Nooks and Crannies

When your place of residence changes too frequently you learn to define "home" solely by the intangible spaces you create in yourself and in between the people you love.  No address or physical place will do, for you cannot take those nooks and crannies with you when you go.

It is simply one lesson I have learned as a military wife.

We remain in one spot for a fleeting breath of a moment it seems- often only three years or less.  It is long enough to attempt to settle in a house always owned and decorated by someone else.  By the time our belongings are sufficiently scattered from corner to corner, the packing season has rolled back around.  Everything finally organized on our assorted-colored shelves or in our mismatched furniture must carefully be rewrapped, repacked, and rearranged in relabeled boxes.  Even now, our time here on Sandusky Court is up, and we are once again a family awaiting orders.

I'd say "patiently awaiting," however, patience has never been a forte of mine.

I'm a planner; living in limbo makes me crazy.  Truly insane.  But insanity must be tolerated, as this is our chosen life.  Fall homeschool registration, extracurricular activities, plane tickets and summer travel plans... even our small business future precariously rest upon our next move; every one of these tasks in need of being settled very soon.  Luckily, February is the promised month for receiving orders, and we know it is only a short time before the setting of our next chapter is written.

Try though I might, leaving always bears a substantial weight on my every thought as the days tick by.  It is not, however, the unresolved details that are the most taxing effects of our transfers, but the heartbreak that comes of the distance enforced in each cherished relationship built in these transient years.  They are, of course, our greatest blessings- chosen family always is- and so, it is a heartbreak worth enduring, with promises made for visits whenever circumstances allow.

Connections such as these are never broken.  They are the very filling of my invisible nooks and crannies affectionately carried from town to town, and that by which I create this, my unconventional definition of "home."

Fireflies- Part 2

The story continues...

She made her way through the reception hall, gliding gracefully just on the edge of the room, careful to navigate around the other guests so as not to distract their eyes from the twirling lovers in the room’s center.  She stepped around the table laden with punch bowls and cups, and then another, where the cake towered, topped with a miniature, dancing bride and groom identical to the stunning pair swaying in perfect unison on the dance floor.  She took a seat with the cake table in clear view.  It was her favorite wedding tradition- watching the newly weds share the first delectable bites of cake.  

Of course, as endearing as it could be, it was not a romantic notion from which this interest sprang.  She was far too practical for romance after all.  Her mother had raised her better.  She believed a couple’s fate could be determined by this single exchange, and in possession of an extreme fascination with relationships and human nature, she had studied every morsel of cake consumed during this ritual at the fair share of weddings she had attended this year alone, making predictions she would obviously never admit aloud.  It seemed like a cruel little way to entertain herself, but so it was.

Naturally, she realized that despite her years of study in psychology, she had very little experience with love.  She had done her best to follow her mother’s guidance in avoiding the wandering eyes and empty lines offered by boys intrigued by her beauty.  It wasn’t that she was immune to the enchanting allure of the fairy tales, love songs, and pretty words, but she was taught not to be fooled by them.  No sparkly happy-ever-after could be found in love.  In spite of it all, she could still appreciate the idea of love, and she didn’t dare speak against it to any of her starry-eyed friends.  She simply had other priorities and pursued them with all of her being.  It made her mother proud, of that she was sure.

            She sat up straight to adjust a slight twist in her dress, before turning back to watch the couple.

“Hi.”

Startled by the simple word pulling her from her own little world, she looked up to find a tuxedo-clad man holding two glasses of punch.  She didn’t mind admitting he was handsome.  Very handsome, in fact.  His dark hair was just long enough to be neatly tousled, a stark contrast to his strikingly pale eyes, though their exact color was difficult to distinguish in the dim radiance of the chandeliers without awkwardly staring.  She wasn’t willing to risk sending the wrong message by doing so.

“Hello,” she responded casually.

“I don’t suppose I could offer you some punch?” he asked, with a slight grin, oddly drifting between a cool confidence and a nervous uncertainty that made her unknowingly return the smile.

“Thank you,” she said simply, reaching up to take a glass.  Experience told her to say nothing more.  She could hear her mother suggesting polite responses without any further encouragement to continue the conversation.  Eventually, they all go away.

“Would you like to sit down?”  The question uncontrollably tumbled out of her mouth. 

“Actually,” he began, “I would rather dance, if we could?”

 For the briefest of moments, she considered refusing, but she was a sucker for dancing, and she did intend to fully enjoy this evening in its entirety.  She took one last sip of her drink, and then set it on the table.  Placing her hand in his, she let him lead her to the floor.   He wrapped his arm firmly, but ever so gently around her waist.  Their eyes met and she was suddenly caught up in the stunning shade of light blue encompassing just a hint of a glowing golden green looking back at her.  It was a light leading her in.  And his arm was holding her there.   Before a rational thought could work it’s way in, he was interrupting her swirling thoughts again.

“Bride or groom?”

“I’m sorry?”  He was making a habit of catching her off guard.  Irritating, and still so charming, she thought.

“Are you here for the bride or for the groom?” he asked again.

“Oh, neither,” she coolly teased.  “I’m just part of the wait staff.”

He laughed. “Of course!  I should have known.  A beautiful woman dressed to the nines in this gorgeous blue… must be wait staff.”

What was she doing?  Flirting? 

She gathered herself in an attempt to revert to the minimal conversation rule. “No, I’m a cousin of the groom.  His sister and I were inseparable growing up.”

“Ah, well, Cousin of the Groom, do you have a name?”

“Lina.  I’m Lina.”

            He stopped dancing and gave a slight bow. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Lina.  I’m Lucas, brother of the bride.”

He gave her a little twirl and she was right back in his arms swaying to the music.  She found her world now whirling out of balance, the dizzying effect more from the embrace than the spin.  She could see Lucas was trouble to her uncharacteristically wavering resolve, but in this moment, she wasn’t sure she cared.

           

Fireflies- Part 1

 Here's a little short story I've been working on... or the beginning anyway.  I'll post Part II soon.  Tell me what you think!

Fireflies (Part I)

He stared out into the dancing crowd adorned in their finest, the music and lights lapping at his senses.  No penny had been spared to conjure the magic in celebrating this wedding.  His sister glowed in her happiness with her groom twirling her about the dance floor, blonde curls bouncing.  She was the quintessential bride, blushing and all, and his baby sister had never looked so lovely to him.  He was happy for her, to say the least, but even caught in this dazzling place of love and light, he was drowning in numbness. Life had lost its allure.  Or perhaps he had just lost the ability to see it.  He found he didn’t even dare wish for it anymore.   The world’s small wonders just couldn’t be found in his monotonous daily commute between the corner of Adult Avenue and Responsibility Street.

But as the acceptance of his hope’s surrender washed over him, a sparkle drifted into the room, like a firefly on the breeze in the form of a beautiful woman.  She was draped in a dress of deep blue- the very shade of evening’s waking hour, with little flickers glittering in the low light of the ballroom.  Was it jewels or sequin?  He imagined it could’ve been the very stars from the sky.  She took his breath away.  As she swept in front of him, hips swaying to the music, he caught her scent.  It was the exact essence of a June evening- citrus sweet with just a hint of honeysuckle. The splendor of youthful summers surrounded him, seduced him, and he was instantly caught up in a time when every bit of life sparked wonder in his young eyes.

He was sixteen that final summer spent on his family’s country wrap-around porch.  He couldn’t fathom a time when the rickety swing there wouldn’t be his favorite spot, though it was that very September his father would take a job in the city, leaving these precious, simple nights as nothing but a memory.  He would idly sit on the swing, looking out at the edge of the woods with a strangely calming sense of anticipation as night fell. The tiny twinkle of the lightning bugs flashing and rising, blink by blink.  There was one, then another.  He could never resist their summons, and so with mason jar in hand, he would bound off the porch with a child-like enthusiasm in hunt of the magical creatures that could light his jar.  It was even by the glow of this bug lantern that he stole his first kiss, believing himself to be the sole charmer, but knowing now it was merely the hypnotic beauty of the fireflies.   

Hypnotic beauty. Yes, this Summer in a Blue Dress captivated him in the same way here tonight, shimmering and shining.  Her bright smile, her flushed cheeks, the gleam of her eyes, and the ravishing appeal of her body perfectly fitted in that dress; every bit of her capable of sparkle shone.  As his eyes followed her across the room, it occurred to him- each dusk spent on that porch was preparation for this very moment.  He knew he must catch her, even if only to spend a moment in her company.