This is a short story that I began to write in my freshman year of college and finished in my sophomore year. It touches on the themes of found family and belonging and it holds the special place of being my favorite one I've written to date.
It was a fine, breezy Sunday afternoon, and I was stumbling dreamily along the path that went by your house. The open country was all around me; I was wrapped in its warmth and softness. The wind blew my hair into my eyes and I laughed because the day was bright, the wind was fickle, and I was nearing your little house, the one surrounded by tall, sturdy pines.
I drew nearer and nearer to where you were, and as I did, my heart began to race faster and faster like one of the wild ponies we used to watch when we were just young children. I saw your home and my heart soared higher and higher as I drew nearer and nearer. The rough, grey façade, the tall pines, and the golden wisps of afternoon sunlight that hit the window panes in the most magical of ways; these are all things I remember about you.
“But that was the house!” You may say. “But that was a product of nature!” I agree. And yet, all these things were so like you in the most tangible of ways, that I can hardly separate you from that little house or from the wind and the trees and the sunlight. They were like you: lovely and true and good.
I was a naïve child then, only seventeen perhaps. I walked along in expectation of you. I wanted to catch just one, joyful glimpse of you. I wanted to see you smile at me, wave at me, talk to me even, perhaps. I came to the gate of your lovely little house and sighed happily, for what a pleasure it was to be near to you!
I waited for a good, long while. Then, in a moment—oh joy! For there you were, and my heart could be at peace! My heart could sing because I saw you. You stepped into the sunlight and you smiled at me. You smiled at me despite your strong and rough exterior. You smiled despite what they said about you and your heart of stone.
You said, “How’d you do ma’am?”
And I said, “Very well, thank you, sir.”
And we began to walk together. We walked and we walked and we walked, never saying anything at all, and it was heaven. It was heaven just to be near you. I pointed to a delicate flower that swayed in the wind and you stopped to appreciate what I appreciated. That was also heaven.
Eventually, we turned to go back to your little house. We parted at the gate. I loved you and wondered if you could love me too. To have said just a word or two to you was magical. And I went on my way, delighted at the beauty and goodness of the world.
Not long after, you sent me a letter. It was an invitation. An invitation to watch the stars with you. And that was the moment when I knew for certain that your coarse and cruel heart was not so coarse and cruel after all. That was the moment when I knew that you loved things, even if one of those things was just the stars and not me. And I loved you more for it.
That night, I approached your house, and saw you waiting for me by the gate. You smiled in the darkness and so did I. We climbed to the top of the hill nearby and we watched the stars and the planets and the galaxies go by, and yet I saw nothing in them compared to you. I wondered sadly if you would ever say the same of me. And I thought on this melancholy prospect for a moment.
Then you said, “The stars are delightful and magical and good. But not half as much as you are.” And you took my hand and said, “I love you.” Then my heart leaped for joy and I cried tears, happy ones.
I told you in no uncertain terms that you had captured my heart and that I wanted to be with you forever and ever. Then you cried too. I think they were tears of relief. Or maybe of love. Or maybe of both. Then you promised to marry me and all the world was bright and merry. All was right.
Then the war came. And it took you far, far away from me and the countryside and your little house. I would have cried, but I could not muster it. I was proud of your boldness and bravery. I mustn’t cry about heroism.
The years dragged on. And I waited and waited for your return. I whispered many a time, “Come back to me.” But you would not. In the still silence of the woods, I found a refuge. Four winters you were gone, and I had lost all hope of your life or death.
I decided to leave that lonely, lost countryside and go to the city. I decided to get lost in their bookstores and alleyways and traffic. And I had resolved to do such a thing.
But one day, you returned. You looked at me and I looked at you and you were not the same. But neither was I. We went down to the large, wooden church and the minister married us. Then you held me in your arms, and you took my hand and we walked down the path together. In the distance, we saw your little cottage. But now, it was ours.