The Globe

A short story based on a vacation globe I once drew in my notebook.

Mrs. Brown had snapped. Finally, after all those years, she had gone crazy enough to be hospitalized. After all the years of yelling about how 'He promised he would come back, so he will!?!' and the whole neighborhood expecting it, it had finally happened.

I have to admit that I was sad to see her go, screaming and pulling at her hair like an animal. She was a nice lady when she was sane, and we got along great. I was the closest thing she had to a friend. She knew all of my secrets, and even when she wasn't being, well, normal, she never spilled any of them. So naturally, here I was, sitting in my balcony, looking at her room's open window, imagining what she must be going through at the hospital right now. Would they treat her well? Would they let me meet her on her birthday? Would she be able to eat cake? Would they extract that secret of hers that she had never told a soul, not even me?

I shook my head to stop my thoughts from going on a roller coaster that only went downwards like every other time. Instead, I chose to think about my time with Mrs. Brown. The afternoons spent, sitting on the porch of her house, me playing with her hair and describing my dream to serve in the army, and her looking at me with so much adoration in those unusual violet eyes, but now it served as a reminder of that crazed anger, sadness and longing in her eyes as she left us, bringing tears to my eyes. She had almost been a mother to me as mine was almost never home. Mrs. Brown was now just another person who left me alone to suffer through the rocky road ahead of me.

She was the only person who knew of my burning desire to become an army man.

Yet as I thought about my time with her now, she had never told me that she was happy I wanted to serve my country, and not even that I not should pursue this career as it was dangerous. She just stroked my blonde hair and looked at me with those sad eyes, holding pride and a look of nostalgia. And the one look that says I didn't know something she did.

Now that she had been taken, rumors has started flying. Mrs. Nesbitte was sure she had been a prostitute in her days. Mr. Collins heard she was a Hollywood actress who had gone crazy from all the fame. Serena said that she was just an attention seeker who was pretending. But I refused to believe them, or fight those people, no matter how much they and their talks enraged me. Mrs. Brown had always said that people's talks show the size of their brains, and these people's brains were bean sized. And each day, it would be the thought of Mrs. Brown that kept me from lashing out at all the dumb, real weirdos who said such things only because their brain power was not enough to understand what a lovely, respectable woman Mrs. Brown was.

I was her best-only-friend. I knew her. She knew me. So it didn't surprise me when she sent me a message from the hospital. But what it said surprised me. I had to take care of her house now. And when I turned 18, it would be mine.

I should've been happy, but my heart broke after I read her beautiful, loopy handwriting on the yellow paper with the name of the hospital on it. That paper lay on her shelf, drooping and wet after half an hour of soaking my salty tears as I tried to console me myself. She admitted she wasn't going to come back. Her spirit was broken now. And she left her house, her only possession, to me. I meant much more to her that I could ever have imagined.

So here I was, in her attic, trying to figure out how to bring her back to me. After 2 hours of vigorous searching, all I could find was a voodoo doll, a bat and a ball, a really old sketchbook and many, many old dresses. There were those weird, purple colored ones, hot pinks, bright yellows and then finally, one caught my eyes.

It was a lace wedding dress, complete with ribbons, a veil and hair accessories. Inside it was a small picture, coated in tears, of Mrs. Brown and a very handsome looking blonde man. His green eyes were so piercing, it seemed like he could stare into my soul. Who was this guy?

As I flipped the dress, a small vacation globe, with raging sea waves, rolled out of it. Attached to it was a letter. The handwriting was messy, as if someone had been in a hurry to spill everything out when they wrote it.

Dear Marcie,

I need to tell you that I'm very sorry, just like I told you. Please, just call me once. You know I couldn't have done anything even if I had wanted to. You know and understand very well that for me, the country comes before anything else. Civilians' lives rest on my shoulders in one way or the other.

You know that the navy's demands are not unreal, they need people on the front line. If only you would speak to me. Don't be so angry, dear. You know I don't want to go, but I have to. For the country's sake. The greater good.

Anyways, as I told you when you were pretending to not be listening, this globe is to remind you of me in the sea. I promise I'll come back. I just need your support. Speak to me. Please. That's all I want. I promise I'll come back, Marcie. If there's one oath I swear never to break, it's that I'll come back. I'll come back to you, Marcie

Yours truly and forever,

Arthur.

And scribbled at the end of it was,

You did. You came, but you were still mad at me. You didn't speak to me. You just lay there, non responsive. You didn't come back You didn't, but I'm still waiting, because you promised me. You promised me. But you didn't.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/~/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It was 25th March, a day I couldn't forget even if I wanted to. It was Mrs. Brown's birthday. I had received a letter stating that each patient was allowed to see one person on their birthdays, and Mrs. Brown had pointed her long finger at my picture. So here I was, walking through the unnaturally white floors of the hospital to her room. I was nervous, I have to say. What if she wasn't the Mrs. Brown I had known and grown to love? What if she wasn't my best friend anymore?

But all my worries vanished as soon as I saw her, sitting on her chair, knitting the sweater she had been knitting for ages. She looked at me for a while, then let her sweater drop, and screamed,

"You came!"