Back to Yesterday Page 8

  He held me tighter, and when he spoke again there was more hope, more pleading, more everything in his question. “Will you let me try?”

  Closing my eyes, I gathered up all the bad memories I had, opened my imaginary box, and set them free. I did this quietly, without a long farewell, or a kiss goodbye. I just let them go and hoped the wind would carry them far, far away.

  I swallowed, my throat bobbing nervously, and breathed in a shaky breath because I was about to take a leap of faith. And on a steady exhale, I finally relented with one word.

  “Okay.”

  Now, if only I could convince the memories to let go of me.

  The next day, Charlie came into the café like all the times before and sat down in his usual place. I waited for him to settle in before I approached him with a coffee in one hand and a slice of apple pie in the other.

  He smiled at me when he saw me coming towards him, and the closer I got to his booth, the more prominent his smile became, making the folds underneath his eyes more defined, more distinguished. My stomach dipped and fluttered.

  “Hi,” he said as I set his coffee and pie on the table.

  “Hi,” I replied, unable to stop the fluttering in my belly. “How was your day?”

  “Uneventful. How was yours?”

  “Better. I apologized to Elizabeth,” I said, smoothing out my apron.

  “How did that go?”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Elizabeth swishing her hips to the music. I grinned and said, “Good. We’re good.”

  When I looked back to Charlie he was staring at me with admiration. I felt my face heat, although not from embarrassment. He just had a way of making my blood run hot.

  “I did something today.” He pointed outside to the vehicle parked next to the curb. “I bought Tank’s old truck.”

  “Won’t he need it?”

  Charlie shook his head. “He leaves tomorrow,” he said, casting his eyes away.

  “Back to war?”

  “Yes, back to war.”

  I sat across from him and held out my hands. Accepting my gesture, he put his hands in mine. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I told him I’d sell it back to him when he came home if he decided he needed it.”

  I said nothing because what was there to say? We were both hoping he would need it back.

  “Sophie!” Elizabeth called. “Why don’t you take off? I got it from here.” She waggled her brows at me and I saw Charlie smirk from the corner of my eye.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Go on, get outta here. And take that dreamboat with you,” she said, with sugar in her voice.

  I rose from my seat, practically ran across the café, and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. “I owe you one.”

  “You owe me plenty, and I’ve got it all written down.”

  With a smile on my face, I said, “I bet you do.” I untied my apron, placed it in the cubby underneath the counter, grabbed my purse, and met Charlie at the door.

  Taking my hand, he said, “Do you know how to drive, Sophie?”

  “Me? No.”

  A devilish smirk found his lips. “Want me to teach you?”

  “Really?” My face lit up like the sun. “You’ll teach me?”

  Charlie opened the driver’s side door and handed me the keys. “Get behind the wheel.”

  Excited, I climbed in. Once Charlie was settled in the passenger’s seat, I felt the giddiness bubble up inside of me. He walked me through the basics. “Now, think of the gears being in the shape of the letter ‘H’. Neutral is in the middle.” He showed me first, second, and third gears. “You think you got it?”

  Repeating the steps in my head, I said, “Got it.”

  “Okay, now start the truck. Press in the clutch with your left foot and the brake with your right.” I did as instructed. “Now find first gear.” I did. “Ease up off the clutch and take your right foot off the brake and press the accelerator. Gently.”

  We stalled.

  In fact, we stalled multiple times. When we finally started moving, the truck lurched forward and Charlie braced the dashboard.

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing.

  “It’s okay. Just try not to break my neck.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance. “If my hands weren’t busy I’d throw something at you.”

  He had the nerve to laugh at that. Ignoring him, I got a bit of speed going and tried shifting into second. The gears whined and wheezed, and I winced again.

  “Let me help you,” Charlie said, placing his hand over mine. “Like this.” He shifted up and over. “Now ease off the clutch.”

  That went a lot smoother. When it was time to shift into third, he eased the stick down where it needed to go. Now we were cruising at a respectable speed down a straight stretch of road. I was feeling more confident until I had to come to a stop and then we stalled again. Heads turned when I drove through town, and not because a pretty girl was driving a truck.

  Charlie waved at the people walking by as the gears screeched and screamed underneath the hood. At one point, I looked over at him, and he was staring at me with fingers plugged into his ears. I decided I would put us both out of our misery and pulled over. “Don’t say it,” I said.

  “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

  We simply got out, passed each other when we rounded the front of the truck, and climbed back in, with Charlie now sitting behind the wheel. I stared out my window, he stared out his. After about a minute, we both risked a glance at each other. As soon as our eyes met, we burst into laughter.

  It was then, at that moment, that I knew I loved Charlie.

  The following day we drove Tank to the train station and said our goodbyes. My chest felt tight when he set his Army bag on the ground to give Charlie a hug.

  “Take care, man,” Charlie said in a tight voice.

  “Will do.” Tank extended his arms out to me and I wrapped my arms around him. “Take care of him, Sophie,” he whispered in my ear. “He needs you.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded because I couldn’t chance a sob escaping.

  Tank gave us one last wave and I saw the glistening in Charlie’s eyes when he stood straight, shoulders back, and brought his hand up in a salute. Tank lowered his bag once more and saluted back, both holding their stance for several seconds before dropping their hands simultaneously. Tank retrieved his bag and boarded the train.

  “Where’s his mother?” I asked.

  “She’s at home. They said their goodbyes this morning. His mother couldn’t stand the idea of watching him leave. The last time she came to the train station to see one of her sons off he didn’t come home.”

  A tear fell down my cheek and I blinked the others away.

  We were quiet on the way back, understandably so. It was a bleak day, gray and gloomy, the rain refusing to break through the clouds. Almost as if Mother Nature were holding back her own tears. The whole world seemed to be sad.

  We didn’t go home. Not right away. We drove for miles, listening to the radio and letting our thoughts consume us. By the time we made it back to my house the heaviness we had felt before had lifted somewhat. Even Mother Nature seemed to feel better because the clouds parted and gave way to the sun.

  In the days and weeks that followed, Charlie and I spent a copious amount of time together. He escorted me all around town, taking me dancing, to the movies, to nice dinners, and sometimes he let me drive.

  Charlie taught me many things during that time. He taught me how to skip rocks on the lake, how to change the oil in the truck, and how to change a flat tire. He even taught me how to be strong. Emotionally and mentally strong, only this would be something I wouldn’t realize until later.

  Some things we learned together, like love, and how to fall into it. Or maybe we didn’t learn how, maybe we just fell, and landed wherever we landed. We did this, Charlie and I, all the while engaging each other like we were wondrous artifacts to be explored. He held on to my
every word and I absorbed his every detail as though they were important pieces of history.

  Everything was coming together for us so perfectly that it felt more like a fairytale than real life. Even though I didn’t believe in fairytales, I was willing to ignore that negative voice in my head in order to hold on to the make-believe world that was currently my life – if only for a while longer.

  ~ Paul Travis

  Running Barefoot

  The grass was changing colors, or so it appeared. Burnt oranges and yellows littered lawns from the fallen autumn leaves. Summer had left us behind and fall was stepping in to take us to our next destination. I didn’t mind. Cooler weather gave me a reason to hold Sophie close to me. You know, to keep her warm. That’s what I told her anyway. I wasn’t above making excuses to touch her, I freely admit that.

  In fact, I was holding her now as I walked her home. This was our thing, our walks. Our walking led to talking, and the more Sophie talked the more comfortable with me she became. My arm wrapped casually around her shoulders while she spoke animatedly about nothing and everything. My job was to listen, which I did very well. I listened to the highs and lows of her voice, her melodious laugh, and her smile. Yes, even her smile had a sound. You could hear it in the sing-song of her words.

  I’m not sure if my smile had a sound or not, but I do know how it felt to smile, because I was doing a lot of it whenever she was around. I would catch sight of her and my lips would tip upwards like a reflex, an automatic response. It wasn’t some mission she had – get Charlie to smile. She just had that ability. It was effortless on her part. How ironic that a girl with deep-seated fears of abandonment made living look so easy. I wondered if she would ever know how much I admired her.

  How could she, though? Even I had trouble understanding the depths of my admiration.

  While walking her home, I had things I needed to say to her and kept waiting for a point of entry where I could interrupt, but alas, she continued to talk about this and about that.

  And I…well…I continued to give her my undivided attention.

  When we made it to her house she surprised me by inviting me in for dinner.

  “My mom made meatloaf. You should stay and have some.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have invited you if I wasn’t. Come in,” she said, opening the door. “I’ll let Mom know we need to set an extra plate.”

  My lips were tipping upwards again. I had no control over my own face. “Should I wait here for you?” I asked, still standing in the entryway.

  “Don’t be silly.” She pointed to the sofa. “Go have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Visions of a sad and lonely Sophie entered my mind as I sat down on the couch, but I flicked those images away, and replaced them with the vision of her now, preferring the happier, care-free girl that I had just walked home.

  “Charlie,” Mr. McCormick said, sitting down across from me. “It’s nice to see you again. How are you?”

  “I’m good. And you, sir?”

  “Can’t complain. Staying for dinner?”

  “I am, if that’s okay. Sophie invited me.”

  “Of course it’s okay. It’ll save me from having to eat leftover meatloaf tomorrow. You’d be doing me a favor.” He slapped my knee with a rolled up newspaper and grinned.

  I chuckled. “Not a fan of meatloaf?”

  Mr. McCormick’s face contorted, like a child forced to eat peas. “I’m not a fan of the onions she puts in it. She says she doesn’t, but I can always taste them.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Sophie called.

  I followed Mr. McCormick into the kitchen where Sophie and her mother were already sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Charlie, you can sit next to Sophie,” Mrs. McCormick said. Once I settled in, she went on to say, “Would you like some potatoes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” I also added green beans to my plate, along with a chunk of meatloaf. There were definitely onions in it. When I looked up, I saw the same contorted look on Mr. McCormick’s face when he took a bite and I had to work extra hard to keep from laughing.

  A few minutes passed with only the sounds of metal forks scraping ceramic plates as we ate. It wasn’t uncomfortably quiet. It was peaceful actually. I enjoyed the quiet time because I had a lot on my mind and was still looking for the perfect time to let Sophie know what I had decided when her mother opened up the avenue to discuss it by asking, “So, Charlie, how is your physical therapy going?”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’m finished with it. I got my doctor’s release today.”

  “Oh? So does that mean you’ll be leaving soon?”

  Sophie shifted in her seat. Before, I had told her I wanted to get back to flying once my leg healed, and I knew what she was thinking – that I was about to leave her. I wasn’t, so I spoke up quickly.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Sophie’s head snapped up from her plate. “But I thought–”

  “No,” I said again. “I put in a request for a permanent transfer from a combat unit to a support unit. I was granted permission to stay stateside. Here, more specifically. Where I’m needed.” I made sure I was looking into Sophie’s eyes when I said it.

  “So you’re not…you’re not leaving? You’re staying here?”

  “I’m staying here.”

  Sophie’s chin quivered slightly. She sat motionless for a few moments, staring at her partially eaten dinner, looking like she was absorbing the information and what that meant for her – for me – for us.

  Sophie’s parents both looked to each other and then their eyes simultaneously landed on their daughter. They both appeared happy to hear the news, but everyone was waiting for Sophie to say something.

  After another long moment she finally spoke. “Say it again.” She looked up, stared at me with misty eyes. “Say it again.”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “Again.”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “One more time.”

  “Sophie,” I leaned over and placed my hand over hers. “I’m staying here.”

  She threw her arms around me. “My wish came true,” she said. “I finally got a wish to come true.”

  I found myself holding her once again. I would make all of her wishes come true if holding her was the reward. More than anything I wanted to tell her why I’d decided to stay, why I couldn’t leave her, but I didn’t. Mr. McCormick had told me in confidence about Sophie’s biological father and I wouldn’t violate his trust. Besides, did it really matter? The point was I wasn’t leaving and that was all she really needed to know. I was in love with her and she needed me, so I was staying. Enough said.

  Silence fell around the dinner table once more, until Mr. McCormick spoke up.

  “I’m telling you there are onions in this meatloaf.”

  My chest rumbled with laughter and the rumbling grew until my sides hurt and I could hardly catch my breath. I wasn’t the only one. We were all laughing like loons. It was one of those healing kinds of laughter. What was that proverb?

  The body heals with play, the mind heals with laughter, and the spirit heals with joy.

  Yeah, I definitely believed that.

  Later that night, after I left Sophie’s house and was making my way back home, I made a wish of my own, not necessarily for me, but for anyone who might need it. This was wartime after all.

  May the roads we travel never lead us astray, but if by chance we lose our way, may the echoes of laughter guide us back home some day.

  I was lying in bed, unable to fall asleep, when I heard pinging sounds bouncing off my bedroom window. At first, I thought it was the wind brushing a tree branch against the glass so I ignored it until the sounds became more persistent.

  ting…

  ting…

  ting…

  Getting to my feet, I moved to the window and swept the curtains back. Charlie was down below, illuminated only by the soft glow of the streetl
amp.

  “Charlie!” I whisper shouted. “What are you doing here? It’s after midnight.”

  Even from my second story view I could see how his eyes brightened at the sight of me and then the light in his eyes extinguished.

  “Sophie,” he said. “I…can you come down?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Can you come down?” His voice trembled. “Please?”

  I looked over my shoulder and listened for any sounds that would indicate my parents were still up. I heard nothing. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right there.”

  I grabbed the robe draped across the foot of the bed and slipped it over my nightgown, making sure the tie was securely fastened at the waist and then stepped into my slippers. Careful not to make any noise, I made it to the front door, eased it open, and gently closed it behind me. Charlie stared down at the ground, hands in his pockets, oblivious to my presence.

  “Charlie?”

  He lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, defeat in his voice. “I-I know it’s late, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

  The cool breeze seeped into my thin clothing and I huddled into myself. “What’s wrong?”

  The look on his face was wounded, like a lost boy. The strong man I knew him to be dissipated right before my eyes. He approached me and I met him halfway and touched the sleeve of his shirt. He had been crying. His cheeks were marked with tears and my heart took a tumble.

  “What’s the matter, Charlie?”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t real…this isn’t real,” he said over and over again.

  “What’s not real?”

  “He isn’t dead. He can’t be.” I reached around him and hugged him to me as tightly as I could. “He isn’t dead…he isn’t dead…he isn’t dead…”

  I cupped his face in my hands. His eyes were swimming in grief. Then his entire body began to tremble.

  “Tell me he isn’t dead, Sophie.”

  I wanted to be strong, to hold him up, keep him safe, undo whatever awful thing had happened, but the sight of Charlie falling apart in my arms was too much. I crumbled too. I no longer wanted to know what brought him to my house in the middle of the night, bereaved and heartsick. I didn’t want him to say the name that I knew clung to the tip of his tongue.