The Simplicity of Love

This is a short story I wrote over a year ago for one of my classes. I have had a few friends express interest in reading this and the other short story I just posted. These are by no means exceptional, but are the evidences of both my own "triumph" by writing an actual story, and, I guess you could say, small glimpses of some of the things I value...I'll let you read and figure out what I mean. I hope you find some enjoyment as you read these.


Again I apologize for the small font.

The Simplicity of Love

Mr. and Mrs. Douglas were the perfect couple, many said. They had gone to grade

school together, been sweethearts in high school, gotten engaged upon graduation, and

married soon after. She had taken care of the home while he put himself through school. It

hadn’t always been easy; money was tight, especially during those first few years, but they had

managed to pull through. Their five children, three girls and two boys, were their delight. As the

years passed, both Christopher and Ann spent increasing hours at track meets, football games,

recitals, and competitions. Christopher insisted that they spend time together even in the

busiest of weeks. Whether it was playing a game, taking a walk, or just sitting down and

chatting about nothing in particular, he always made them his first priority. He loved his family

more than anything else, even to the point of turning down a job that would have doubled

what he was making, but would have taken much more time away from his family.

As the children left one by one for college, Christopher found himself falling ever deeper

in love with his wife. Ann was his queen. It was not uncommon for one to catch him staring

unashamedly at her the way a boy stares at a girl he admires. The seeming simplicity of

their love for each other was beautiful to witness. During the summer, they could often be seen

strolling hand-in-hand down the many paths of the park not far from their house. When the

weather turned cold, they would spend the evenings together by the fireplace, often in the

comfortable silence that comes with knowing someone intimately for years.

***

One such night in December, after they had spent the evening decorating the house for

Christmas, and they had each taken their customary places by the hearth, Ann mentioned that

she had a slight headache.

“I think I’ll head to bed a little early, see if I can’t sleep this off,” she said. The concerned

look in Christopher’s eyes made her laugh, “Don’t you worry Chris, I’m fine. I want to be well-

rested for tomorrow. It’d be a shame to ruin your surprise by being sick now, wouldn’t it? I

think I’m just a little tired, that’s all.  I love you, g’night.”

“You’re sure you’re ok?” He smiled back, “I love you Ann, more than you know. See you

in the morning.”

She was touched by his tenderness. Although that was his ordinary way of telling her he

loved her, she realized afresh just how blessed she was to have such a loving husband. While

she slipped into her nightgown and crawled into bed, she thought about the many times she

had taken his love for granted, reminding herself to again treasure each overture of love from

him. As she drifted into a fitful sleep, many fond memories of years past floated through her

mind.

Christopher was not long in following his wife to bed. As he methodically checked the

doors to confirm they were locked for the night, he too recalled what would be forty-three

years tomorrow that they had enjoyed together. He chuckled to himself at the thought of what

he had planned: a trip to the city, reserved seats at Ann’s favorite restaurant, and two tickets to

the symphony. He entered the bedroom as quietly as he could so as not to disturb her. It would

be a shame for her not to feel well tomorrow, he thought as he prepared for bed.

***

Since Ann was still sleeping when Christopher left for work, he decided against waking

her to say goodbye. Better let her get the rest she needs. She’s been working too hard lately,

hasn’t been getting enough rest. She was bound to get sick sooner or later. He made a mental

note to talk with her about backing off some of the activities with which she busied herself.

Christopher had been at his office no longer than an hour when he received a phone call

from the hospital. A fast talking nurse said something about Ann being rushed to the

emergency room few minutes ago.

“We have been able to get her stabilized now, but you need to get down here as soon as

you can!” the nurse said. “The doctor will meet you when you arrive.”

He barely heard the last sentence before mumbling a numbed “Thank you,” and

slamming the phone down. She only had a headache! It wasn’t even that bad! I saw her this

morning; she was sleeping fine…wasn’t she? Maybe I should have woken her up…to see how she

was doing… Is she alright? She must be ‘cause they said they had her stabilized…but that means

she was really sick, doesn’t it? The thoughts were coming so fast he found it hard to focus on

driving and barely noticed the honks of other annoyed drivers as he wove through traffic. He

tried to calm himself as he jogged from the parking lot toward the front doors.

A man met him at the door, “Mr. Douglas? I’m Dr. Stanton; I need to fill you in on what’s

happened.”

“Please do!” Christopher interrupted, “is she ok? Can I see her? I need to let her know

I’m here so she doesn’t worry!”

Dr. Stanton attempted to slow Christopher down. “I was able to get her stabilized, and

yes, you can see her in a minute. Why don’t you come to my office?”

Christopher emerged from the doctor’s office a few minutes later, walking slower than

he had ever walked in his life. It can’t be! No memory? Surely Dr. Stanton is mistaken, he

has to be mistaken…but he seemed so sure… A nurse led him to Ann’s room before excusing

herself, leaving him to his thoughts. He stood there briefly, his hand on the doorknob, pausing

long enough to collect himself. He slowly opened the door not sure what to expect. Ann was

sitting up in bed and glanced at him as he walked up to the bedside. She looked weak, but

smiled the same warm smile that he had fallen in love with years ago.

“Hi, Ann, how do you feel?” Christopher asked hesitantly.

She looked at him with a pleasant but puzzled expression on her face. “I’m a little tired

but otherwise fine. Thanks for asking Mr.?”

            “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked tenderly. The blank expression on her face gave

him the answer to the question he hadn’t wanted to ask.

            Seeing his pained look, Ann tried to comfort him, “No, you do seem familiar to me,

but as if from a dream. I do feel inclined to like you because you have kind eyes.” Her attempt

at bringing a smile to his face was unsuccessful. “Why? What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly

when she saw tears in his eyes.

            “May I?” Christopher asked as he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Ann nodded yes.

“Ann,” he paused, not sure how to continue, “I’m your husband. Today is our forty-third

wedding anniversary. Don’t you remember last night? You told me you had a headache and

went to bed early.” He choked up, unable to continue.

            Ann was stunned; was this man sitting on her bed really her husband? If so, why

couldn’t she remember him? She panicked a little, “What happened to me?”

            Christopher took her hand into his own hand and related what Dr. Stanton had told him

only moments ago. He told her how she had called 911, complaining of severe head pain; how

the emergency personnel had found her unconscious and rushed her to the hospital; how she

had been unable to answer how to contact her husband and had even been confused by the

question.

When he had finished, she looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “Oh I’m so

sorry! I want to believe you, but I don’t remember any of it. It all seems like a dream.”

Christopher was crying freely, he felt completely helpless. If only he could make her

remember something! That’s it! He thought, I’ll try to refresh her memory. He gathered his

composure a little. “Ann,” he asked, “can I try to help you remember? I know you’re tired, but I

could talk to you while you rest. Maybe I can jog your memory.”

“Yes, if you would like too. I think I will rest though, I’m exhausted!” Ann

whispered.

 “Well,” Christopher began, “where to start… The best day of my life… Has to be the day

you said you’d marry me. I told you that I wanted to take a walk with you one afternoon. You

weren’t sure if you would be able to get the time off from your boss, so I made up some silly

reason why it had to be that afternoon… I don’t even remember what it was. It’s funny, we’d

known each other for so long, but I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous as I was asking you out

that afternoon. I was so nervous I nearly forgot the ring!” He chuckled at the thought,

“Wouldn’t that have been horrible to ask you to marry me and then realize I didn’t have the

ring?

“I took you to your favorite picnic spot and spread out the lunch I’d prepared that

morning: turkey sandwiches, pickles, and angel food cake; you always did like angel food

cake…You were pretty good at making it too! Ahh…” Christopher paused, lost for a minute in

his own thoughts.

“Well, after we cleaned up the lunch stuff, I asked if you’d like to take a walk down this

new path I’d found the other day. You said ‘Of course I’d like to. I like spend time with you, you

know that.’ I have to say, Ann, when you said that, I couldn’t have been happier! You told me

how much you loved fall; how the colors of the leaves, the oranges, reds, and yellows reminded

you of the sunset and how fitting that was because fall was like the sunset of the year.

“It was perfect. There was this little bench right alongside the trail that I didn’t even

know was there. You suggested that we sit down and enjoy the stillness.” Christopher smiled as

he continued, “After a minute or two of silence I asked, ‘Can I break the quietness?’ You gave

me an amused smile; I can hardly describe the way your smile has always captivated me. I

didn’t wait for you to answer; I just faced you and said, ‘Ann, you said earlier that you like to

spend time with me. I need to know if you would like to spend the rest of your life with me. I

can’t promise much, but I can promise I will love you forever, with my whole heart. Ann, will

you be my wife?’ You just nodded, so I took your hand in mine and put the ring on your finger.

“It’s been forty-three years today, since we got married, Ann. Each one has been better

than the last, I mean that honestly. Ann?” Christopher realized that she had drifted off to sleep

sometime while he had been talking. He leaned close to her and tenderly kissed her forehead.

As he leaned back, Ann opened her eyes and gazed at his face as if trying to spark a memory.

He looked directly into her eyes and whispered, “I love you Ann, more than you know.”

            Ann gasped faintly, “Chris! I remember you telling me that last night! I don’t remember

anything else, but I can clearly see you sitting in your chair and saying that! I love you too!”

Christopher began crying again as he moved to hold her in his arms. “I thought I’d lost

you, Ann. We’ll work through this, I’ll help you remember everything. It’s gonna be ok, I

promise. I love you so much Ann!”

She pulled away from him a little so she could see his eyes, smiled, and said, “Don’t you

worry Chris, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I love you.”

            As he laid her back against the pillows, he felt her relax in his arms. She smiled

at him one last time and closed her eyes.

Christopher knew she was gone even before the doctor came to him to offer his

condolences. He had never felt so alone in his life. He cried.

Of Fears and Flowers

This is a short story I wrote over a year ago for one of my classes. I have had a few friends express interest in reading this and one other short story I will be posting. These are by no means exceptional, but are the evidences of both my own "triumph" by writing an actual story, and, I guess you could say, small glimpses of some of the things I value...I'll let you read and figure out what I mean. I hope you find some enjoyment as you read these.

I apologize for the small font- it messed up the formatting to go larger.

Of Fears and Flowers

Cold and afraid, I crouched against the breakwater, with one question that would not

 leave my mind: Why does it have to be this way? I tried to repress the fear that I might never

see my family again; I didn’t even want to consider that possibility.

***

I had arrived in the first wave of the assault, in the third boat that lowered its ramp. I

was lucky, if you could call it that, because the Germans concentrated most of their fire on the

first two boats, giving me a chance to lunge over the side of the boat into the water. The shock

from the icy water took my breath away. I had been drenched by the ocean spray nearly the

instant I had climbed aboard the boat and had been cold the entire way across the Channel, but

not the numbing cold I experienced in that water. Not even the many swims I had taken as a

boy in the mountain streams of Idaho had prepared me for that initial plunge. My sole focus

was to get out of that water, regardless of the almost sure death that awaited me on the beach.

Somehow amid the storm of bullets, I struggled ashore along with the rest of my company.

I was one of the few who made it unharmed to the shelter of the obstacles on the

beach. I never saw many of the men in my company again. I thought of the men in those first

two boats, wondering, Did any of those men have a chance to make it to shore? Could they have

even survived that slaughter?

Because I was an engineer, it was my mission to clear the beach of obstacles for the

thousands of men who would follow me in this, the invasion of Normandy. Just as I began to

think that I had found a sheltered place to begin my work, I realized that the obstacle I was

hiding behind was no shelter at all. The Germans were aiming not at men but at the few places

where those men were taking refuge: the beach obstacles. I quickly made the decision to move,

but became aware that the additional weight of the explosives, fuses, firing pins, and

detonators I was carrying was hindering my movement. I determined to leave it all behind in

favor of self-preservation and immediately loosened the pack and let it fall to the sand. I began

to pick my way forward since there was no option of turning back despite the urge to do so.  I

started toward the cliffs with a number of men, but upon arrival at the breakwater, none of the

men I started with were with me. I don’t know where they went or if they even made it to the

breakwater.

It was there, in the so called safety of that three foot stone wall, that I was able to look

around me and try to absorb what was happening. The ear-splitting noise from the explosions,

the pungent smell of gunpowder, and the smoke that hung thick in the air all seemed to be

striving to overtake my senses. Through the smoke, I could see men, so many men, lying there

in the surf. I knew their war was over. Then, there were wounded still slowly making their way

toward the shelter of the cliffs. A few soldiers were dashing about: medics responding to the

cries of the wounded. I don’t know how they overcame the fear I know must have been present

in their minds, when all I could do was focus on was the nearly immobilizing fear that was

encircling me as I endeavored to make myself smaller behind that wall.

As I watched the seemingly endless stream of soldiers, vehicles, and equipment

disembark from the boats, I saw him. A soldier, who looked no older than seventeen,

apparently unaware of the death that was all around him, stood up, walked toward the wall,

stooped, and gently picked something up. It was small, for I could not see what he held in his

hand until he turned toward me. He smiled as though he and I shared some fond memory and

said, “Isn’t it pretty?” I caught a glimpse of what he held in his hand just before he fell, cut

down by the murderous fire coming from the Germans on the cliff. A flower similar to a daisy,

with white petals surrounding a yellow center, had been the object of his joy. I marveled that

he had been able to find beauty in the midst of so much pain and suffering. In the chaos on that

beach, that flower brought to mind a flood of memories of home and of my daughter, oh how

she loved flowers! At five years old she found much delight in their simple beauty, just like that

young soldier. My mind drifted back home….

***

I love the mountains, both the frosty white peaks that never cease to take my breath

away with their grandeur and the meadows that twist their way back to the steep foothills of

the Rocky Mountains. As a boy, I spent innumerable hours hiking the forests behind my

house, often leaving the trails to climb a cliff or explore a canyon. I loved to follow the Snake

River, which flowed below just below the barn and corrals, back to a tributary, then break off

and follow that to the spring or snow patch where it originated.

When I headed off to the city to college, I vowed to return to the mountains as soon as I

was able. It took me a long time to adjust to city life. I was used to my time being my own, and

it was hard to relinquish that freedom to my professors and employers. After a year, I was

ready to give up and go back to what was familiar to me when I met Rebecca.

We married after a short two-month engagement and immediately moved into a

small third-floor apartment. Becca was everything I had looked for in a wife. She frequently

gave me the encouragement I needed to continue with my classes, reminding me often,

“Sometimes you have to do the difficult things in life first so you can cherish even more the

enjoyable things to come.”

 It took two long years after graduation until we had saved enough money to enable us

to move our few belongings back to Idaho. In my whole life, I have never been as impatient as

I was on that train ride home. I was eager to share my love of the mountains with Becca, who

had spent her entire childhood in the suburbs. The quietness that enveloped us as we stepped

off the train was exhilarating. We were able to find a small cabin not far from town just in time

to welcome Missy into our family.

Missy became our whole world. I could not have been more proud when I arrived home

after work one afternoon to have Becca inform me that Missy’s first word had been “Daddy.” I

invested hours reading to Missy, rocking her, and carrying her until she was old enough to walk

along with Becca and me in our hikes through the woods. Most Sunday afternoons, Becca

would pack a lunch and the three of us would traipse through the meadows to find some new

place to spread a blanket, eat lunch, and nap the afternoon away.

The meadows were where Missy and I spent hours together before I left. We would

wander into the meadow below the house, taking time to look at flowers, or to watch a hawk

as it soared high above us looking for some unsuspecting prey. We had not a care in the world

during those times.

 Missy would often run up to me and ask, “Daddy, do you know which flower is my

favorite?” Without waiting for a response she would continue, “My favorite is the dandelion.”

“Why?” I would ask.

She would then reply, “Because they must like growing here since there are so many of

them!” Why she said that, I never could figure out, but I knew that it made sense to her.

            The day I left for England was the hardest thing I have ever done.  I lingered at the

station with Becca and Missy as long as I could, trying to comfort Becca. “Don’t worry Becca,” I

whispered as I held her in my arms, “I will come home, whatever it takes, I’ll come home. I

promise you that.” As I walked toward the train, I prayed that I would be able to fulfill that

promise.

***

Those memories brought to mind the painful realization that I might not be able to keep

that promise now. I had to ask myself, What is the point of going off to war and fighting men

with whom I have no personal quarrel, all for the sake of another man’s ideals? Why me? Why

does it have to be this way? As I sat there, pondering what I now know to be some of the

questions that have plagued men from the beginning of time, I began to understand why I was

there. As much as I wanted to be home, to be close to the people and things I valued most, I

realized that I was protecting those very things. I wasn’t really fighting men, but ideals, that if

allowed to go unchecked, would wrest those most precious to me from my grasp. As I reflected

on this, the oppression I had felt from those questions and the fear that had gripped me from

the moment I set foot on that beach lifted, and I found the courage to join those around me in

defending my family and my country. I determined that I would do my duty, knowing full well

that even if I didn’t make it home, I would have given my life for those I loved.