When War Meets Love

As a soldier in these dark times, you have moments that come to make you realize how lucky you were. Only to come to the conclusion of how ungrateful you were, too. Like when you could sit with your family and have lunch together - you were lucky. But instead of enjoying it, you spent the evening nagging on how your little sister wouldn't sit still, or how your mother added too many beans to the soup. Now that I am sitting here with soldiers every evening, although their company is joyous, yet I would replace it with that dinner evening in a heartbeat.  I have been to countless places during this war, jumping from one site to another. Although hectic, I have many stories to share with my people back home. However, in case I never make it out of here alive, I decided to write all of my stories here. On the other hand, it also gives me an excuse to sit outside a while longer where there isn't any smoke from the damn cigars these soldiers chug.  Where should I even start? Well, the most logical thing would be to start from the beginning. It was a crisp, still night in the month of February, in the year 1980. The night was still, the sound of crickets loud enough to be heard over the crackles of the flames. The brave soldiers and I were sitting around the bonfire, enjoying the warmth emitted from the burning wood while we were on watch duty. Every one of us had begun sharing stories of our families,  reminiscing on how happy we were before the war began, and how much we longed to go back home to them. It could get rough, being a soldier and all. Only the strongest men would take on this career, staying out here in this deserted land, eating canned food, and always anticipating something awful to come and strike you. They always warned us that it will happen when we least expect it; the striking that is. They told us how our enemies will wait in hiding until the moment we are vulnerable, weak, tired, and alone to come and fight us. It was a night like this that they chose to do so. We were just finishing up our last meal of canned sardines when we heard it. The screech of a miniature space capsule tore into the atmosphere and landed just outside our camp, causing debris to form around us in thick clouds, blocking our vision. They came earlier than we expected. We were up on our feet in less than seconds, facing our weapons in the direction of the loud sound. We have been waiting for this moment for so long, yet when it is happening there in front of you, it feels different. You feel disconnected like you are not seeing this in reality but in a nightmare instead. Everything happened in slow motion, and it felt surreal like I was watching everything unravel from a distance.  On the tips of our toes, we slowly approached the capsule where we saw it crawling out on its hands and feet. The creature stretched its body and straightened its posture with an aura of pride and menace. It looked human on the outside, but you can tell it was alien. The way it grinned at us wickedly and stretched its neck was certainly not human-like. It stood before us, its hands stretched out in front of it, and boomed in a language that was no longer foreign to us, 'Surrender now or turn to dust! Glory days are over, for we will take what belongs to us.' Without giving it a second thought, the noble soldiers and I hustled towards the wicked creature and fought him in a battle that lasted a full day. It was strong, with its muscular body and advanced weapons, yet it couldn’t defeat a whole group of us alone. With our own trusty weapons and mighty strength, the hideous creature was defeated and put in its grave to rest. Because, as we always say back home, in unity there is immunity, that grants serenity for infinity.  I closed the dusty book shut, causing a poof of dust to tickle my nose, fighting back a sneeze. Tracing its threadbare edges with my fingers, I smiled a faint sad smile. I kept it in its dust, the same way it was handed to me, so I could always be reminded of its historic age. Grandma once said it was passed on from an earlier generation, and I wondered what she meant by that.   Yet no matter how many times I read it, I always admire it for a couple of minutes, like it is the first time seeing it. On the first page, a small scribble of handwritten words read 'To my dear W.W', which always made me muse on who the initials referred to. I held it close to my chest and sighed sadly. This book is one of the few things I have left of my parents, along with a black and white photo of them and a silver charm bracelet. They had had this book hidden between their possessions, and grandma let me have it, saying it was a nice way of keeping a connection with them. That is the only thing she has told me about this book, and my parents in general.  For as long as I remember, reading this book was a part of my morning ritual, as it fueled me up with the energy I needed. Reading stories of war battles gave me a sense of strength and made me feel like I could battle the world with confidence, just like these brave soldiers fought off that alien.  At least, I try to think I can... The book had more to it than just war stories, though. It was beautifully packed with love poems, rich enough to make the lonely sing with glee. The writer poured out his emotions in these poems, and the love and adoration he had for his lover are evident in his beautifully chosen words. And I find myself romanticizing the idea of these poems being dedicated to me. And for a moment, a brief moment, I feel loved in the ways I have dreamt of being loved.  Cutting my romantic fantasies short, I stood up from my spot on the ground and stood in front of the long mirror, staring at my reflection. Reading barely leaves me enough time to dress up and eat, but I have never run late to school. I guess what helps is that I don’t waste the rest of the time I have to put any makeup on my face; not that I actually have the right products to do that in the first place. Those things are too expensive for a tight budget like mine. That does not bother me though. I have never felt the need to cover up my face with foundation or color my eyelids with glitter. My friend, Julian, once told me that I didn’t need any as I was naturally beautiful, and so I repeated those words to myself each time I got dressed.  Glancing at the time on my nightstand, I slipped out of my pajamas, neatly folding them back into my closet. I brushed my long auburn hair and braided it neatly to the side. During all of my academic years, my red hair was either admired or mocked, but I loved it nonetheless. It was the same color of hair as my mother's. My eyebrows were naturally thick and my blue eyes were surrounded by long, full lashes so I didn’t bother coating them with any mascara. I applied chapstick to my lips, as the harsh winds outside always left my lips dry and cracked, and then quickly slipped into faded jeans and a pink shirt. The shirt was a hand-me-down from my grandmother and was a little oversized. I covered my tall, slender figure with a black coat, and trodded down the stairs to see if my grandmother was awake yet.  Our humble home was cozy and warm. Absolutely nothing about it was modern, but I felt more comfortable that way. The furniture was all vintage, we had pieces from the days my grandmother was a newlywed bride.She had chosen them with grandpa after they came back from their honeymoon. The colors were mainly beige and brown, and the couch would always cave in when a person sat on it. The television was small and the kitchen had wooden countertops that would close a bit crookedly. The first floor consisted of a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a storage closet. The second floor contained my bedroom as well as grandma's, and a small bathroom as well. It was sufficient for the two of us, the space is just enough and to spare.  IThere was tough circumstances we had to endure, however. For instance, I have to pay attention to how much water and power we consumed, as the bills here were a bit high above our income. And in the cold wintery days we had to bundle ourselves up a little more. Fortunate for us, we live in a warm area, so it's only the months of December and January that we feel the cold frost.  Living in this house with my grandmother can be a struggle some days, yet I am adamant about working on this, to create a better future for us. I would daydream a lot, thinking about the apartment we would rent and the new furniture we would buy. Maybe something with a pop of color this time. How I would decorate my new room, and how I would get grandma a cane and wheelchair. I also wanted a small garden to plant mint leaves, thyme, wildflowers, and lavender. I sighed, affirming that it was only a matter of time and effort.   The stair steps groaned under my weight, and I brushed my fingers along the railing. It needed a fresh coat of paint, another task on my bucket list that I have postponed for so long. It was one of those things that could wait, and so I made them wait. I looked up from the ground to look for her and there she was, bundled up in her favorite orange quilt, sitting comfortably in her armchair in front of the Television. She was watching a morning talk show, occasionally nodding her head in agreement, or furrowing her eyebrows when something made her upset. I walked up to her and kissed her forehead softly, which made her smile sweetly in return, then went into the kitchen to prepare us a gourmet breakfast of stale honey-flavored cereal. Life was just that good.  I made sure that grandma’s bowl of cereal was mixed well with the milk so that the cereal would be soggy as much as needed for her to chew. Her teeth have been an issue lately, and I had to be extra careful of what she ate. I placed the half-full bowls on a tray along with two of her morning pills and went back to the living room, placing the tray in front of her. “Good morning grandma, how are you feeling today my dear?” I chirped. "Did you sleep well?" I adjusted the quilt, making sure it didn't slip off her thin body and tucked it around her so it didn't brush the dusty floor. I made a mental note to mop these floors after I come back from school.  Although she was a little old, my grandmother was still a beauty. Her skin was pale and fair, I get that from her I guess. Her hair was golden brown, with large streaks of grey colored in. It was short, coming just below her ears. I took a comb and brushed it, before knotting into a low bun, like she likes. She was wearing her night gown still, the gown being a few sizes bigger, as she had lost a lot of weight the past two years. Her pretty blue eyes had warmth in them, but they often looked lost and sad. I hated it when she looked sad, because I would never know the reason behind that sadness.  “Oh I’m feeling alright, Tabitha, and you?” she answered quietly with wide blue eyes. Eyes that almost never recognized me, their only granddaughter.  I sighed heavily, trying not to sound so frustrated. After all, her not remembering my name was not her fault. It was totally out of her control. And all I had to do was be patient, and remind her of my name every now and then. Simple as that. “My name is Audelia, grandma; Audelia Warrick. Your name is Althea Warrick, and I am your granddaughter, remember?” I asked gently, in high hopes of jogging her fading memory. She kept staring at the television screen, as if I had not spoken a word. I sighed and went into the kitchen. I grabbed a cup of water and placed it next to her pills. It should be fine with me by now, as it became a norm. I was given a new name almost every day. But I would still wait for the days where she would actually call me by my real name, and I would wake up hoping everyday was that day. Those are the times I feel like things were at least a little normal. I plopped myself down next to her, eating my breakfast and watching the weather forecast with her. It was going to be a cold day, with a small chance of rain. I was halfway through my cereal when my grandma asked me where I was heading. “I am going to school, the same place I go every other day”, I answered, with a mouth full of breakfast.  Downing the rest of the milk and cereal, I placed both of our empty bowls in the sink, washed them, and went back to the room to see her swallowing her pills. She was adorable, her shaky hands wiping a few drops of water off her chin. I smiled lovingly at her and hugged her tightly, secretly praying she will be okay by the time I got back from school- a prayer I repeat to myself every morning. “Take care of yourself, please, be careful. I’ll be back around three, okay?” I called out while tying my shoes. As I was closing the door behind me, I heard her asking me softly, “But where are you going now? I do not want to be alone...” I winced, the tone of her voice almost making me skip school to sit with her again. I quickly locked the door and made my way, apologizing to her under my breath.  I bit the inside of my cheeks and tried hard not to cry on my short walk to Julian’s house. It hurt me to see her be like this. My grandma had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease years ago and the medications, though working sometimes, barely made any difference. Her memory is still dysfunctional and she mixes up frequently. Like she does with my name. And I am her granddaughter for God's sake.  She doesn't have any friends to go to, and I have not found anyone to trust them with her company. I found that leaving her at home was one of the safest options, as well as the most affordable. I didn't have the kind of  money to hire her a proper nurse, and to put her in homecare was definitely not an option. I  could not stay away from her. I needed her just as much as she needed me. I already lost my parents, and I do not want to lose her either. Speaking of my parents, whenever I asked my grandmother about them she would be confused and puzzled. When I asked her about the cause of their death, she would either deny she ever had kids and claim I’m someone else - like the neighbor’s kid or even a nurse that is paid to take care of her - or she would provide me with the same answer I received from the rest - my mother died at childbirth and my dad, depressed and wallowing in grief, died in a terrible car accident under the influence of heavy drinking. Not the kind of story I enjoyed growing up with, to be frank. She barely tells me anything about them, let alone their names. When I asked her doctor, he reassured me and told me this was all normal and expected, but it didn’t make me any less upset. Grandmother's sickness has, I hate to admit, been an obstacle in my life for a while. I cannot leave the house without worrying that something terrible might happen to her. Like her leaving the stove on, or opening the door and taking a walk. There are so many ways to accidentally harm herself that I have taken permission from the school to frequently call her throughout the day and make sure she was okay. But even that barely puts my mind at ease. One day, she did not answer her phone and so I had to cut my day short and bolt back home. I remember how fast I unlocked the door, controlling myself as to not kick it open, only to find her sleeping on the couch with the phone nowhere to be found. Calling her again, I found her phone drowning in the toilet bowl, the ringtone sounding like it was dying. I had to work shifts in the library for a week to buy her a new one.   Nonetheless, I love my grandma with every fiber of my being, in her sickness and in her health. I would give up everything I own just to keep her safe and healthy. After all, she is the only person left in this world who shares my blood and flesh. She was my person. After finishing my lengthy, sappy inner monologue, I found myself closely approaching the white gates of Julian’s house. Oh, how much I loved this house.  It was so big and spacious, unlike my small home, and it always looked so spotless. Julian's house was a triplex, its walls are dressed with white stone, and its windows are covered with copper bars in the shape of small leaves. The front yard was absolutely gorgeous. It had clean cut grass and a water fountain planted in the middle. It was pampered with wild flowers and perfectly circled bushes. The number of times I would hide behind those bushes as a child were endless. Julian would know where I would hide, as it was my favorite spot, but he would always pretend to search for me somewhere else before 'finding' me. I sighed happily, a sense of nostalgia coming over me.  The backyard, I remember, was just as charming. They had a wooden table and deck chairs under a dangling willow tree where we would spend most of our summers sitting there, enjoying the shade. I loved eating barbecue there with Julian and his parents. They would make a huge gathering and invite some of the other neighborhood kids and we would all play together, running around barefoot so we would feel the dry grass on our skin.  It was such a fun time. Since I grew up without parents, Julian's folks always made me feel welcome, like I was a part of their family. It was as if they had adopted me to be their daughter, seeing as they always wanted one but could not reproduce after going through so many miscarriages. I enjoyed their company just as they did mine. Julian's dad was the school's principal and has often reached out to help me with the school's tuition when I didn't have a dime to my name. I always promised them I would return the money back one day, that it was debt, but he would always wave the matter away, saying I was the daughter he never had. His mother, whom Julian looked very similar to, would pack up cookies and fruit for me to take to lunch, up until I began my summer jobs and bought my own food. She is a lawyer and even though she looked strict at face value, yet she was extremely considerate and thoughtful.  As I was reminiscing childhood memories and admiring the house's design and structure, I heard the front door open along with the jiggling of keys.  “Hey, you are just on time, Lia,” Julian exclaimed with the most gorgeous smile this universe has seen spread wide on his chiseled face. Okay, maybe I went extreme on the description there, but you would too had you seen him.  Julian has been my best friend since we first caught eyes in the third grade. It all started when he asked for my eraser in maths class and I threw it to him and he caught it mid-air. I then said, and I quote, 'that is the coolest thing ever!' and I think he really appreciated my little compliment because he never left my side since. Julian is an extremely charming fellow. He is a few centimeters above six feet tall, with strong shoulders broad enough to sit on. Not that I um, actually sat on them, I was saying it as a figure of speech. Anyway... He was gifted with brown hair, the exact color of chestnuts, and hazel eyes that make you feel like you are swimming in a pool of honey.  Sigh...To conclude: What a man. I quickly snapped out of my trance, closing my mouth before I started to drool. Pulling myself together, I drew my jacket closer to me, feeling the need to cover myself up. I walked to his car and opened the passenger door, then without any delay, I got into his blue car, hoping he didn’t catch me staring at him like I haven't seen a male before in my life. Sometimes I wonder why someone as cool and attractive as Julian would stay friends with someone like me. He is the principal’s son and the most popular guy in school, being the captain of the football team and all. I was just an anti-social nerd with good grades and bright red hair. We were the cliche duo you read about in romantic comedies, except we do not end up together in the end.  “You alright there, Lia?” he asked me, still smiling in his friendly manner. I loved that nickname, Lia. He was the only person who called me that. I nodded my head, returning his warm smile. “I’m doing alright. How are you?” “Good, I'm good” he said, starting the car and backing up out of the driveway. I tried not to blush as he put his arm around the back of my seat while looking back. I know that he could easily use his mirrors to reverse out his driveway, but I try to think he does that little stunt so he could get closer to me. I released the breath I held when he steered towards school.  Julian and I's friendship had always been strong; at least until he met Selma and she wriggled her evil self between the two of us. She became his girlfriend around two years ago and has made me live in hell since. It is not the fact that she was his girlfriend alone that bothered me. I wouldn't have minded if Julian was dating someone a little more...nice. She was not, however, even close to reflecting the tiniest actions of kindness.  She was, instead, accustomed to throwing random insults at me when I was at a five-meter radius near her. Selma was the kind of girl that enjoyed showing herself off anytime she got the chance, with her expensive clothes and lavish shoes, her freshly styled hair, and well, not to forget the fact that whenever she buys something new, she would flaunt it purposefully in front of me.  It's like she enjoyed making me feel so little and superior to her. I do not care for materialistic possessions, but I am offended by the fact that she believes I do.  Julian tries to help us get along, but it always comes apart at the seams. She claims that I am jealous of her, and that's why we can't get along much, when in fact, I somehow think it is the other way around. I think she is the one who is jealous, mostly because of how Julian and I are close. I catch her glaring at me whenever I mention an inside joke, or mention people she is not familiar with, like Julian's far relatives. She then tries her best to change the subject and steer the attention back to her. It's as if her only desire is to push me away far enough to erase me completely from Julian's life and have him all to herself. But she is so wrong. Julian will always be my best friend. No matter how awful his girlfriend is, I am not letting go of the only friend I have. I won't allow her to do it. Speaking of the overpriced, narcissistic, spoiled devil… “Selma won’t be joining us on our drive to school today, she’s running a bit late. She said she spent ten minutes this morning looking for her…erm…what do you call it…that egg-shaped sponge that girls use for blending their makeup?” I almost laughed at how cute he looked confused. I shrugged my shoulders. “A blending sponge? Blender? I’m not sure either.” I am not as experienced in makeup as I think I should be.  My feminist side is crying in the corner, sobbing in shame.  He chuckled, flashing me yet again another gorgeous smile. “Of course you wouldn’t know.” I playfully punched his arm, returning his grin. His smile was contagious, and I was a sucker for his pearly whites.  "What do you say, Lia, wanna catch some breakfast before we head to school?" he asked, one hand on the steering wheel, another stuck in his hair, flipping a few strands to the side. I cleared my throat awkwardly, trying to pry my eyes off him. "Sure, why not, if we have time." He scoffed, "there's plenty of time. And we can skip homeroom, there's nothing significant about it anyway. " I nodded, "okay, sure. What do you want to eat?" He steered to the right, before taking a left. "Want to go to Day and Night?" he offered. I grinned happily. Day and Night had the most delicious breakfast food. They served it literally day and night, hence the infamous name. "Is that even a question?" I fake scoffed, putting a hand on my chest. "Okay," he chuckled. "I'm in the mood for waffles." Luckily, so was I.  "Me too! Let's go get some waffles!" I couldn't help but jump a little in my seat at the thought of honey-drizzled waffles melting in my mouth. I wasn't too glad about skipping homeroom, but the thought of warm food compensated for it. Cold, soggy cereal was just not going to do it for me today.  He chuckled, amused by my childish excitement. "Alright, you got it. Waffles it is!" he then mocked me by imitating me, jumping in his seat and pumping his fist into the air, earning a hearty laugh from me.  As soon as he got the waffles, I munched them with absolute glee. One of the qualities I like about Julian was that it was never awkward between us and he knows all about me, so he treats me accordingly. For instance, he knows I can not afford to buy this kind of breakfast, so he buys it for me, leaving out the awkward formality of: - Breakfast is on me.  - Oh, no I cant accept it. I'll play. - Oh no, please, I insist. - No, really, it's fine, I want to pay. - I won't allow it, it is on me this time. You can pay next time. - But I want to pay now, really, you don't have to. _ No, I said  I wanted to cover it. Let me get it this time. - Fine, okay sure. See what I mean? It is never like that with him. He just goes inside the restaurant, orders, pays, then brings it to the table that I picked. That is how it always was with us.  But it is a whole other case when Selma is joining us. She would throw out sly comments about how I ate for free, or she would just look at me weird the whole time. That is one of the reasons why I never eat out with Julian when Selma is with us. But now that she is not with us this time, I can eat these waffles in peace without it feeling like charity. After swallowing our honey covered treats, we went back into the car, our tummies full and content. I swear, going to school with a full tummy feels so much better. "You ready for school, Lia?" he smiled at me, his brown eyes sweeter than the honey I ate. I smiled back, remembering an inside joke we made four years ago. "I was birthed ready, Julian!" I screamed, my hands above my head.  He laughed, throwing his head back, remembering the time a foreign exchange student with poor English confidently screamed that out during volleyball.  Now if Selma were here with us, she would not be too happy about our little inside joke. And that makes me just a little bit more happy.