Cary Ann held her hand out to steady herself against the
rush of new emotions that threaten her hard won resilience. Hours she had spent
sitting, staring, stating over and over again that she was okay, that he was
gone, that they were no more. She would gingerly touch the place their love
once took seed and again she would be cut with the exquisite blade of grief again.
Opening a wound that she would spend the next 12 months sewing close again and
again only to give up and cement over that sore. Now he stood in fount of her,
her resolve crumbling, her heart, betraying the year of training, began to beat
faster. Hope, that four letter word, filled her senses and deadened her
determination. Her hand out held was the
only thing protecting her from his body as he leaned in for a not entirely
unwelcome hug.
A tug a
war of sorts between her willpower and the carnal need to rush in to his familiar
arms, burry herself in his musk and let the dam of the past year rush out and
drown them both in her sorrow. His flawed smile dimmed and he looked older, despite
his attempt to shave and shower the wild in his stature hovered around the
edges just out of sight. She wanted to scream “Where were you?” But this she
knew, in a conflict torn fields, helping others, supporting others. She was
left to pick up the pieces while his grief was consummated with bullets and
hers with sutures. Cold and empty like the ring on her finger she fought at
home, dodging glances and side stepping missile question aimed to target and
kill. She put on her uniform every day with a stoic smile and hardened eyes. She
survived, and here he stood, threatening to tear down all she had built, all she
had made. She did not know if she could, if she dare. Uncertain if the cracking
she felt was her heart finally settling in for the winter life or if it was his
first attempt at her walls. Slowly, cautiously she withdrew her hand, and its
protection and he rushed in, like an EMT his hug checked her pulse and his kiss
her vitals. Stiff and unforgiving her mind withheld anything but the physical. Her
body played out what it’s had rehearsed since his departure. He had just
returned home, but for her that journey had just begun, still fuzzy and
distance she could now make out a faint road, dare she walk on or should she stand
still. After all immobility did have its advantages, is she didn’t walk, she
could fall, and despite what the motivation poster spouted standing still felt
good. Standing still might be the opposite of winning but then again it was
also the opposite of losing too. If the past year of trenches taught
her anything, if you’re not losing that’s close enough to winning for her.
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