up and twirling it around. It made her feel dumb. She had nothing to compare this to; this was a chaos of joy under control.

He’d taught her to run, but not away from anything. He’d been her inspiration to start running, and long after he was gone, Ann was still in love with the sport. It was springtime when they had started making tentative plans: Ann and the flyboy. He insisted on calling her Annabeth at times because he knew that when her best friend Leah wanted to get her attention, that's what she would call her. It was like a command of sorts—Annabeth!" He'd picked up on it and would use it when he wanted to communicate something he thought she would like or want to hear from him.

Ann had no idea he was competing with Leah. He’d wanted all of her attention, too. He'd needed it, and Ann had plenty to give. She would've wanted him only, but he came with a soon-to-be ex-wife and two teenage Navy brats she wanted to get to know. He also came with two wars under his belt and too much damage. Ann had told him all about Princess Diana’s injuries when his father died in a car crash, and he couldn’t fly home in time. He had been all ears. She felt as though she had released him from guilt or had even lessened his grief. She’d told him he’d better give it a good think before he went off to fight ISIS. He loved his job, but situations were piling up. Ann felt they were taking advantage of him. He barely slept, and it seemed he was always on call. Eventually, he decided to take a leave.

Near the end, Ann told him he should go back to his wife. There wasn't anything she could tell him that he would not do. "It's a good thing I told him the things he needed to hear," she later recalled. That included leaving her for an ex-wife who was used to managing his trauma and was more than willing to take it back.

“Annabeth! There’s a video on Facebook,” Leah told her. There was urgency in her voice that held nothing of the usual doting humour. "A group of sailors has been filmed under the Chief's window at work singing 'You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin'."

Ann groaned. She was miserable about ending the relationship. They'd had more in common than anyone expected. They'd discovered a shared love for 80s music and would listen to it as they worked out together. He’d helped her define her abs for the first time. He had wanted to teach her karate. He was an instructor, and his daughter was enrolled in his classes. "She needs it," he'd told her. Did Ann? Their dreams had fairy lights strung all over them, too. Why not make martial arts part of their blended family?

They wanted to be each other’s best friends. They fondly agreed that dating was meant for married couples, and both looked forward to a lifetime of playing the field with each other.

Ann could have stared into his green eyes forever. She’d already learned so many fascinating things about this man, and she wanted to hear about how he’d been all over the world. She wanted to know more about his background and his family. He had such a rich heritage. There were still too many pictures of his life that she needed to dissect and talk over together. In Ann's eyes, he was captivating. "Holy hot dad, Batman!" she'd exclaimed when she'd first seen a picture of him with his kids. He wore a faded old Drew Carey t-shirt and had his arms around his son and daughter. Physical touch was his love language. He was always hugging someone, always loving on someone. The tears in his mom's eyes, when he'd stopped by her work dressed in his white uniform, had melted a lot of hearts that day. And for Ann, it was a time of promise.

There was only one problem. The Chief would withdraw unexpectedly, and Ann no longer recognized the same man in him. It’s not that it frightened her; it’s that his sadness was beginning to rub off on her. The longer they were together, the more often it would happen. Her worry was making its way down deep. Counselling was out of the question; he refused it. It hadn't worked for his marriage, and that was an ongoing battle. His wife had served in the military as well, but she had a way of diminishing him while keeping him on a short leash. Ann was not her favourite. Ann celebrated just about everything there was to him, but had enough common sense to know that things didn’t generally improve just because two people tied the knot. She didn’t want to hang herself when he disappeared altogether with a wedding ring on his finger, and sitting right next to her. It was time to pull out the proverbial broom and shoo him like a pigeon. It hurt, but she needed space to get her ducks in a row.

Ann turned to Leah, her family, and the church. They didn't have a lot of faith in her Chief. She was met with a few too many uncomfortable silences. She felt ridiculous. "I love them, but right now, they are NOT my people!" Then she turned to God and stayed there.

When the extraordinary happens and you can't explain it, all you can do is pay close attention. When the extraordinary happened to Ann, she could only feel the peace and wonder at God's care. God is all around. His gestures can be so mysterious and beautiful that the heart is drawn to Him for answers that won't likely come in this lifetime. Yet they can make crazy sense without making any at all. He wants to reveal Himself as the Movie Maker who understands the stuff that dreams are made of. While Ann never fully understood it, she had a sense then that it was meant to tell her what she suspected, and dreaded, and had tucked away in her heart. It was most likely what He didn't want to say to her outright, so He'd used one of His messengers.

Ann had been sitting with an open Bible, feeling a low that only comes around once or twice in a lifetime. The Chief had once said, "Maybe that's why I say 'I hope' a lot." Ann was all but losing hers. As she thought on this, she wondered if he said it because he had to—because if he didn't, he'd lose his mind. Ann felt lost, period. There were too many thoughts to keep track of; too much weight to her heartache. She had overheard him say that he'd find his smile every once in a while, and her heart went out to him, but there was barely any left of Ann's own anymore.

It was when a calming presence filled the room that Ann's attention was drawn to a shelf where she kept all of her earrings hung up neatly in pairs. She wasn't looking for anything, but instead, she saw what otherwise would've been impossible for her to believe. She watched as the two large gold-plated leaves she wore when summer came to an end were moved before her eyes. Someone invisible had handled them, as though gently running a finger across them. She could hear the tinkling as they touched each other and watched as they swung from their hooks and finally settled again. She knew it had to be an angel. There was too much peace all around her.

If others were noticing that there was a change in the Chief, they might poke fun at him with a video, but they didn’t know what made him lose his smile altogether. Did he? Did those sailors even think of asking Ann before making that video and with that song? If the Chief wouldn’t take any steps forward, what else could she do? Stay there, stuck on the road with no one coming to help? With the stillness she now had, she knew she didn’t have to. Ann could, and had to, let him go. She had to finish him off if he was ever going to learn how to really fly.

The Chief had told her he loved big weather changes. It had made a lasting impression on her. He could be poetic in a practical way. Where Ann saw spring, he saw summer trying to come to life while winter was losing its grip. And it did.

Sunlight in summer has a way of simmering nature. It slow-cooks the treasury of the earth and God had called her to the dinner table with an “Annabeth!” He wanted her attention. Beyond the large hotels, the malls, the fire hall, the houses, and all that could be categorized as city, there stood green trees in the background. Trees that had always been there, and would be still. The Chief had said Ann was an artist, and Ann could’ve dipped her paintbrush into the palette where Christ had been and put this on canvas.

Ann was standing on her balcony, as the Lord had prompted her to do. He'd had something to show her, and it was big. Before long, she was leaning over the balcony, craning her neck to see where it started. As her eyes followed the thick highs and lows of foliage—so green and so tightly crowded—she saw she was surrounded. She had sucked in her breath. She must have let something slip out because it was God speaking to her. Not unlike the huge beetle she’d found in her bathtub, she’d heard herself screaming, but her mouth was closed. This was no beetle. This was a Garden of Eden, and a Navy Chief was nowhere to be found.

While the Chief had told Ann he was developing deep feelings for her, God was showing her the height, depth, breadth, and length of His love for her. If God had green eyes, she was staring directly into them. How could she ever look back? Ann's eyes had slowly taken it in again and again. Like a lamp in a lighthouse, she kept going over the scene. From the farthest reaches on the left to the farthest on the right, the setting evening sun was falling upon a semi-circle of trees that spanned the horizon. Had she reached out her hand, she could've waved it up and down over the entire green length of the half circle. She could’ve traced her finger over the tops of thousands of lush trees in full and vibrant bloom, and she was seeing it for the first time after eight years of a view from her fifth-floor apartment. She was incredulous. It had been so long since she'd felt euphoric.

Ann had only noticed the pleasant green trees that were immediately visible and peppered everywhere. This was a whole new vista, made even better with the azure blue of the water, the cerulean sky, and the late August afternoon sun. The Chief had protected her, but now she saw God all around her and the protection of the trees He was using to communicate it to her. It was a balm to her heart.

God had painted this just for her, for Ann, and just in time for another big change in weather. She knew it as Fall, but she was getting her sea legs.

It seemed to take forever for a hint of cold to herald a change in the seasons. Humidity still hung in the air like a guest who would not take his coat off the hook and leave. Winter was usually on schedule, but one couldn't help wondering if November would ever let it speak. It was like being cheated out of all the crispness that October and November were supposed to bring. The leaves still changed colours, but the gusts of wind that begged for sweaters and scarves were silenced. This is what the Chief loved about changing seasons, and Ann wanted it to linger for him. Pumpkin-spiced lattes were lukewarm at best, and people were tired of wiping the sweat from their faces for no good reason, but Ann was comforted that nature was taking her sweet time for the Chief's sake. The cold, heavy rains went missing, and the earth sat sullen and unsaturated. Bare trees stood, having lost their leaves without the fight that autumn blasts of wind threw at them. They, too, were cheated out of the animated engagement that seasonal winds used to make them tremble with excitement. It was weird and unwelcome. Summer had had full sway but now refused to give way to her rightful successor. It was obnoxious of her to cast so long and far-reaching a shadow after her sun had already set. "Let it be to his heart's content," Ann implored of God. "Only let him leave."

The Chief had returned to his wife, then divorced her and was now fighting in the ISIS war. For Ann, God was still calling, or at least He was still getting her attention. She was anxious about the Chief going off to war. She may not have been able to spend the rest of her life with him, but she still wanted him to come home.

Ann looked up at the ceiling, at the reflection her ornate oval mirror left on it. “Jesus!” she called out. It was winter now, she'd come full circle and she wanted His attention. She began to feel the same peace pervading her heart when the angel visited her. His answer was immediate. “You can begin again.” Ann chose to believe. If God wanted anything for her, it was for her to have peace. Peace is possible in heartbreak.

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No one could get to Ann this early in the morning. It was quite possibly the time she enjoyed the most, next to when the sun went down again. But daylight had officially broken. Yes, there was light, but the snow was still falling, giving off a light of its own. The sky was white, and the crows soared, flying low, flying high, and so black against all the white. One flew past her window—its wingspan elegant—with a long twig in its mouth. The tall trees that lined the perimeter of the building gathered the flakes in the lace of their branches and kept the noise of life outside from infiltrating her freedom. Ann popped a bagel in the toaster and was glad for another storm. "No pigeons today," she thought. It was a small victory. The spoils were honey on whole wheat with a dwindling supply of English Breakfast tea. Parked once more in the nest of throws and pillows, she hears the siren of the fire truck. It was a familiar sound, what with the firehouse across the street. It wasn't out of place to hear it two, sometimes three times a day. It's far from disruptive. "Probably as much of a comfort to me as it is to whoever called for it," she mused. Buses and snowplows on one side and the river on the other. Tranquillity obscured by winter steam fog. Ann enjoyed the imbalance.

"Annabeth!" She heard her thought through pain that had finally subsided.

"I can begin again."