Sometimes, more often than not, I think about him. I think of the possibilities, all the time we could have shared. I remember the kisses, the caresses, and that night we shared in Talibu under the moonlight sky. I was nobody, a lost. lonely, scared little girl who didn't know what to be. Then he found me. I loved him, there is no other word for it. He taught me who I was, who to be.
And then he died. This was his story, his life far more than mine. A war hero, a just and kind man, with a little girl waiting for her Daddy to return. But he would never come home to his family. To his little girl. To me, his wife.
On the hard days, I want to throw his medal across the room, to kick and scream for all I'm worth. But there is Diane in the next room, looking up at me with his eyes, and my cries become silent, hidden behind locked doors. And the medal, the piece of junk that is somehow supposed to replace my husband is still there, on the wall. I consider throwing it out everyday, that purple heart. It'll show America just how few fucks I give for their "freedom of speech." I tried once, to throw it out. Picked right off its plaque and took it shovel and went out in the rain. It was all but gone forever when I dug it back up, mud smearing into the grooves on the metal. Its glistened up at me tauntingly, a physical piece of my weakness, the rain washing away the dirt, as well as the tears streaming down my face. I picked it up and hung it back on the mantel, a few drops of water the only sign anything had happened. It hangs there this day, long after Diane has left and had children of her own. And even now, as the metal gleams up in my hand, as my final request, and Diane's little boy, with his eyes as well looks up at me I smile.
I lightly kiss the metal once, and remember that night in Talibu.
I'll be with you soon, I promise the cold surface. And then the beeping stops and I am with him forever.
YOU ARE READING
The Price of Honor
Short StoryWe remember the heroes, the ones who died in service for our country and we honor them. But we often forget above the ones they left behind...