The Stories They Tell

Memories, O’ these memories. How they consume me still. Clarissa, my beautiful wife, whatever happened? Someday I know I shall return to meet you, but what might be said about this current minute? Each day, I stare at the chair we crafted. The lovely blossom stems that go through its durable frame bring me great distress, as I recall our moments. The glorious white flower petals that were so mindfully painted all over its spine, are a demonstration of many years of affection. Everything about it is a testament to numerous decades of love.

Clarissa, Clarissa O’ my adoration, our times together are etched in my memory.

Your hair looked as if it were fashioned by the angels themselves. As the flowing locks of gold streamed from your shoulders, even the rocks reached out to experience the softness of its strands. Clarissa, your marvelous blue eyes would remind any of the deep ocean. They contained such elegance and harmony, yet reminisced of power. Your smooth fair skin, with one touch, would bring about an extraordinary flutter in any man. The lips on your never-forsaken nor spurned face, framed in a grin, remind all of a joyous moment in their lives. Clarissa, all aspects of you were more alluring than the entirety of wealth in the world.

It brings me profound distress to recall us. You and I were as close as any two could possibly be. Still to this day, I wear your ring on my finger and tell all those who ask, that I am married to you. You will always be in my heart and mind, Clarissa. Until I come to meet you once again, you will have my full attention on this earth. As for now, Clarissa, I will satisfy your desire. I will tell all those who listen, of our story. Clarissa, I will make sure that no other couple should go through the trying times that we did. Please, to all who listen, hear our story. Be filled with emotion at the tale of true love. I am but an old humble man. All I offer is a simple story. Listen and hear, my dear friend…

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O’ how flawless was the tongue that saved me from the fire. A profound interminable fire of despondency, that threatens to take all those who have lost. Its grasp is wide, and its depth is far, but my dearest love; you were more splendid than the fire. Yet, it would’ve taken only two strides to go from life to death.

Shall I had died in the war, I could not have fathomed your pain. The bullet stings less than the word of loss, and the wound that hurts more–is the one that leaves you alive. Clarissa, O’ my Clarissa, there were only two times I had ever seen you in the deepest pain. Yes, it’s true; your hope flourished so eternally that all I could witness were two times of dread; two times of distress.

I recollect July sixteenth O’ so vividly. My heart was filled with longing for you, a yearning I knew would be satisfied only an hour later. If only I had not checked the rusty mailbox that was set atop an old pine shaft, because inside that mailbox was nothing but sorrow and obliteration. By and by, in my obliviousness, I peered into the fire. The letter; from the state.

It read, Dear Charlie. You are hereby notified that you were, on the 16th of July, 1965, legally drafted in the service of the United States for the period of four years… You will accordingly report on the 30th of July at the place of rendezvous…

How barbarous the world is; how cruel. It was in my heart to propose to you that very evening, my Clarissa. It was in my heart to make you my wife. Now, all that lie in my heart was despair. Nevertheless, if I must serve, I will do so.

The look in your eyes took any glint of bliss about seeing you away. Upon the reading, I recollect the eyes that once took me to a land of peace–now take me to the valley of desperation and urgency.

I remember your angelic and saintly voice turning to panic and distraught as you spoke, “Charlie, you cannot go. You won’t go.”

I replied, “O’ my love, but I must. I must go.”

“Shouldn’t something be said about me? Shouldn’t something be said about our future?”

However it might have sounded selfish my dearest, it was only from deep sorrow and concern that you spoke.

“And what if I don’t go, what will happen then? O’ my adoration, it is indeed inevitable.” “You and I should be inevitable! Charlie I… ”

I recall how you could speak no longer. How the grief overtook you so that you could do nothing but cry. I ameliorated you as best I could, but no mere words nor touch can extinguish the burning heart. Your tears only wounded my heart O’ so profoundly. Would death be an escape from my pain? Certainly, it would be for mine, but it would only devastate you further. So in love, I pledged to return; and in love, you vowed to be there waiting.

After fourteen days, my dearest and I were separated. My life lie in the hands of my enemies, my brothers, and my God. Vietnam was merciless to the body, and wrenching to the spirit. As soon as the soldiers touched the ground, it was only a matter of time before they would die. Even I could not imagine the pain of those on the front; knowing that you would surely die, but you must get off anyway. By the grace of God, I was not in the front.

O’ my Clarissa, your blood runs cold to see so many of them, and so few of us. But to return to you alive, my dearest, I fought forwards. Brother after brother fell in front of me. Family after family lost their father.

Clarissa, even you have not been told of the devastation I witnessed. The smell that hit my nostrils; a smell of burning flesh. I would have rather fought a bear with nothing but a stick, than fight in Nam with nothing but my fallen brothers. At least with the bear, I see no blood but my own. Horrendous, it was horrendous.

Through day and night, we pushed forward. Only by way of constant prayers did I not collapse. Artillery rained down. Explosions boomed all about.

The cries echoed around me, “Medic! I need a medic!” and, “Please! I want to see my daughter!”

Screams of agony rang out from the fallen, but not dead; and screams of horror from those fighting to die. O’ the pain, O the sight, the smell, the taste, the residue that fell over us all. Until, in the blink of an eye–a grenade fell beside me. The pin was pulled; it was armed. Clarissa, our life flashed before my eyes in a sense of finality. With every last bit of strength inside me–I dove. I dove to live another day. I dove to see your face, my dearest. Before I was even able to hit the ground, the grenade went off. A piercing pain shot up and down my legs. My face flew into the dirt, as my body lay still. I passed out from the pain, knowing nothing of what transpired next.

Dreams went throughout my mind. I saw you, my affection. Our moments of delight, our moments of agony. Your pure whisper spoke to me. My dearest, you drove me to continue holding on. With your love behind me, I awoke from my slumber.

Bright lights hovered above me. Medical instruments were all around. I lay on a table, doctors encompassing me. I felt no pain, I felt nothing much at all. A haze loomed over my memory of what led here, but it only took one look down at my legs to snap me back.

The grenade, the shrapnel, the two fellow soldiers that risked their lives to drag me away from the enemy and to the helicopter, and the doctors that gave me the anesthetics. Now, now was what became of my wounds. The shrapnel penetrated too far, and too much. Both my legs were amputated.

My legs were cut up to my thighs. My Clarissa, it was life-changing, but the memories were even more so. As long as I could live, and as long as I could be with you, my dearest–I could have hope. I was discharged from service and sent on a plane back home. The whole flight, all I could think about was you, and would you be waiting? The plane landed as my heart beat faster. Excitement and wishes bored at my soul. At long last, to be reunited with my love; to heal my brokenness from war.

My fellow wounded brothers made their way off the plane before I. Light reached in through the open doorway, calling me out. I, however, had to wait for some assistance from the captain to get into a wheelchair. Once in, he rolled me to the door. I stared out into the crowd of waiting people. But to my horror, my fellow soldiers and I were not greeted with praise–but with insults and protest.

The joy began to flush from my body as I heard the cruel words, and read the signs; Baby killers, Ignorant Fools, Murderers. The captain muttered, “If only they knew,” as he rolled me down the ramp. At the bottom, I began to scan the crowd for you, my love. My eyes darted as fast as they could, looking for your brilliant face. Then, they met with a pair of graceful, loving blue eyes, that reminded me of ocean waves; my Clarissa, my dear Clarissa.

You ran out of the group and towards me. My heart skipped beats as I tried to leap out of my wheelchair to meet you. My disability prevented me, but nevertheless, my entire body longed for you. You reached me in no time, bending down and embracing me. Both our eyes were filled with tears as our love rekindled in a blaze.

The first words out of my mouth were, “You waited!”

Your response lifted my soul as you spoke softly, “How could I ever leave?”

Love makes time fly. Before I knew it, it was weeks later. I wasted no time in proposing. Of course–you said yes. O’ my Clarissa, how wonderful those times were.

By summer, we were married. It felt as if the world revolved around just the two of us. To love your lover is all too wonderful. Be as that may, war–is all too damaging.

It began after our marriage, when life felt all too perfect. Dreams of the war; terrors in the night. Vietnam would not release its grasp on my mind. The first night it happened, you were incredibly distressed. You loved and comforted me with your whole heart. It started as just nightmares, but turned into all kinds of triggers. My dearest, you were constantly pulling me from the fire; the ever-hotter fire that threatened to take everything from me.

Anger and torment grew deep in my mind. Nothing we did could erase war’s grip. The perfect life turned into a dreadful future. All too soon, did it transform into no future at all.

It was just another night. After dinner, we were tidying up the table. You said something I don’t quite recollect, but it angered me. I replied with words even more hurtful. The simple turned into the excruciating as we began to argue. Deep inner flaws began to escape in our words. Buried pains began to uproot what we had built.

The anger intensified, as well as our volume. I began to shout, and you instinctively yelled back. Then, in a moment of true and utter regret–I snapped. Rearing my hand back, I hit you across the cheek. Instantly, you grabbed your face and jumped back. I had hit you hard.

O’ my dearest, it was my darkest hour. Even the dread of war did not compare to the dread I felt in my soul now. My stomach churned and my hands shook. Your eyes were in utter shock and sorrow. Full of tears, you spoke these haunting words, “Charlie–it’s over… ”

O’ these memories, how they hurt me still. How dumb I was, how ignorant. Even though I suffered, for me to take it out on you is my greatest sin. Then you, my dearest, got up and went to the door. Before you left, you took one last look at me, tearfully contemplating, then went out into the night.

A wave of anger at myself for what I had done exploded inside. Reaching for anything in sight, I smashed and destroyed. I broke chairs and lamps, and beat walls. My love, my love, my love. How dearly I missed you. How dearly I hated myself. I lay on the couch and fell asleep from pure exhaustion–our house in shambles.

Morning came only after long hours of terrors. Now, I had no one to save me from the dark pit. The pain ate at and destroyed my heart. It was unbearable. When the sun had just come up, I went out into the street and began to move–not knowing where to go.

After an hour, my arms were exhausted from rolling the wheelchair. Suddenly, I noticed a church in front of me. I rolled inside, and seeing nobody around, I began to pray. My prayers were for you, my dearest. It was truly dire I get you back. I could not go on without you. I prayed with all my heart until I could stand being alone no longer. Going back out into the street, I immediately noticed a small flower shop across the road.

I decided to go in and browse the flowers. I know not why I did go in, just that I should. With every single second of my brain focused on you, my love, I purchased a single white rose. It represented how I wanted forgiveness, and how much I regretted my actions. I knew where to find you–at your parent’s house. As soon as I left the shop, I headed there. It took no longer than half an hour before I was at your door. My dearest, you know what happened next, but let me say what occurred anyways. My heart beat out of my chest as I gathered my courage. I knocked on the door and waited, rose in hand. Then, my dear Clarissa, you opened the door.

Instantly, your eyes filled with tears as our pain resurfaced. You shook your head, and in a quiet, hurt voice, said, “No, Charlie… ”

You closed the door and left me out on the porch. It was a foolish thing for me to think you would ever come back anyways. With my pain worsened, I sat down the rose on your porch and went back home. The next day, I once again went to the church and prayed my heart out. Afterward, I bought another white rose and went again to your parent’s house. I suppose it was ignorance that kept me going back, but in any case, I knocked on the door again. You opened it, shook your head, then shut the door. I took in a deep breath, wiping away a tear from my eye. When I went to set the rose down, I noticed that the rose from the previous day–was gone. A little spark of hope rumbled around in my broken and empty heart.

I headed home and fought my demons another night, alone. Day after day, I couldn’t stop going to the little church and praying. I bought more roses and went to your parent’s house, knocking on the door. Each and every time you would shake your head, and try to hold back tears. Feeling defeated, I would go to set down the roses, and see that the rose from the previous day was missing. I could not stop trying. Even if it took my entire life, and all the money I had–I would show you how much I regretted what I had done. My Clarissa, I would not, could not stop.

I continued the process of prayer and roses for weeks and weeks. Nothing seemed to change in your reaction when I knocked on the door. It was always tear-filled for both of us. Day after day, I bought hundreds of roses. Even if anyone asked about you, my love, I would tell them that we were still married. Your love is all I longed for; all my soul burned for.

An entire year after the fight, I bought another rose and went to your door. After many minutes of contemplation and tears, I took off my wedding ring. I never bothered to knock, instead, I sat down the rose–my ring beside it. Solemnly, I went home. When nothing had changed after a year, I believed it was over. I could never get you back, my dearest.

That night, I contemplated something dark. What if I took my own life? The pain would cease. The terrors would stop coming back. It’s too late for me anyway. My life had been destroyed–by me. I sat down by the table and looked around our house. Broken chairs, shattered glasses, walls filled with holes; it was decimated. I began to sob. Pain and suffering had challenged me, and they had won.

Not a minute later, I heard a knock at my door. It was after midnight, and I had no idea who would be up this late–except for me. I rolled to the door and opened it. My heart pounded in my chest and skipped beats. I gazed into the most magnificent blue eyes. They were filled with compassion and tears. Clarissa, you had come to my door. My love, you had greeted me. In your hands was a box–a box filled with roses. Most were dead and withered, but I could see a few of the petals–they were white roses.

These few words came out of your mouth, my dearest, that I will never forget, “Charlie–I forgive you.” I fell back into my wheelchair. You sat the box of roses down and rushed to me. We embraced in passionate love.

Through tears, I spoke, “Don’t ever let me treat you like that again.”

Forty-three years; I remember them clearly. That’s how many years we were married. It’s how many years we deeply loved each other. Trust can be destroyed, hearts can be broken, but our love–it was neither. Even now, it brings tears of joy to my eyes as I remember the moments. The moments; the deep moments. That’s the word you always used; moments. So my memory is of the moments.

O’ my love! O’ my love! I remember the chair we crafted, the roses that run up and down its spine; the intricate pattern of stems and leaves, the white petals that you told me represent each moment of our lives. That rocking chair–that chair is beautiful. But that chair will never compare to your beauty! Beloved be with me! I cry as I look at that chair and remember your smile. I sob as I think of your eyes.

I am filled with pain as I see your locks of hair. But this pain–it is out of love! For when you died, our love did not! You are my wife, dear Clarissa, and you will always be. The deep darkness that threatens me each day, I know will soon overtake me. But that day I will rejoice, my love! For on that day I will be with you yet again. That day, I will see the figure of my Clarissa.

You were the water to quench the ever-burning fire of pain in my heart. You were the healing to my brokenness. You were the love that never stopped. O’ my Clarissa, you were mine! You are mine!

O’ the memories; O’ these memories! Clarissa, my beloved wife, I know what happened. I know what a beautiful thing our love has become. Though we may die, our love will live. Our love will always live!

So to life once again with you, I write. To love in the fire, I write. To memories of my heart, I write. To my dearest, Clarissa–shall we truly love to the end, as we did on this earth, and shall we truly be husband and wife–forever and ever.