Tommy

Delbert H. Rhodes

Today, he reaches his tenth birthday, a special day for him, and everyone who knows and loves him. Yet his Mother, strangely, feels somewhat distant, she seems to be just a little left of center. Mr. Reland passed away one year ago but although she terribly misses her husband he is not what troubles her. Tommy is a wonderful child, her boy, and she loves him and he her, should it matter that he is not truly her son. Still, she has always sensed and possibly, even known that the boy is different from other children, additionally, and although academically he soars above the rest, her feelings permit her only uncertainties.

2-4-07-15Tommy arrived into the care of the Relands ten years ago, and under strange circumstances. Travelers who were looking for a place to sleep entered an old farmhouse. In one of the bedrooms and all alone, a baby lie sleeping in its crib. The child, alas, abandoned, appeared uninjured and healthy. A search for the parents ended in failure; Child Services And Family Care aided the infant.

To his great fortune, the find soon provided Tommy a home. The lad and his newly found family love each other, nevertheless, he really never quite fit the mold, so unlike other children, so different, and including his stepbrother, Kamron.

Nights while his brother sleeps, Tommy often lies awake staring at the stars. The heavens are beautiful but more than beauty their allure is incomprehensible to him. Then, one night the unimaginable happens, while transfixed by the celestials, the star gazer wonders of his home, his family.

Remarkably, a shiny coin, a penny, appears beside him on his bed. “Wow!” “But, where did you come from?” Unusually bright and warm to the touch, the coin is wonderful. Resting it inside his palm, the startled boy closely regards its inscriptions and graphics; and as much as the penny appears usual, it is not.

Within moments, Tommy begins to remember things, curiously, he recalls not only how the coin was created but its creators, a team of researchers, headed by his Father. “Somehow, this tiny penny holds,” the boy silently says, “the key to life and my life.”

After a short while, the true purpose of the coin is revealed: it is a Galactic Library, harnessing the histories of every world, every planet, solar system, galaxy and universe; it is a bridge to Tommy’s ancestry and the truth of his arrival to this distant star.

Although centuries older, today, a son celebrates his tenth birthday; in addition to which, his first responsibility is to his people, his family. As the party below takes shape, he calls to Mother. The two alone in the upstairs hallway, she notices that he hides something. “What is inside your hand?” “Mother,” he begins, “I want to ask you something.” Before answering, and somewhat bewildered, Mom, smiling, says, “Of course, honey, what?”

Almost gliding across the floor, Tommy opens his hand, “Tell me, Mother, what do you see?” Hesitating, thinking that her son is merely joking, Mrs. Reland remains speechless for a while. Then staring at the coin, she answers, although somewhat uneasily, “A penny, why?” Placing the coin inside Mother’s right hand and while staring deeply into her eyes, the look on her son’s face causes Mrs. Reland more discomfort.

Instructively: “Look again, Mother; less is the difference between more than plenty.” “Understanding the worth of this penny is to understand the worth of your people.” Returning him the penny, “My people?” “Tommy?!” “But, what exactly do you mean?” “Besides, you are just a little boy, what do you know?” Intently, “I am neither little nor a boy.” Mrs. Reland pensively regards her son; and as though a vision cloaks his face, her chest quickly rises, her breathing increases and her heart races.

Today, on her son’s tenth birthday, a Mother must wrest with an awesome realization and responsibility; she must somehow come to terms with an uncertainty that she has always known, and it not only changes ‘her’ life but life, itself.

Copyright (c) 2015 Delbert H. Rhodes

The Wonder of It

English: Electron microscope image of sperm.

By Delbert H. Rhodes

My eyes open, it is something after four in the morning; somehow, I feel the bathroom listening to my stirs, and mentally I call out, “I will be there soon.” The radio’s voice  pours into my ears, it is too loud; it is strange how the volume operates independently of my preset levels. I must reduce the volume, though my desire to remain still makes turning in bed difficult.

Quietly, the soothing tones of classical melodies drift me away. I love and enjoy listening to delicate musical manuscripts, and this I could do all day. Even so waking instills responsibilities, thus, the day begins and it matters not of the time.

The constant ringing in my ears disturbs the pleasantry of the music; I wish that I could rid the noise in my head. For many years this malady has held me. In my youth, I sought a specialist for help, and he said, “Maybe we will take something out.” After my second visit to his office, the specialist left for vacation.

I wonder about people whom listen to loud audio; what occurs inside their brains? Whatever it is, doubtless, it is different from my own. Strange, people who prefer LOUD seem to act without consideration of loss of hearing, and by ignoring other people.

I am happy to note that some people actually learn. While sitting outside in his vehicle, a young man awaited my neighbor. The man’s car radio volume was extremely loud. Fanciful as it may seem, the noise could have interrupted orbiting stars. Simultaneously, my neighbor, and her Mom walked outside and  quickly, Mom indicated displeasure to the loud noise. Immediately, the person turned the volume down. Now, each time he returns to the property, his music cannot be heard.

Some people fail to learn. About two weeks ago, the neighbor in the house next door, that house is also owned by my property owner, played his music even louder than did the previous person. Taking out the garbage, I strolled over to see whether the music came from indoors, or outdoors. While cleaning his cars, the neighbor wore earplugs while listening to his very loud music. Are You Kidding!

That is correct; he protected is ears from his severely disturbing music, while the melodies pelted and melted  the neighborhood and me. After a brief encounter, the person immediately turned the volume down. Well, within less than one week, it was…I’M BACK! Would it be disrespectful of me to pray for a HAUNTING!

The morning sky is dark; the forecast is rain and snow; maybe the snow would find somewhere else to fall. A pleasurable thought. I am not a winter activist; therefore, for what needs have I of snow, or winter. Already, the city feels the impending storm; heavy rain falls on the stonework of NYC and Long Island.

Outside: the wind howls loudly; seemingly, its ferocity swells inside my bedroom. Rhythmically, water-logged trees and vegetation flex swashing back and forth. What must life be as a plant, a tree, a flower, and anything subject to nature’s wrath? Unlike trees and other vegetation, most-times man demonstrates capabilities to protect himself from inclement weather. Romantically speaking, the dichotomies in nature may be similar to those of (some) women, they are beautiful, but at times caustic.

A neighbor’s dog barks; lately it seems to crave attention. Alternatively, perhaps it sees a rabbit or squirrel scampering about. Often, barking dogs are alerting to intruders; but many times, barking minimizes and negates the focus of intended alerts. Here, unwanted and intrusive barking has zero affects against possible intrusions. Owners quickly quiet their pets; frustrated neighbors disdain the unwanted noises, and especially during hours of sleep.

Remember: dogs are protectors, not playthings, and deserve all provisions of dignity. All too often, and unfortunately, plaything is the order of the day; as a result, properties could fall prey to predation.

My feathered friends add voice to the day; mornings are never the same without the trill of birdsong. Occasionally, I have the pleasure of enjoying the songs of Nightbirds. Dearly, I love birdsong, for if I did not, then surely, other unwanted insufferable noises (would) intrude upon my world. Fortunately, this is not the case.

Last night on the News, I learned that Valerie Harper, AKA, Rhoda, has brain cancer. Why is it that some people inherently borne certain diseases, while others do not? High blood pressure and Diabetes populate my family. Most, if not all, of my mother’s paternal line, (the old ones) have perished because of Diabetes, or some form of cancer.

My Mom and I suffer with high blood pressure, albeit neither her children nor she suffers with Diabetes. Well, no one lives forever; the great misfortune is, and for some, ‘forever’ is a short-term.

The bedside lamp has an interesting configuration; it appears as a sperm cell. The head of the lamp imitates the head of a sperm cell. The lamp’s body is thin and long, similar to that of a sperm cell’s tail. One cannot help, but wonder whether suggestive shapes overrun the minds of crafters. Bottles of perfumes and colognes are curvaceous, sensual, and pleasing to the eyes. Previously observed is one company whose name commingles letters colloquially to misspell the act of making love.

Somehow, absent are considerations of impropriety whenever concerning some products. Are not children and minors moving about in the public, and do they never view T.V. or videos? Whose responsibility is it; I wonder, to protect children and minors from influences, which fall into the void of IMPROPER, the commercial industry, stores, or parents?

Some products clearly are sexual in design, or use sex as the primary tool of selling. Cars, furniture, perfumes, colognes, exercise equipment, name it, and probably, sexual innuendos or directed sexual interfaces share and sell the products. Victoria’s Secret certainly is highly marketed; do children and minors see those commercials? What is ‘your’ answer?

With and without parental peeping could the Internet and technologies including television, videos, and music render children and minors less innocent? I Wonder.

About four years ago, a long-term ex-girlfriend, regarding a Post I made to a social network, publicly attacked me. The Post was an excerpt from a short story of mine, whose main character, a female, is a pole dancer. In the script, the dancer describes her first time dance experiences in detail. The language though not acutely graphic, is suggestive.

The ex-girlfriend indicated that her “girls” had received the Post, and this fact disturbed her. I responded by requesting the “girls” to remove me from their “Friend” list. This, the ex-girlfriend also complained about; she did not desire that I disconnect from her granddaughters. Well, eventually, I disconnected from the ex-girlfriend, permanently.

Now here is the skinny: I sent my Post only to individuals in my “Friend” list, and none was underage. My ex-girlfriend’s granddaughters, underage, were NOT in my “Friend” list, and I was not in theirs. Therefore, and though the EX accused me of “Sending” the Post to her “girls,” it was not I who sent the girls the Post, but my EX and her daughter, the girls’ mother.

Configuring the Page Preferences of my EX, her daughter, or anyone else whom might have had the “girls” in their “Friend” list, was not my responsibility. Apparently, and these assertions I gained while communicating with the ex-girlfriend, the EX was not well versed in the mechanics of controlling her page, and it was not my duty to inform her.

We must ever be mindful of not only the things that disturb us, or cause us rage; but of the facts surrounding our disturbances. Misdirected accusations and blame serve to only diminish the assertions they raise.

Staring out the window I am mindful of beauty, and though the day is bleak, overcast, and dreary it is no less beautiful. I think of the many things that afford me pleasures, and feel thankful for my blessings. Life is ever wonderful and it is ours for just a moment; the moment is as beautiful as we make it.

Beneath the umbrella of repetition, each morning my day begins the same, or so it seems; and I know at least one person who (fervently) complains of repetition, as witnessed in other people. Is any human afforded life or lifestyle without the syndrome? I say NO.

In my opinion, repetitiveness naturally occurs in human behaviors. We hear it speech, and observe it in the things we do as individuals or in groups and like it or not verbally iterations “reiterate.” Of course, if our speech or behaviors are too overt, then we suffer labels and then sometimes end in “A Better Place”; however, this place may not be better…indeed.

The rituals to which I commit each day relax me; they make me happy. Naturally, I commit only to things I like; the wonder of it is why I disfavor certain commitments. Answer: Seemingly, something occurred at my birth. (I must think more about this.)

Snow litters the morning sky; and since first observing them, the falling flakes increased in volume. Yes, I absolutely have zero needs of the stuff, yet if snow is pristine then it is lovely, and I enjoy its presence.

Today, I watch as snow whitens the world. Tomorrow, I prefer to see not one “floating flake.”

Copyright © 2013-2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

His Silent Tears: A Sign of Tenderness

An unconscious Pina Menichelli at the start of...

By Delbert H. Rhodes

 

Five years have passed since the accident and Vera remains comatose. The medical opinion of her doctors is that she would not regain consciousness. The doctors have done all they could, they can do no more; with two exceptions, all doctors suggest terminating life support. Ty loves his wife more than he loves anything else and refuses to give up; he believes that Vera will return to him.

Her loving husband never misses a day. Ty is a banker and quite busy but his wife is never second. Aiding Vera’s recovery, he always brings something to read to her. His favorite is a poetic piece that he wrote for his wife when they were dating.

Whenever reading the poem, the hurting man surrenders to his tears. Ty is never the crybaby type but any man loving his wife, or anyone, must show (at least) a tiny sign of tenderness. Besides, he too enjoys the poem, and it reminds him of the early days, the days when nothing separated Vera and him. They share a wonderful marriage; the couple has great children and even a happy dog. This sickness, this horror would not take away the man’s partner and sweetheart. Ty would never abandon his lovely wife.

Kissing Vera “hello,” the weary man relaxes by her bedside: he begins:

“What’s it Like?”

“Baby, what’s it like; feeling warm yet not to know, you lie there naked on a bed of snow? Roaring hot, the fever burns in your mind. Worry not; passion soars from time to time. Your heart pounds, like sunshine raindrops through the night, and crystal melts in the darkness of the light. As sweet flowers dance in the fibers of your hair, you would love to spread your petals, but you know you should not dare.

What’s it like; gathering tears of snow filled clouds and moonlit dew; a tireless sun at the dusk of daybreak awakens you, to arise ready alert alive greeting the day, taking charge of whom you are or walk away.

What’s it like; (when) the mind screams and the body aches, from all you missed; tearful eyes and lust-filled lips await the kiss. Hungry arms seduce the soul the spirit lives. To be saddened for joy grief-stricken for more of all there is.

Tell me, what’s it like, holding you close in candle lit smiles, caressing the night. To make a choice to choose for now, to know it’s right; (baby), do you know what it’s like?”

Sitting and staring at the words, Ty remains lost in his mind; he wants Vera back, and needs to know what else he might do. This moment: he must support his wife; and then from his heart, Vera’s distraught husband begs God for her return. He refuses to submit, to say goodbye.

Tired, Ty rests his head across his wife’s breasts; his silent tears seducing his sweetheart’s spirit, soon, Ty falls asleep…

Copyright © 1995-2012 Delbert H. Rhodes

A Mental Mesh: The Question of Thinking and Understanding

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris

By Delbert H. Rhodes

Life is a moment forever adapting and adopting, ever witnessing changes to all it embraces. Within this sphere, the human mind offers its hosts endless situations and circumstances, events demanding considerations and results.

Throughout our lives, we experience networks of thinking, but how many (of us) understand the processes involved, the electrochemical chain connecting the illustrious spans to the bridges of the mind. The system is complex and until time ceases, forever, this mental matrix would hold us in its hands.

Can we (always) understand every sound every thought every (thing)? The provisions of thinking afford us a sense of the world within which we live. Without thinking and understanding as humans, we would be lost in aimless not to mention mindless behavior (s). Join me, and in this discussion, we consider a number of situations, events common to us (all), situations that (could) strike the matches of the mind.

Daily use of automobiles is commonplace, but how common is the knowledge of the engineering, the mechanics? For instance, what actually happens after inserting the key into the ignition switch and then turning it? Or and if you have a newer model, either an electronic key or automatic starter button ignites the engine. Most drivers understand (only) that after completing ignition the engine should start, they engage the gearing, turn the steering wheel, manipulate the gas and brake pedals, direct the vehicle forwards or backwards and then off it goes.

Ok, and this makes my point, a lesser group of people (actually) care (or know) that the mechanical worlds of the engine and other related parts provide the resources to propel the vehicle, allowing drivers to attend daily needs.

In the human worlds, and in my opinion and experience, all events are (seemingly) met with the same type of attentive focus; we either know or not; or care or not.

Encountering situations and circumstances is relative; whether individual or group responses may vary. In a college classroom, the professor offers students food for thought, hoping to encourage active thinking. The students (individually) may have similar or differing points of view; as a group, they may engage in passionate discussion and debate. Left alone the individual may simply choose to daydream in disregard.

Do we understand why birds sing, or why dogs bark, and what is Meow? Why is it that and with some exceptions, only humans speak? According to the “professional thinkers,” many animals have the vocal constructs for speech, yet simply do not. What of the professional thinkers, why are we quick to accept their points of view, or at least lend to them greater credibility? Do degrees and dogmas offer better pathways to truth; and is the pathway any less encumbered when brightened by PhD, MD, or DDS? We are taught to think…Yes.

Please and here is a peek at my ignorance, tell me, does being “well educated” assert that the person is (was) “educated well”? Does he or she (actually) have acute knowledgeable understanding, and able to verbally or in writing, and or physically demonstrate and to what degree, of the skills regarding the area of study? (Huh!) EXACTLY.

Should I seek the doctor or dentist with many degrees or one whom has credibility? That is, one who has demonstrated the competencies in medicine or dentistry? Ok, most of us believe, and feel assured, that whenever our professionals have many degrees in their representative areas of study and or practice (hum-“Practice”?) they are “good doctors,” “esteemed professionals,” they are proficient. Therefore, we search for the best of the lot. Still, considering the possibilities, WELL EDUCATED may not mean EDUCATED WELL.

Speaking of education, I fail to understand why, and mind you, I am not a grammarian, some people say, “I had came” when the correct statement would be “I had come”; or, why others would say, “I had did” instead of and correctly, “I had done.” Surely many of us have friends and acquaintances who speak in this manner. Truly, many of us graduate from high schools and colleges, and have been “well educated,” yet speak poorly.

This is not true only of non-professionals, but of many in the mainstream media, and others in the commercial arenas. Occasionally, and while watching televised news, I noticed that the reporters, and on camera, continually misused the English (as we know it) language.

Years ago while listening to a talk radio station and a favorite program of mine, the host said, “I had did” and then I wanted to run screaming into the woods. Again, I am no perfect speaker, but incorrect is incorrect. We (all) should endeavor to speak correctly, but the problem is how could we if we fail to recognize the need. That said poor speech during company meetings serves no one, denigrating both the company and the speaker.

In commercial advertising, this fact also is true. Recently while browsing the web site of a professional photographer, throughout the site I noted poor grammar. Describing certain (lovely) photographs of her clients, the photographer used these phrases, “I been”; “I seen”; “The couple …were”; seriously, and are you kidding! Honestly, why would anyone choose to pay for poor representations?

Regrettably, many of us graduate from high schools and colleges without a proper education. Some of us receive a poor education because of academic professionals who are disinterested or lazy and fall short of proper instruction. This fact may be true, but students and parents share the blame. As students, we have a responsibility to attend schools and colleges with the intention to learn. We too must toe the line, we must accept the responsibility and without excuses.

Students, failing to meet educational requirements are sometimes suffering from special circumstances. Dyslexia, problems at home and other critical and unobserved emotional difficulties represent significant elements responsible for how students perform academically. Sometimes, the reasons are (simply) disinterest and laziness. Parents have a greater responsibility to be vigilant of (their) children and in every arena of learning. Actively preparing children for lives of responsibility is the role of parents. Parents failing in this quest have failed their children.

In the world of misunderstanding and failure to “get it,” lives the aimless and carefree. Here I offer the ridiculous.

Why are (some) women seemingly careless with their children? (Men, get off your high horse, you are next in line.) In example, in a parking lot a woman, with a young child in her arms, walks over to a couple, the couple has a dog. The woman with the child lowers the child to the ground in order that the child can play with the dog. The child is standing less than two feet behind the rear bumper of a parked car. The driver (of the parked car) begins to back the car out of the parking space.

Mommy, busy playing with the dog, notices neither the reverse lights (the reverse lights are on), nor the vehicle’s movement. Stepping away from my location, I (placing my hand into the air and in the “stop” position) alert the driver, he immediately stops the vehicle-apparently, the driver could not see the child; simultaneously I advise mommy of the danger. She (now) secures her child.

HELLO! It is a PARKING LOT and NOT a PLAYPEN.

Ok guys, your turn: Why is it that (some) men tend to enjoy reading a newspaper (or electronic notebooks or whatever) while driving on busy roadways or even bridges? COME ON! STUPID is STUPID!

In either case, and as adults, we have had enough time to realize that the world around us deserves our immediate attention to details.

Mommy, whenever out with young children they must (always) be secure and safe from potential harm. Men, you may believe that you are without idiotic behaviors, if so, then the belief is short-lived.

Folks: It takes just “one time,” and entire lives change forever. Yes, we (all) equally share (in some way) the title of stupid, and many of us continue, and no matter the known dangers, to do things that place others and us, and including innocent children, at risk of injury and or death. None of us is exempt from accidents, and daily, all of us (even minimally) are guilty of “active stupidity.” Therefore, be thoughtful…be CAREFUL!

The truth is and in my opinion, we can never think of or understand everything; we therefore, operate in (a) blind acceptance and throughout our lifetime. Daily we encounter things situations circumstances even tragedies that simply make little sense; these events and even after great speculation (sometimes) end in the bottom drawer, the world of the lost and the unexplained; the world of the unknown and the unwanted.

Summation: (remember I am not a scientist).

Thinking and understanding, are electrochemical inducements of the central nervous system (the brain and spinal cord). Therefore, would it be correct to say, that these are “intangibles”? In other words, when and how do we actually realize thinking? How do we “sense” it? Can it be touched, can we “feel” it? Is the mystery of thinking hidden somewhere in the brain and spinal cord? Moreover, if it cannot be touched, if we cannot feel it, then it has no surface or texture; and what of surfaces and textures, are the interpretations of these (also) not inducements of the brain (the CNS)?

Intangible?: according to “The American Heritage dictionary,” Fourth Edition copyright (c) 2001 Houghton Mifflin, p. 444, 1. Incapable of being perceived by the senses; lacking physical substance, 2. Incapable of being realized or defined.

Additionally and regarding perception, what is it? Does it truly exist, or are we (humans) automatons (“blank slates”) manipulated and controlled in accordance to some preconceived master plan of the professional thinkers. Further, can something without physical substance and deemed incapable of realization be also described as “unreal”?

Contemplating the question of thinking and understanding, momentary lifetimes evolve attempting to make sense of it all; a host of well-educated professionals is well paid, to guide our thinking, to interpret and define, to help us understand. Sometimes, we need only to seek the thinking and understanding of children, for and sometimes, in their innocence we find truth.

Thinking understanding and truth: perhaps ‘one day’ we would know; maybe ‘one day’ we would “understand.”

I wake each morning to the sweet sounds of birdsong; and it matters not whether the experience (the mental mesh) is tangible or intangible, and truly it matters not that I understand; however, and regardless how these sounds may be interpreted or defined, certainly it matters how I feel; and the lovely alluring songs thrill me; they make me happy. In this life, moments are few, but if we are fortunate, the few could be many.

Copyright © 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes

Crissa: In Her Final Moments

English: An HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter lands a...

By Delbert H. Rhodes

 

The battle has ended for her; a woman of forty years, Crissa Johennsen has had a good life. Since childhood, she loves family friends and country. Born to a military family this lady learned early the importance of respect responsibility and dedication. Crissa’s dad, a Bird Colonel, stands tall in the shadows of right and wrong; always ready to answer the call; and to go wherever needed. The Colonel’s men respect and love him, and follow him into hell and back without second thinking the venture. All her life, Crissa has held a great pride for her dad, and her loving mother.

Crissa’s mom teaches English Literature in high school. Mrs. Branson’s students love her and thrill about the books they read and the engaging daily discussions. High School is where Crissa and Jack (Johennsen) met. They dated throughout their college years and married soon after graduation. Both individuals felt the call and quickly joined the military. Naturally, Crissa’s dad feels pride for his daughter.

Home for the Johennsens is California’s lovely west coast, and financially; Jack and Crissa are comfortable, though a military lifestyle offers little in terms of luxury. The Johennsen family supports various charities and volunteers at local shelters, whenever time permits. Crissa and Jack are like-minded and nothing is more important to them than helping family and people and country.

In the Johennsen household: the discussion about children occurs often; each individual is eager to begin a family, but now is not the time. Crissa hopes that a girl would be first to arrive, but no matter, as long as the child is healthy, and happy. Doubtless, the lady jokes, our child would be quite beautiful…especially if she looks like me (ha ha).

Today, and on a hillside far from home, Crissa is dying; while attacking an enemy unit, Crissa sustained serious damage to her chest wall and underlying tissues and organs. The medic did all he could to help her; but little more could be done, other soldiers needed aid.

Trying to think clearly, Crissa understands the costs of war; the Morphine the medic gave her helps, but the pain would soon return.

A medevac chopper is slow on arrival; precious moments pass as Crissa waits to be air lifted out of the strike zone. Time is critical and she is unable to hold on. Lying in the dirt Crissa thinks of the wonderful years she has shared with her husband. She focuses on the many sweet moments; Jack and she has laughed, played, and cried. The irreplaceable timeless moments when staring into each other’s eyes, the sweethearts became lost in the purity of love. Crissa loves her husband more than life; and misses him; she needs him-now.

Realizing that she probably would never see Jack again, Crissa reaches into her breast pocket for a pen and writing pad. (Crissa cries for her husband, she sorrows for the children they would never bring into the world.)

Crissa grows weaker, nevertheless, this woman mobilizes a love greater than the horrors of her circumstances; depending on her training and an impenetrable will, Crissa writes a note. The task is monumental: Crissa suffers with breathing, and soon develops problems with vision, the feeling in her hands is numbing, stabilizing the note pad and writing is extremely difficult.

Making matters worse, the injured woman is losing too much blood. Still, and though death waits, the brave lady holds on.  Crissa is determined to complete the note, her final moments with her beloved Jack. Lifeless, Crissa’s hand slides down the page.

One hour later the medevac crew arrives. While assessing the injured, a crewman notices a piece of paper lying next to Crissa’s body. Respectfully: Crissa’s corpse is placed on the chopper; the crewman takes a moment to read the note: To my husband and great love, Lt. Jack Johennsen, Company Headquarters.

News of Crissa’s death quickly arrives at headquarters (the crewman delivers her note to the Lt.). The words on the page are familiar, they are a quote that Jack often said to Crissa, and actually, the quote is “Allure,” a poem that Jack had written for her.

With tearing eyes, sadly Jack reads the note: “In the shadows of the waiting horizon, a cooling sun silhouettes the sky; and in the moonlight brightly reflecting are puffy whites tip toeing by; vigilant monoliths are the mountains, embracing a valley of rivers and green; and the winds artfully whooshing, are the brush painting a scene. My swelling heart feverishly throbs, the view before me I fondly adore; and beside me the woman I love; and her touch the sweetest allure.” -I love you Jack…

The loss of his sweet and loving wife is more than the brave Lt. can stand. With tears bathing his face, and then clutching the blood stained paper to his chest, the veteran commander collapses to his knees.

Copyright © 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes