My Silly Girl

By Emmalee Hart

~England- 1936~

I frantically search for a torch in the disorganized closet. I shove boots and coats out of the way, to get to the hand held light. I can't keep this nagging sensation out of my mind. She's in trouble, it says, you need to be her knight in shining armor.

I throw on some shoes and a jacket, paying little mind to the fact that it's inside out. Dashing to the front door, I fumble with the handle, letting off a string of ungentlemanly like curses. Finally getting the stubborn door open, I switch on the torch and run into the night.

The moonlight causes eerie shadows to be cast in the dark woods. My heart pounds harder in my chest, and I struggle to hear anything past the blood rushing in my ears. But the memory of her scream echoes fresh in my mind. Alexis Wrenshaw was hurt, and I couldn't bear the thought of it. My Lexi. My silly girl.

I shout her name into the night, fighting back the sting of fear behind my eyes. You have to find her, I tell myself. I yell her name again and again, tripping over tree roots as I search. My heart begins to give out. The torturous thoughts of losing her, churn in the pit of my stomach. Grief hurdles its way into my conscience, and is only amplified when I hear a small whimper.

A fresh rush of adrenaline propels me towards a group of ancient trees. I shine my torch at the ground before me. There, lying I a pool of dark blood, is my silly girl. Her beautiful chocolate brown hair is wet and caked against her head. She looks peaceful, despite the large gash against her scalp.

I run and kneel beside her. My hands hover above her, incapable of any movement, and unsure of what to do. Shock and fear renders me speechless, until I can muster up the heart to whisper her name.

Her eyes flutter open. Those beautiful, soul gazing, blue eyes stare up at me, and a smile spreads across her face. I abandon all sense of propriety and scoop her up into my arms, pressing her against my chest and kissing her forehead. I pull her back enough so I can see her face. My vision starts to blur as warm tears gather in my eyes.

"Alexis," I whisper, "oh, my sweet girl." I touch her face and feel a surge of possessiveness.

She smiles and closes her eyes,"the intimacy of this moment is rather scandalous, Mr. Jacobs."

My profound love for this mad woman is immediately confirmed in the moment, "oh, propriety can go hang! Alexis you're hurt. What happened?"

She looks up at the trees above us with a very thoughtful expression. She faces me again and with the most sincere smile, tells me, " I was climbing,". I think back to every moment I had spent with her. She had twirled and jumped and ran and swam. She was spontaneous and full of life. The irony of the situation settles on me. Alexis Wrenshaw was losing her life to something silly.

"Lexi," I whisper again.

"It's okay," she whispers back,"Everyone will be okay."

I can no longer. Hold back my emotion," Everyone, but you. And if you're not okay, then I--"

She silences me with a hand on my chest. I look down at her hand and can't help but feel the bittersweet sensation of agonizing compassion. This was too much to bear. She puts her hand on the side of my face, forcing my gaze back to her.

Tears begin to stream down her cheeks, yet somehow, through it all, she still manages a smile, " I love you, Andrew."

Those words are my undoing. I sob and pull her closer to me, and plant a kiss on her forehead. Alexis Marie Wrenshaw closes her eyes for the last time.

I hold her close to me until the morning sun greets the horizon. Only then do I find the words I've longed to tell her since the the night we met:

"I love you, Alexis. Goodnight, my silly girl."

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