| |
WHEN SARAH DROVE INTO Hazel Creek and through the streets of the village that was still holding possessively onto her heart and her ancestry, for the very first time in almost fifteen years, she understood for how she had recklessly and mistakenly convinced herself that it was essential to leave and go in search of her very own kind of remarkable.
How foolish she had been, and how utterly deluded her young and untaught mind was. She was already extraordinary for him. She never needed to pursue any kind of fabulous, he had already spotted that in her. Just like him, she had come from a village with its very own fairytales and enchantments, and that was all the wonderful they had ever needed.
She came home today, to discover that he had found his own kind of exquisite, his very own fairytale, and his very precious wonderful. He had been whispering to his angel at night about new sunrises and brand-new sunsets. They had spoken of a place where he could see the sun rise again, and where the streets were paved in gold, and lined with flowery blossoms.
He had found his delight in the echoing of the moon, in the whispers of the stars, and in the drops of the rain. He had spoken to his angel about finding a place where his soul could rest for a while, and where his heart could love her without distance, and without hurting as much as it had until then.
He asked about taking one final breath over here, and he whispered about taking another first one, over there. There, where his eyes could once again see through the foggy mists that were blinding him over here. There, where his heart could be unbroken, and where he was no longer breathing simply for her return.
He asked his angel to close his eyes, but not to let hers cry. He said that she could never know, and he begged that she would never return, and discover the horrifying secret he had kept hidden from her. He told his angel that he knew how she always felt she had to run, but that he just never really understood why.
He said that sometimes in the darkest moments of the night, and from the very moment she had left, he could sometimes feel her fall entirely apart under their stormy skies, but that he was sure, she still wouldn’t come home any time soon.
He told his angel that he could feel somewhere deep inside of him, that there had to be a little more out there for him, and that he could at times and in certain moments, feel the rumbling rampant underneath his own feet, as they nudged him to find his own kind of wonderful.
He told his angel that he was exhausted and weary, and that he could no longer wrestle with the demons of the disease that had thoroughly invaded and pitilessly ravaged his entire body, before it ruthlessly attacked his mind.
He said that he’d hate for her to see him broken and defeated by the one battle he could not conquer, and that they both knew it would be one combat he would eventually surrender to. He asked his angel, if it could perhaps be his turn to find his very own forever, away from their village and away from their world.
With the Kingsleys and the Swansons all gathered around his bedside, Daniel sluggishly glanced over at them, one by one. He smiled bravely at the familiar and loving faces that gazed crushingly back at him. With each eye he met, a tear rolled for him and the courageous battle he had fought for so long.
One by one, they took his hand, and when Anabel begged him to fight for just a while longer, Daniel slowly placed his finger on his lips, and weakly squeezed her hand, “Don’t tell Sarah.”
Cindy wiped the tears from her eyes, and walked up to him, before she placed her hand on his shoulder, “Danny?” Daniel turned to face her, and smiled wretchedly, “Don’t tell Sarah. You must protect her from this. Don’t break her heart. She will, she’ll never forgive herself. Let her have her bright city lights, and golden pavements ...” Daniel’s voice trailed off, as he fought to keep his eyes open. “I love her, I love you, all of you. I am so sorry.” He whispered breathlessly before he closed his eyes one last time.
On a cold, dark winter’s night, his angel answered him for the very first time. He stood at his bedside and wiped the warm tears that were escaping from the corners of his eyes. He placed his hand on his cheek, and took pity on Daniel’s prolonged suffering. “Alright ...” He whispered as he gently stroked his hair. He assured Daniel that Sarah would not return soon, but that a field filled with roses and angels were ready to take his hand, and guide him home.
They were ready to walk with him to where his fairytale and ever-after awaited him. They were ready to show him a place they had prepared for him, there where he would be free from the body that was savagely ravaged by an illness they discovered too late. On that chilly, shadowy winter’s night, his angel closed his eyes, and led Daniel away, and to his forever.
At that very moment, and almost a thousand miles away, on the corner of a busy and bustling city street, Sarah caught a glimpse of an artist behind his easel as people hurriedly passed him by, almost as though he was fiercely guarded from the world around him. He smiled bashfully as he clutched a paint brush in his hand, and whistled a love song that could not be drowned out by the lively noises of the streets.
With each brush stroke, he brought to life the waves of an ocean that were crashing harshly on the sands of a beach. She stood silently as she watched him paint the seas that reflected the rising sun of the morning sky.
She gazed longingly at the life he was creating by the mere strokes of his brush, and through the gentle whistles of his love songs. With each motion, she was reminded of the village she had left behind, and the beauty of the love she was sure, had forgotten her.
With a trouncing heart, she walked up to him and through the shudders of her own voice, she asked him if he only painted scenes of the oceans and the skies? He lowered his brush and grinned, before he told her that for a few bucks, he would paint her anything she wanted.
She fell to her knees and grabbed his warm, aesthetic hands. She stared at them, confident and hopeful that they would create a painting for her too. She asked him if he could paint her a love story. Without pausing to take a breath, she went on to describe how it should look, and that it had to be just as she had planned when she was only a little girl.
She told him of a little blue house, a slight way out of town. She asked him to paint a porch with a swing, so that she could watch over her horses and gaze out onto her flower fields. She begged him to paint her on that swing in a white cotton dress and make it the very first day of spring. She squeezed his hands tighter, and asked him again, to paint her a love story.
His heart began to batter wildly when he noticed the despair in her persuasive eyes. He hurriedly seized a blank canvas, and picked up his paint brush. He asked her where she would like him to place her love in the painting, and when she began to whimper softly, he knew he would have to be placed right beside her, where she needed him to be.
She asked him if he could perhaps peek into her heart and see how it longed for the way it was before. Before, when her story was a painting she had once owned. And then, she implored him to place her love’s arms back around her, just like it once was.
She told him how the bright sunrises contradicted the dense mist that weighed down so heavily on her. She said that she needed him to paint the joyful sounds of the birds in the mornings, so that her heart could hear them once more. She gently whispered how she wondered why the world continued to turn, and that without her new painting, she was just not sure she could begin again.
She asked him to add fireflies to brighten her darkest nights, and she told him to place the stars like a silvery gown around her. She said that she wanted to hang it above her big, empty bed where she feared the dark and dreaded the dawn, all at the same time. She softly confessed, that she reaches for her love in vain, and that she tearfully whispers his name, just as she is about to fall asleep.
She reminded the artist not to forget to paint daffodils, so that she can smile instead of cry. She told him to take his time because at that very moment, her heart does not yet have a home, and that it was just a painting, until it becomes her love story.
Through her tears, she told him that she had left him behind, and that she no longer knew how to find her way home. She said that she had been gone for so long, much longer than she had planned. She whispered how he told her to forget him, just as he had forgotten her. “My heart can’t let go ...”
She dabbed at the tears that were shimmering in her eyes, before they rolled onto her cheeks. As he painted her love story, she noticed how he was painting the image of the man back home that she had lost, even though her heart would not allow her to find another. She gasped for air when she saw him come alive in the painting, and when the artist caught her just as her legs caved in beneath her, she whispered sadly, “How did you know?”
He sat her down on his little chair in front of the easel. When she gazed over at the man her heart was aching for as he stared back at her, the man trapped in her canvassed love story, she slowly traced his entire face with her fingertips.
He was older than she remembered, but his eyes were as frosty as they had been when she looked into them for the very first time, an entire lifetime ago. The lines around his eyes told her of how often he had laughed while she was gone, and the frown lines on his forehead swore to her that he thought of her often.
The sadness she found in the grooves around his mouth told her that he might have missed her once in a while, just as she had longed for him each night while she was gone. The silver streaks that were beginning to invade the peppery hair told her that he had spent too many nights alone, and that she had fallen asleep too many nights without him.
It was the man she had left behind, even though he had grown older and seemed as though he was conquered by sorrow. As her tears began rolling desolately from her eyes, she thanked the artist and took her painting.
