“Isn't he so beautiful.”
“Look at his eyes.”
“Look at his smile.”
“Dear, did you bring Paul?”
“Yes.”
“I know he is too little to hold him,
but set him right there next to the flowers.”
“So they can be lifelong friends.”
…
“Are you ready Peter? It's time to
leave.”
Peter looked around his former bedroom,
now stripped bare for the move. Along the door frame were the marks
made by his father drawn each birthday. In the corner was his closet
where he used to hide from his parent at bed time, but at night he'd
watched carefully because Paul was afraid of monsters. Peter
glanced out the window and saw the house of his best friend Eric
across the street. Even though his seventh birthday was only a month
away, he had the wisdom to know they would never see each other again.
His young soul ached, but he could be brave as long as he had his lifelong friend. He picked up his small bag and walked
into the hall.
“Do you have everything?”
“Yes Mom.”
Peter napped for most of the two hour drive to the airport. It was Peter's first conscious flight, though his mom had brought him on a plane when he was not
yet one. Though his parents worried, he quelled any anxiety about
the loss of his former abode, and enjoyed the new experience.
His grandparents met them when they landed, and drove the family another hour to their new home. Peter stared out the window as the car pulled into the driveway. For next few hours Peter explored the house: his
new bedroom, the living room, the expansive backyard, and any nooks and crannies. At dinner time his parents
ordered pepperoni pizza which they ate sitting on the floor. His
mother noticed Peter's mouth form into a strange shape.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“Sorta.”
“What is it?” asked his father.
“Is the pizza no good?”
“Why didn't our old pizza shop make
a pie this delicious?”
They laughed.
“Would you like to sleep with us
tonight Peter?”
“Dear...”
“I thought because we were in a new
place...”
“It's ok," said Peter, "I want to spend the first
night...”
“And all future nights.”
“... in my new room.”
…
“He's adjusting well.”
“Well, let's not assume anything.
Wait until the shock recedes.”
Peter had been in bed no more than five minutes before his parents heard a plantive cry issuing from his room. They hurried to his bed.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
“Mom! Dad! We forgot Paul!” he
bawled.
…
Tear stained and disheveled from a lack
of sleep, Peter watched the sun rise with his back to a stone wall
which bordered his inadequate yard. As he sat, anxious for his
future, desiring the past, he felt a tap on the shoulder. A boy, not
a year older, with sandy blond hair, held out his hand.
“Hello. My name is Lee. What's
yours?”
…
“Watch
out Lee,” yelled Peter as he ducked behind a tree, bullets tearing
bark and leaves from his shelter.
“We
need to withdraw, we can't hold this position.”
Peter
fired at the unseen assailants, while looking at Lee.
“Where
can we go?”
Lee
gestured to their left.
“See
that depression? Further along it deepens into a sizable ditch.
It's overgrown with brush, so if we move carefully, and slowly, we
should remain invisible to the enemy.”
Peter
stifled a laugh. “Remember in Mr. Jones's 6th
grade class you wrote that story about the invisible man?”
Lee
grinned back. “You're memories as bad as your aim. It was in Mrs.
Jackie's 5th
grade class.”
“Lead
the way Mr. Wells.”
The
plan worked as intended, and Peter felt as if he was crawling through
one of those plastic green tunnels found in children's playgrounds,
except for the muddy bottom. Time passed immeasurably as they crept, like inch worms,
to their escape. Peter could only see Lee's
feet, and mindlessness settled on his brain. Just as he began to
feel too bored, too confined, and too exhausted to continue, he bumped
into the feet he'd been following. Slowly, Lee rose up, scanning for
any danger. Peter watched him abandon the ditch and perform a
crouching walk into a clump of bushes. Silence. Then Peter copied
him, moving as quickly as he could, while maintaining absolute
silence.
Lee
already had a map spread in front of him, and Peter whispered as he
neared his friend.
“Do
you know where we are?”
Lee
gestured to the map. “I think we initially escaped in this
direction, but it was difficult in the ditch to keep track of each
twist or turn, or to know how far we traveled.”
“We're
totally lost?”
“No,
just uncertainly adrift. But I'm fairly confident that if we travel
south, southeast,” he drew his compass, “then we will either
reach the coast or the base. From the former we can make it to the
latter.”
They
set out again, walking in a crouch.
They walked, and Peter slumped into a daze he moved. Suddenly, from
out of the bushes leapt a man, and time fell, twisted, and spun,
until it landed again on its feet. Peter found himself standing
across the man, an enemy combatant, sprawled across the ground. In
Peter's hands was the rifle with which he had knocked the man flat.
He looked around and saw Lee on the ground, trembling, his own rifle
tossed aside. When he saw the situation he stood, and looking
sheepish, retrieved his weapon.
“You
were so brave,” Lee said at last.
“Only
because I have someone to cling to. Like a shipwrecked sailor to a
spar, or a child to a stuffed animal.”
It
sounded corny, but it was the only way Peter could express his
perspective.
Without
another warning, a shell crashed through the trees, and gunfire
erupted in the distance. Lee began to run, but Peter grasped his
shoulder.
“It
doesn't look like they are firing at us.”
In the
cacophony of carnage, Peter wasn't sure if Lee understood him. Lee
pulled away, running wildly, and Peter chased after him. The melee
was beyond them, and all about them. He seemed to be moving through
two parallel universes, one of peace, and another of destruction.
Then he
was struck and fell to the ground, pain radiating from his right
shoulder. His cry must have pierced Lee's terror, for he perceived his
friend pulling him from the mud. He was hobbling forward now, crying
with each step, stumbling, but being heaved forward.
There
was yelling up ahead, and Lee was yelling back, and then Peter felt
his friend throw him to the ground, pain jolting him as if shot anew,
and Lee was atop him. There was a thumping, as if a hammer was
hitting him with a piece of rubber taking the majority of each blow.
New
hands grasped him, and he tried to grab Lee's body, but he hadn't the
strength. He tried to run away, but couldn't do that either.
…
He
opened his eyes, and standing before him was a nurse. He didn't need to
ask any questions. He felt he never would need to, or want to again.
But she smiled a consoling smile full of suffering and strength.
“My
name is Mary.”
…
“Mary,
what did the doctor say?” Peter asked offhandedly as she came in
the door. When she didn't speak he looked up from his laptop he had
set haphazardly on the counter as he cooked dinner. She was wringing
her hands nervously, and he said, “Mary, what is it?”
“The
doctor thinks I have esophageal cancer.”
“Thinks?”
said Peter moving towards her.
“The
tests, they say, are pretty conclusive.”
“Sit,
please. Tell me about it.”
They
talked late that night, dinner forgotten until the morning. The next
day they called Aldo and Ashley at their respective colleges, and
told them the news. It wasn't long before Mary suffered from
aggravating afflictions. She lost weight and couldn't gain it back.
She complained of pains in the chest which couldn't be placated. At
night she would cry, and Peter held her, steady and calm. But when
they were separated, which happened less and less, he overflowed like
a river over a broken levee.
If he
was truthful with himself, and he hoped he was, he wasn't sure if he
was crying for Mary's suffering, her future loss, his loss, or his
inevitable demise. He could be brave for everyone except himself.
The children returned for Christmas vacation, and he consoled them as
well, for they were shocked and frightened by their mother's frail
condition. They couldn't behave naturally, and while Peter knew Mary
didn't blame them, it compounded her agony.
Though
they offered to remain at home, delaying a Semester of school, Peter
knew they were glad to leave when Mary insisted they continue their
studies.
“I'll
keep you updated,” Peter told them as they left for their Senior
and Sophomore spring semesters.
Before
they knew it they had returned, as the flowers bloomed, for a final
week of attendance, and a conclusionary weekend in the hospital. At
last they left to allow their parents one final conference.
“Why
are you holding my hand so tightly?”
“I
know you want to run away.”
“I
can't be brave without you.”
“You
can. You have Ashley and Aldo.”
“But
I am finally without guidance, without someone to watch over me. Who
will usher me to death? Who will console me? I will die alone.”
“Hush.”
“But...”
“At
the last of my moments, must I comfort you, or will you be
courageous?”
“I
will.”
But in
his mind, he qualified, “Until I am without my lifelong friend.”
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