A Grateful Heart (ONC 2023; manxman)✅

Chapter 18

Brushing my teeth, Teddy's lips on my neck startled me. "You do make me happy, Eric. I just wish I could be someone. I wanna be someone like you."

"I'm no one, Teddy. I'm just a teacher."

"Yeah, but you're a great teacher. That makes you someone."

I turned towards him. He playfully nipped my finger as I dragged it across his lips. With a laugh, he kissed me, pulling me close. "You smell good," he said, breathing against my neck. "Stay a few extra minutes."

"Just a few minutes."

Smiling flirtatiously, he knelt on the floor.

"I could get used to this," I said as his head bobbed back and forth. My knees wobbled, nearly giving out as I came. He held me there until there was nothing left in me. "You are someone, Teddy."

He rose to his feet and gave me a kiss before getting back in bed. "You better go. You're already late. I'm gonna check out Central Street today."

"Okay, but be careful."

"I'm going in broad daylight. I walk downtown every day. You're such a worrier."

"So I've been told."

Teddy rolled over, bringing the blankets over his head.

***

Despite his efforts, Teddy couldn't find that Edna lady. He also stopped at his childhood home on B Street. As he prepared chicken marsala, he commented that the house looked the same except for the chain link fence and car in the short driveway. He missed his family terribly. But dinner, as always, smelled amazing.

While Teddy cooked, I settled in the living room to grade some assignments. As I opened my laptop, I discovered several sites open. Teddy always forgot to close the tabs. Tonight, I found a Wikipedia page on Normandy—again—and several pages of obituaries. They were his siblings' obituaries. CNN and the Lowell Sun were also open, although he couldn't fully access it without a subscription.

On the coffee table, I found loose papers, notes written in Teddy's handwriting. On one sheet of paper, he summed up key events from 1940 to 1950. I sifted through the papers, discovering a paragraph that resembled a journal entry. I read it, taken aback by what he wrote.

Although my body is young, my mind is old. I'm like a grandfather in the costume of a 31 year old man. I'm a stranger in a strange world of computers and social media, of mass shootings, and strange body piercings, of highways and TVs. Will I ever have a place in this world? I don't know.

Except I know I have a place in Eric's heart and he has a place in mine.

But is his love enough?

Maybe in fairy tales.

I have one more day to decide. What will I decide?

What purpose do I serve here except to be the love of Eric's life? My purpose/obligation was to die on the battlefield like so many others. There is nothing special about me that warrants an exception to this predetermined fate.

I'm not special. There's nothing great about me.

To me, Teddy was very special. To me, he was great.

My hand shook as I held the paper, shocked he'd consider returning to 1944 to face certain death. Holding it, I confronted Teddy in the kitchen. "Are you actually thinking about going back?"

"Where'd you get that? You weren't supposed to read that."

"It was hard not to notice. There are papers everywhere. Is the taxi coming back for you?"