Footprints Page 2

  Well, so much for her leaving me in peace. Please be a nightmare, please be a nightmare. I replay through my head. Her hand on my shoulder tells me that I’m not dreaming, this is my life and today’s going to happen whether I like it or not.

  *****

  Revs of motorcycle engines join the small entourage that follow us to the cemetery, where they came from, I don’t know. As we pull into the small cemetery, my eyes follow the fleet of flags as they wave from each of the motorcycles. Every rider has some sort of military insignia sewn onto their jackets. As the motorcycles park, each one of those men and women give a salute. Goose bumps ripple over my skin as the feeling of overwhelming pride shoots through my body.

  Today we bury a hero. My hero. My daddy.

  The hearse comes to a stop in front of us. Up until we pulled into the grounds, my eyes have been fixated on that car. I couldn’t look at it when we were loaded into the follow on car, but just as before I was drawn to it. No longer is he laid in a silver box. No, now, he’ll forever rest in a mahogany box, with brass handles. As the car door opens, I feel the frost of the morning air nipping at my bare legs. It sends a small chill down my body, making me shiver.

  I watch as my mother is guided from the vehicle. Her hand, firmly clasped to her face as she passes the hearse. My legs don't want to move. If I leave here, it’s real. It can’t be real. Someone needs to take me home. There’s no way this is true.

  I have moments like this. Just when I feel strong enough to take on the day, my mind tells me otherwise. It plays tricks on me. Telling me, that I’m only imagining things, and my nightmares are simply seeping into my waking hours.

  I watch as he is carried from the back of the car, to the waiting procession on the grounds, but I still can’t move. Other than the flowers lain on the edgings, its empty. He’s no longer there. I can’t look, I’m unable to move.

  *****

  My view is covered with dust, irritating my eyes. I can’t see anything more than a foot in front of me. Flashes of light illuminate the wandering dust. Loud cracking sounds, burst through my ears as panicked voices surround me.

  “Take cover!” a male voice says that sounds familiar. I can hear it, but he is nowhere to be seen.

  A loud bang beside me makes me jump, a hand rests on my knee as I huddle behind the dune. I can feel the tears as they begin to stream down my face.

  “Riley,” his voices booms, next to me. Turning sharply towards him, I can see the desperation in his eyes as he reaches for me.

  “Daddy,” I cry.

  A cloud of smoke engulfs him. I scream for him, but the heat is intense, the smoke making me choke as I call out his name.

  I can’t feel his touch anymore, I reach into the darkness, but I can’t feel him.

  “Daddy,” I scream one more time. My cries fill the air. He’s gone.

  “Wake up, Riley.”

  “Daddy,” I call, confused when I look up. His face is there, but it’s not the one that I want to see. They’re so similar, looking so much like one another to the untrained eye, but there are some small differences. The hand still lays on my knee. I jump into his arms, crying heavily into his neck. His large hands run down my back, trying to soothe the almighty sobs that ricochet through my body.

  “It’s okay, Ladybug, I have you,” he breaths into my hair.

  I want to scream. I have the overwhelming feeling to run, but I just can’t. My body won’t move. His hands hold me close as he moves slowly in the car, sliding me gently off the cold leather seat. A stinging sensation moves along my face as the cold air snaps at my tear stained cheeks.

  I cling tighter to him as we walk. The feelings running through me now are indescribable. There are so many. Hatred, anger, loss, love, pain. Each one engulfs me. Each has a grip on my heart, and the weight is painful.

  His body stops. Instinctively I grab a hold of his neck, not wanting to be let down. I’m a fifteen year old girl and I’m holding onto my uncle like I’m a five year old.

  Another hand, an older one, wraps their fingers around my pale hand, bringing me back to the here and now. I raise my head just enough to see my grandpa, smiling back at me. My mom’s head hangs on his shoulder as she stares past me. She looks older than her time, worn and tired. Overall, just a mess. She’s tried to keep herself together, but the last couple of days have been very hard on her. I can hear her at night, crying out his name and the soothing sounds of my grandparents as they try to console her though, nothing works.

  How could it? How are we supposed to get used to this?

  I spent the first couple of nights in her arms, rocking back and forth just being with each other, crying. We were in our own little bubble and no one was welcome. It was our time. Until the day that his trunk arrived. We stood staring at it, like it was something completely foreign, despite the fact we’d seen it a thousand times. Every time he left, this case would make its way out of the garage to go with him on his travels.

  Filled to the brim with uniforms and trinkets, you name it, he had it in there. With each trip, a new patch was placed on the strip of velcro that ran across the inside of the lid. The colors, the images, the numbers, each meaning something, each having a special significance to him.

  Neither of us made a move to open it, while two men stood in uniform beside it, their eyes pleading for our answer. One that they’d never get out of either of us. Thankfully, Uncle Crass was there, and he asked them to move it into the small room off the kitchen. Someplace out of sight though, never out of mind.

  My mind is filled with these thoughts no matter where I am. Even now, all I can think about are all the times he left, all the times he came home with a new scratch or a new bruise, maybe even a broken limb. They were becoming more frequent, but they never changed him. I want to remember the good times, to remember his smile, his laugh and his smell. Him. I want to remember him, not this solid box that sits in front of me.

  With a snap of aggravation, I push my head up just as gun fire echoes through the trees, causing me to jump and scream as each perfectly timed shot slams into my heart, breaking it over and over again. Struggling to catch my breath, I reach for my mom and our arms wrap around each other as each shot breaks the silence. No one approaches, while we hang onto each other for dear life. She turns slowly, never letting me go as she’s handed the one thing that means the end. A simple item that means so much, folded into a perfect triangle with the stars on the top, and the bullet casings tucked into the final fold. Time slows, people come and go as flowers are laid on the casket.

  I stand back and watch as family and friends mull around my house. There are no smiles or happy voices. This is the house of the dead. A great man once walked these halls and now he will never return. An amazing father raised his child in this home, now all she has are the memories. A loving husband brought a world full of love to his wife within these rooms and now memories are all we have left.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Seven years to the day

  Waking with a start, my mind is somewhat groggy, but I remember what today is. Slamming my sore head back into my pillow, laying the loose one over my face, I wish I could go back to sleep. I don't want to deal with today. It’s the one repetitive thing in my life that I’d rather forget. Mom will be here soon to pick me up.

  I look forward to seeing her, college has been extra crazy and I haven’t been able to see her as much as I would’ve liked these last few months. If I’m being honest though, I struggle with going home. It has been seven years since we said goodbye and my mom has made the house a shrine to him. Out of love of course, but everywhere I turn, there’s a picture of his big beaming smile looking right back at me.

  That very same smile haunts me every day…every time I look in the mirror.

  I’m still a carbon copy of my dad, from my eyes to the attitude. Yet somewhere along the line, I gained my mother’s petite figure and I have beaming green eyes with long dark hair that’s always in fly away mode. The slightest breeze pulls i
t up into the air.

  I always knew I looked like my dad, but after his death the resemblance became seemingly uncanny. Everyone and I mean everyone, comments on it. You’d think after seven years, the hype of his death would have calmed down a little and I’d become just a regular college student, but oh, no! My first day at college, when we were asked to introduce ourselves, I obviously gave them the basic run down you know age etc. but as soon as I said my last name, heads turned and it suddenly turned quiet. You see, Crass is not a common name here in Florida, strange I know, but apparently I’m the only child who bares that name here. Having had both my uncle and my father serving at the same base doesn't help.

  BEEP! BEEP!

  Awake before the alarm again, Riley. This has to be a record. I remember being a solid sleeper. It took an earthquake to wake me, until that day. Now, it only takes a pin to drop to have me sitting straight up in my bed.

  The dreams have somewhat passed, though I’m sure that they’ll visit me tonight for sure. It’s weird how it’s always the same dream, but in the end, before I’m awakened by my body telling me that I need to breath, he tells me something different each time.

  My dad loved me, there is no doubt about that. I loved him, and still do. I just need to be able to move on. Being around all these military folks isn’t helping. Every day I see the new graduates come in and out of the school and hear the call of the anthem as the base closes down for the day. Each day the jets flying high, like rockets shooting for the sun, are impossible to ignore.

  There are days that I regret my decision to stay close to home, but when I see my mom’s face, I’m reminded why. One of the many things that I’ve inherited from my dad, is his strength. It took time of course, but over the years his death has become somewhat easier to bear. Eventually I have to move on, I need to live my life. He’d want me to and he’ll always be where I need him the most, in my heart.

  Sighing, I slide from my bed. As much as I’d like to sleep the day away, I have to face it. My phone rings quietly on the small table by my bed. I reach for it, knocking the picture frame to the floor.

  Damn.

  Forgetting the phone, I jump across my bed to retrieve the fallen item. His face looks up at me. That’s all it took, no words, just his face. The memories come rushing back to me, as my tears begin to fall.

  “Help me get through today, daddy,” I say quietly, picking up my reminder of him.

  Placing the small gold frame back on the table, my fingers run over his face as I swipe my other hand over my eyes. My moments of grief are becoming less and less, but every so often there’s something that reminds me of him, that makes me stop and force back the few tears that are waiting to fall.

  Oh crap, my mom is on her way. The text message sits staring at me. She only lives about twenty minutes from here. I’d better get a move on. A sudden rush of energy surges through my veins. Grabbing my jeans of my desk chair, I head towards my little bathroom.

  Bounding down the stairs of my dorm building, I push the door open. The cold October air bites at me. The weather has been strange this year, normally I’d be able to wear a light sweater and get away with it. Today, I feel as if I need a snow suit. The sun beats down, but seems to only give off a small amount of warmth. Wrapping my arms around myself tightly, I walk to the small bench at the front of the courtyard, and wait for mom to arrive.

  “Riley.”

  Looking in the direction of the cheery voice, my best friend, Annie comes strolling up to me. We’ve known each other our whole lives. There was a short time that we were apart, when our families left to go to separate bases, but we always seemed to end up at the same base eventually. We were both born in England, spent our third birthdays together in Japan, and spent a few of our elementary years, holed up in Nevada. We moved to Florida when we were about eleven and have been together ever since.

  Annie is the one and only person, other than my uncle that I’ve been able to completely confide in. To pour out my thoughts to, my deepest fears, my mother’s grief process and my own, for that matter. She’s been a true friend and I’ve never doubted her. Unfortunately, with death there comes sympathy and those who’ll flock to you, but only to say “I was there for her” and nothing more. I could never call them in the middle of the night. They just weren’t those kind of friends. It’s sad, but true.

  “Hi, Annie.” I say with a wave.

  “Whatcha doin?” she begins, but then stops as if she suddenly remembers. Her face changes, a small frown breaking across it as she comes to sit next to me.

  “It’s okay,” I say, grabbing her hand.

  Squeezing my hand back, she smiles.

  We’re both only children, but Annie is the closest thing I have to a sister. Growing up in each other’s pockets, always there for each other. We have a bond that anyone living outside of our little world could never understand. No matter how much they tried.

  “Waiting on Aunt Sue?” she asks.

  Aunt Sue is otherwise known as, my mom. Uncle Joe and Aunt Chrissy were always a great support system for my family. They were there every step of the way, still calling once a week to check in on mom and me. We don’t see them as much as we used to, but it’s nice to know that they’re there though, never too far away. Annie’s constant presence helps, too.

  “Yeah,” I smile.

  A loud crash behind us makes us both jump and I turn somewhat shocked, to see what it was, where it came from. I sigh, watching a group of guys billow out of the dorms, guessing there must’ve been another party last night. By the look on Anne’s face, she was in on that. I’m not into the party scene, rather I’m a self-certified stick in the mud. I have my reasons though, completing my time here and moving on is the most important thing to me right now. Hanging out with a bunch of military wannabes, most of whom, will surely be drop outs here shortly, is not for me.

  I tried it once, I went out a few times with Anne, but the looks I received were enough to boil my blood. Everyone looks at you differently. Everyone walks around me like they are on eggshells. I’m not sure why, the explanations are there, but which one is it? Could it be that I’m the daughter of a Lt. Col, or could it be that he died? The list is endless.

  Watching the crowd dissipate from the front of the dorm building, I turn around and look back towards the road. A flash of sunlight draws my eyes up to the flag in the sky. The wind blows it high in the air, the sunlight shining through its majestic white stripes. Each one dancing across it as it ripples in the wind. I smile and think of what it means to me. I’m proud to be an American, I’m proud of what it stands for, I’m proud of him and the sacrifice he made.

  She taps my shoulder lightly as I stare into the sky, her taps becoming more and more persistent, harder, but I’m not paying her any attention, drawn instead to the sky.

  SMACK.

  “Ow!” I yelp.

  Looking at her, she isn't looking at me, her eyes are fixed towards the building. I turn to see what she is staring at and why it was so important to smack me so damn hard and catch a glimpse of my mom’s blue BMW driving down the street. I then turn more until, I finally lay eyes on what has captured her attention.

  I find myself staring while I watch him. He rests his back up against the wall, his knee is bent as his foot braces against it. His shoulders are slack as he looks up to the sky. I watch him and notice that he seems a little older, much older than any of the usual crowd.

  She giggles beside me as I take in the sight before me. He’s cute, I’ll give him that, but with a face and a body like that, there’s probably only one thing that he’s interested in. His body is flush against the wall, he’s wearing dark jeans and what seems like an over washed T-shirt. His upper arms bulge from the seam of his shirt, which will not be somewhere that I’ll be going.

  I swore to myself a few years ago, that I’d never put myself in the same position as my mother. I will not give my heart to someone who could leave me as soon as they are called to duty. I did that once and I
will not do it again. Okay, yeah, I know that sounds selfish, but can you blame me?

  Annie, is giggling beside me like some deranged hyena. I turn and look at her, my eyes cross over the bridge of my nose. I’ve seen this girl swoon over guys before, but damn this is something new.

  “Your nuts,” I scoff.

  “Ha! What he’s cute, come on, even you can see it. I saw you staring,” she laughs.

  “Yeah, right,” I say nervously. Maybe I was caught staring, I was caught looking, admiring you might say. There’s a difference between looking and following through. There’s no harm in looking, but there’s no way in hell I’ll follow through. I picture myself well away from here. A career driven women with, oh I don’t know, with a banker as a husband, or a chef. The worst thing that could happen to either of them is a paper cut or getting scalded.

  The sound of my mom calling through the driver's window breaks me from my thoughts. Turning and smiling at a seemingly confused looking Annie, I say my goodbyes. She knows that I don’t want that life and she thinks I’m crazy. Trying to tell me you can’t help who you fall in love with, but damn it, I’ll try my hardest not to fall in love with this life. I stand to head towards the car when she calls out my name. I turn and smile, my eyes once again looking up at the strange form leaning against the building. He’s looking right back at me, so pulling my eyes away from his, I jog the last few steps to the car, slamming the door behind me as I take my seat. Smiling at my mom, silently praying she gets the message and pulls off. Oh no, not my mother.

  “Annie, honey, how are you?” she calls.

  My eyes are fixed on the horizon. I don’t want to look at him, can you imagine what strange unwarranted thoughts could be running through his head? GAH, I don’t even want to know.

  “I’m good, Aunt Sue.”

  “Who’s that?” she asks a little louder than I’d like. Nice one mom.

  “Oh, that’s Tanner, he’s here visiting his sister.”