Imprints

She lay in the field beyond her house, the grass tall and outstretched before her and the ends of the trees reaching out for something they could not touch. She felt hidden and safe from everything that had ever threatened her, ever hurt her. The field was her haven and the grass her guardians.

 As she admired the dark, star filled sky above her she wondered if it looked the same no matter where one viewed it from. If she were halfway around the world, would the blue hues of the atmosphere be changed? She hoped not, for she fancied the sky the way it was in that instance; glowing and innocent.

 But it was of no importance, she would certainly find out soon enough if her precious sky was in fact different depending on where one looked at it. She was leaving. Leaving behind everything she had ever known, loved, and believed. She was leaving and she was never coming back.

 The decision to leave was not her own, for she would never wish such an unfortunate event upon herself; she had no say in the matter, she was leaving, and that was final. She could still see the look in her uncle's eyes as he said it, "There is nowhere for you to go, you must come stay with us." It was the same look her father gave her when he was being serious, no doubt had his brother inherited the same glare from him.

 She put her hand behind her head and closed her eyes. It was odd for her to think of her father and uncle as being brothers because they were, in all actuality, nothing alike. Her uncle, he was practical, he overthought everything and in his eyes nothing would ever be perfect; everything could be improved upon. He was a bit pushy, and because most his time was spent with logical issues, he came across as cold and unemotional.

 Who was she kidding? Of course her uncle was unemotional; he had not even so much as shed a tear over the recent news of her father, his own brother. Her father. Her father was....she sighed, she missed him so. It was the war that had caused all this, the Germans and their silly little war. The Army had taken her father from her and practically forced him into the fighting in France, and then, the Germans had killed him. She sat up and put her head in her hands and tried to rub the image from her mind.

 Her father had been a kind and free spirited man; he had lived in the moment, took risks and loved with all his heart. Not only had he been a phenomenal father, he had been a good friend as well, something she knew her uncle could never be. She could still see the beard upon her father's face, the one that would have swallowed his whole mouth had he not cut it on occasion. Her uncle had the same beard but she hated this one, she wanted to take scissors to it and cut it to ribbons, just as the Germans had done to her father, and in turn, her heart.

People told her that her father was an honorable man for serving "God and Country", that he had done the right thing, for the King and for the people, but she did not believe one word of it. She shoved and pushed it all away and told herself that her father had not been in his right mind when he had joined the war effort, that he had been delusional, for these were better thoughts than those of her father knowingly and willingly leaving her behind. She would rather her father have been crazy than cruel.

 Something broke inside her and she took the grass from around her legs into her fists and tugged, pulling the roots from the ground. Clenching her jaw, she shut her eyes tight in an attempt to keep the tears in. She knew the truth- her father was insane. He did leave her, he had left without even saying goodbye; only a note for the housekeepers and a missing suitcase. Two weeks later, a letter arrived from France announcing his acceptance into His Royal Majesty's Army, a small, handwritten signature at the bottom and a quick, "All my wishes." After news had spread of her father's patriotism, her aunt and uncle came to visit.

 All the things she had thought about her father, about him being kind and loving and spontaneous had been real, she knew that. She also knew her father had lost it somewhere along the way, perhaps when her mother had left without a word in the middle of the night all those many years ago, a blank and far off look in her eyes and all while still wearing her nightgown.  Maybe he had realized he could no longer raise his daughter on his own. Had she been such a horrid daughter? Had she driven her father to insanity? Why he had chosen the Army as his escape, she did not know, or rather, didn't want to know.

 She began to wonder if her aunt and uncle were searching for her and if they were, she didn't care the slightest bit. Let them look, let them look for hours, days even. They would never find her, not in the place where the dirt stained her green cotton dress, where she spent some nights huddled against the trees and wildflowers that surrounded the area where she read Jane Austen until the light of the sun or moon could no longer make the words on the page visible. They could search all they wanted: they could not make her leave.

 As if on cue, she could hear her aunt's high pitched, overly sweet voice calling out her name in the distance. Her poor aunt, she thought. Why was such an innocent and angelic woman married to such a disgrace as her uncle? She could hear the voice of her aunt getting louder, as if the owner of the voice were coming closer, and she began to panic and worry that her aunt would find her. She laid back down and tried to be as flat as she possibly could against the ground, even though it was dark, she feared her aunt would be able to see her, thus revealing her secret place and forcing her back into the house where she would have to pack her things.

 Once again she was staring up at the midnight sky, facing the stars, maybe even facing Heaven. She liked to imagine her father staring back down at her; she hoped he was finally happy, no longer worried about their future, or of his missing wife, or even the war. She wished she could tell him she didn't want to leave, that she was terrified, confused, and hurt that he had disappeared without a word. She wanted to tell him that she was angry at him. Her mother had always been a bit off; everyone knew this, so when she left it had not truly surprised anyone. But for her father to do the same was highly out of character, and it had ripped her heart in two.

Forgiving her mother had been quite easy seeing as how she had never fully been mentally present in her life but she could not forgive her father; it would mean letting go of so many things that were dear to her. If she forgave her father, she knew she would have no reason to stay in the place where he had raised her, it would mean leaving behind memories; it would mean forgetting and moving on. She knew she held animosity towards her father so that she could keep on pretending the war had taken him, or that he hadn't been unhappy. If she forgave him, it meant she knew this to be false.

Focusing on a single star, she thought about what moving on would entail. A new home, a new family, and a new life.  Yet, it also meant a heavy burden would be lifted from her.  As she pondered this, she knew that burden was crushing her under its weight, and to get rid of it would be sweet freedom. Perhaps it was worth it, perhaps it was time to let go. She knew her father had not gone in order to hurt her, she knew he had been unhappy and that she no longer needed him; she had grown up somewhere between her mother leaving and the start of the war, and part of growing up was learning to forgive. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for what was to come.

"I forgive you," she whispered to her father, wherever he was, and she instantly felt as if she were lighter in spirit

Her aunt's voice was still ringing in the back of her mind, just like the memories of her father, the memories that would forever be bouncing back and forth inside her head no matter how many times she told herself she could no longer remember. She would always recall the nights by the radio as they listened to their favorite shows, or the card games that lasted for hours due to cheating on her part, or how he laughed. She would remember all that, but the thing she would remember the most was his beard; the beard that had inhabited his face since the day she was born.

She stood up, stretched and patted the dirt from her dress. She was resigned, she would go inside and pack her things, and she would leave with her uncle and aunt and try not to be an affliction to them. There was no point in fighting something would eventually happen. She would find a place, just like this one, where she could go to hide away or sit up against a tree and read, or remember her father and the imprint he had made on her life.

She turned around to look at the little place beyond her house one last time; the trees, her guardian grass and small wildflowers. When her eyes fell on the imprint her body had left in the lawn where she had been laying for so many years, she laughed.