The Real LJ Idol - Mini-Season - Week 7
This is my entry for Week 7 of LJ Idol ( 
therealljidol).
Prompt: "When you live for someone you're prepared to die"
We met when we were eight. It was the summer and the air was sticky and heavy with heat. The wind carried along the smoky scent of charcoal and grilled meats and the familiar summer sounds of growling lawn mowers and dogs barking in the distance. I was sitting on top of the monkey bars, chewing strawberry bubble gum and swinging my legs back and forth in the breeze, humming quietly to myself. The rest of the park was empty, but it was almost dinner time and the thick humidity had sent most of the neighborhood kids home early. I didn’t mind though, as I didn’t much like playing with the neighborhood kids anyway. Most of them were mean to me and often assigned me the least appealing roles in the games we played or made fun of my glasses. I was happy to have the entire playground to myself, so when you walked across the wood chips to where I was sitting, my eyes closed against the strong, August sun, I know I was more than a little annoyed.
“Hey, you!” you called to me. I blinked in the harsh sunlight before looking down.
“What do you want?” I asked defensively, shielding my eyes against the blinding light.
You were smiling. It was a huge grin that stretched across your entire face, bright as the August sun burning above our heads. The irritation in my voice had been clear, but your expression didn’t waver and you didn’t hesitate.
“Do you want to be friends?”
The question caught me off-guard and I stopped swinging my legs. No one had ever asked me to be their friend before, at least, not in such a direct and pointed way. There were plenty of kids I spent my free time with, but even then I knew they were friends of convenience rather than choice. The concept of friendship at age eight was a very loose term. Sure, the neighborhood kids always made me “It” when we played tag and sometimes put rocks in my shoes, but we played together often and even if I was always picked last for teams or never had a partner for the see-saw I was still involved and included so surely that was enough to constitute friendship. Still, this skewed view of what could be considered a friend made me wary of adding any more to my network. Besides, I had never seen you before and so your offer was somewhat suspicious.
“No," I scoffed.
“Please, be my friend?!” you yelled and your smile faltered slightly.
“No. Go away.” I stood my ground, but you were still not deterred. Instead of leaving like I’d hoped, you jammed your small hands into your pockets and pulled out two Matchbox race cars.
“Wanna race 'em down the slide?” You looked up at me hopefully, holding the cars out on your palms. “I’ll let you pick the one you want!”
My interest had been slightly piqued. No one had ever let me pick first. In fact, I would probably normally be relegated to the task of retrieving the cars and returning them to the top of the slide for the racers. The idea actually sounded pretty fun, but I was still mistrusting of your motives and the sun was starting to slide down behind the line of trees in the distance; the daily cue that it was time for me to start heading home.
I pushed myself off of my throne atop the monkey bars, landing expertly on my feet next to you.
“I have to go,” I said and you curled your fingers around the miniature metal cars with a sigh of disappointment.
Your smile finally fell and with it my resolve. Because in it’s absence, I realized quickly that I liked your smile. Defeated, you turned to leave, probably realizing that I wasn’t worth your time or effort, but much like my late appreciation of your easy, wide grin, I found myself already longing for more of your attention.
“I’ll be back here tomorrow after lunch, though,” I added, trying to look as nonchalant as an eager eight year old could muster.
You turned back and I was relieved to see your bright smile firmly back in place. I returned it with one of my own and felt my cheeks flush with a warmth I didn’t yet understand. The sensation lasted throughout my entire walk-skip home and, as it would so happen, much longer after that.
- - - -
When we were eighteen, you teased me about our first meeting. We were laying in a tangle of blankets in the back of your pick-up truck under a darkening summer sky. I shoved you playfully, but you swiftly grabbed my arm and pulled me down with you, kissing the bridge of my nose after I’d landed softly on your chest. I wore contacts now and a C cup, but I was still the same awkward, unsure girl who was happy just to be along for the ride that I’d been back in the playground ten years before.
“I was on a mission,” you said, pushing my hair out of my face with gentle hands.
“I know,” I laughed. “You just showed up there begging me to be your friend!”
“I didn’t beg.”
“Basically!”
You threw your arm around my shoulders and I snuggled into you. Even though the weather is warm and sticky, I never hesitated at the opportunity to be close to you. The sun was falling behind the horizon and it would be cooler soon anyway. We laied like that for awhile, until you cleared your throat and pulled me in even tighter.
“I just wanted to make my mom happy,” you whispered quietly, your lips pressed close to my ear.
Your breath was warm against my soft skin and I shivered slightly, but I didn't move away. Instead, I listened silently as you told me about your dad for the first time - how he threatened your mom and screamed at you and often stumbled home just before dawn smelling of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. You told me how you and your mother left quietly in the middle of the night in a strange blue car that made a high pitched squeal when it made a left turn. You told me how you worried, even after the hours and the miles had passed, that the sound would be your undoing; that somehow your father would hear it from his bedroom and angrily come chasing after you. You told me how your mother cried and apologized for taking you away from your school and your room and your belongings and how you tried to comfort her. And then you told me how that day in the park you’d been determined to make a friend, to be able to go home and tell your mom and show her that everything was going to be alright for the both of you.
After you got quiet, I shimmied away from you slightly so that I could see your face. It was the first time you’d ever opened up to me about your past and I knew that the memories were weighing heavy on your heart because your mouth was drawn into a tight line and your brows were deeply furrowed. I was filled with a rush of emotions I could only just barely comprehend - gratefulness for being allowed such a personal glimpse into your life, sadness over what you’d been forced to endure at such a young age, protectiveness, sympathy, respect... love. And also the strongest longing to see your goofy, boyish grin replace the sad, contemplative look stretched across your face.
“Of course, you had to come upon the most stubborn, unfriendly brat in the whole town!” I teased. And there it was - that bright, warm smile that made my cheeks flush and my stomach flip. You offered it to me like a gift and I greedily basked in it.
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” you answered and above our heads the first firework spiraled into the air and then split into a shower of color with a loud crack. We didn’t even notice.
- - - -
When we were 28, much to no one’s surprise, we got married. It was a simple affair, but the guest list was long and the outpouring of love on that day was breathtaking. We held the ceremony outside, on the grounds of the reception venue. It was on a beautifully decorated patio surrounded by tall, flowering trees with billowing, gauzy, white fabric hanging down from the wooden gazebo that housed the alter. I wore my hair down and curled, the way you liked it best, and your wore black Converse sneakers with your tux, just as I’d expect.
As my father walked me down the aisle, my mind raced with frivolous doubts: Was my dress too poofy? Were the flowers right? Was my makeup too heavy? Too light? Would I trip on my hem and go head first into the alter? Would my parent’s house feel lonely without the constant presence of me and my dirty laundry? But then you turned to see me and you gave me that brilliant, comforting, familiar smile and in that moment nothing else mattered. Everything else melted away.
On a warm, sunny day at the tail-end of summer, in front of all our loved ones, I wed the love of my life. In your vows, you mentioned our fateful meeting in the playground and my thick rimmed glasses and how I had challenged you every day since then in all the best ways. My voice shook as I recited mine, but I had no trouble telling you how much you’d changed me for the better and how much love and affection you’d brought into my life and how thankful I was that you hadn't been deterred by the stubborn girl who had rebuffed you. You squeezed my hand before sliding on my ring and kissed me hard when the officiant instructed you to do so. It was everything I'd dreamed of and more.
The reception was an affair to remember. Our families got along great due much in part to their ability to party. The drinks flowed and the food was delicious, though I only managed a few bites here and there. Our cake toppers were two Matchbox race cars - one white and one black. At one point in the night, your father asked me for a dance. You had reconciled a few years prior and he was now four years sober. You were working on your relationship and it was a difficult, on-going process, but I was immensely proud of you for it. As we swayed to the smooth sounds of the band, your father thanked me for bringing you happiness and love and for giving you the chance to be a better husband than he had been. I wanted to tell him how I only ever returned the love and happiness you had given me, but instead I nodded quietly.
That night, before folding into bed and into each other, you kissed my nose and grinned.
"Will you be my friend?" you asked, pulling down my dress.
"Yes."
"Will you be my wife?"
"Forever."
- - - -
When we were 38, I gave birth to our third child. It was a beautiful, healthy baby boy and even though you’d repeatedly insisted you’d be happy with another girl, I know you were positively giddy to have a son. After expertly coaching me through another successful labor, you ran around the hospital hallways pumping your fists in the air and relaying the happy news to our patiently waiting parents. Then you quickly returned to my bedside to feed me ice chips, your mouth pulled into a proud, glowing grin.
You were an amazing father to our children and it was clear that you were determined not to make any of the mistakes you’d suffered at the hands of your own. You were gentle with them, but stern when you needed to be. You built them forts and tree houses and swing sets. You carried them to bed at night and drove them to school in the morning. You played dress-up with our daughters and wrestled with our son. You taught them all how to ride a two-wheel bike and how to swing a baseball bat and on Sundays we’d all watch football together, dressed head to toe in our favorite team’s colors.
After they were tucked into bed, we’d meet in the kitchen and share a glass of wine or a piece of cheesecake. We’d muse over our luck and the twists and turns our lives had taken. We’d share anecdotes from our day or interesting things we’d heard on the news. Sometimes, you’d help me wash the day’s pile of dishes or sort out the laundry, spraying me with water from the faucet or flinging tee-shirts at my head, a playful, boyish grin stretched across your face. This was my home, our home, a place we had built together over the years and it was filled with a love and a warmth that I never could have expected.
- - - -
When we were 88, you admitted you hadn’t been feeling well for the past week and I made you a doctor’s appointment right away. A few days later, we found out it wasn’t good news. Cancer, the doctor said, aggressive. Your age would make fighting it a difficult affair and you were quick to opt out. Sitting in front of the doctor’s large oak desk in two of the most uncomfortable, stiff chairs ever made, you grabbed my hand and squeezed, offering me your signature grin, just as wide and boyish as ever. I pushed my glasses up onto my nose and smiled back.
When you passed away, I didn't cry. I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to. But that didn't mean a heavy, unfathomable sadness wasn't weighing on my heart. I missed you greatly, from the very moment you left me, but I knew it was temporary. For so long, we had been one and the same, our lives so deeply intertwined that it was impossible to seperate the two. You had given me love and happiness and a beautiful family and we had shared all of those things for so many blissful years. I knew that without you, there was no life for me and so I was ready.
When I passed just a few short days later, it was no surprise to anyone. And I knew you would be welcoming me home with that brilliant grin that I loved more than anything in the world, or any worlds to come after it.
therealljidol).
Prompt: "When you live for someone you're prepared to die"
We met when we were eight. It was the summer and the air was sticky and heavy with heat. The wind carried along the smoky scent of charcoal and grilled meats and the familiar summer sounds of growling lawn mowers and dogs barking in the distance. I was sitting on top of the monkey bars, chewing strawberry bubble gum and swinging my legs back and forth in the breeze, humming quietly to myself. The rest of the park was empty, but it was almost dinner time and the thick humidity had sent most of the neighborhood kids home early. I didn’t mind though, as I didn’t much like playing with the neighborhood kids anyway. Most of them were mean to me and often assigned me the least appealing roles in the games we played or made fun of my glasses. I was happy to have the entire playground to myself, so when you walked across the wood chips to where I was sitting, my eyes closed against the strong, August sun, I know I was more than a little annoyed.
“Hey, you!” you called to me. I blinked in the harsh sunlight before looking down.
“What do you want?” I asked defensively, shielding my eyes against the blinding light.
You were smiling. It was a huge grin that stretched across your entire face, bright as the August sun burning above our heads. The irritation in my voice had been clear, but your expression didn’t waver and you didn’t hesitate.
“Do you want to be friends?”
The question caught me off-guard and I stopped swinging my legs. No one had ever asked me to be their friend before, at least, not in such a direct and pointed way. There were plenty of kids I spent my free time with, but even then I knew they were friends of convenience rather than choice. The concept of friendship at age eight was a very loose term. Sure, the neighborhood kids always made me “It” when we played tag and sometimes put rocks in my shoes, but we played together often and even if I was always picked last for teams or never had a partner for the see-saw I was still involved and included so surely that was enough to constitute friendship. Still, this skewed view of what could be considered a friend made me wary of adding any more to my network. Besides, I had never seen you before and so your offer was somewhat suspicious.
“No," I scoffed.
“Please, be my friend?!” you yelled and your smile faltered slightly.
“No. Go away.” I stood my ground, but you were still not deterred. Instead of leaving like I’d hoped, you jammed your small hands into your pockets and pulled out two Matchbox race cars.
“Wanna race 'em down the slide?” You looked up at me hopefully, holding the cars out on your palms. “I’ll let you pick the one you want!”
My interest had been slightly piqued. No one had ever let me pick first. In fact, I would probably normally be relegated to the task of retrieving the cars and returning them to the top of the slide for the racers. The idea actually sounded pretty fun, but I was still mistrusting of your motives and the sun was starting to slide down behind the line of trees in the distance; the daily cue that it was time for me to start heading home.
I pushed myself off of my throne atop the monkey bars, landing expertly on my feet next to you.
“I have to go,” I said and you curled your fingers around the miniature metal cars with a sigh of disappointment.
Your smile finally fell and with it my resolve. Because in it’s absence, I realized quickly that I liked your smile. Defeated, you turned to leave, probably realizing that I wasn’t worth your time or effort, but much like my late appreciation of your easy, wide grin, I found myself already longing for more of your attention.
“I’ll be back here tomorrow after lunch, though,” I added, trying to look as nonchalant as an eager eight year old could muster.
You turned back and I was relieved to see your bright smile firmly back in place. I returned it with one of my own and felt my cheeks flush with a warmth I didn’t yet understand. The sensation lasted throughout my entire walk-skip home and, as it would so happen, much longer after that.
- - - -
When we were eighteen, you teased me about our first meeting. We were laying in a tangle of blankets in the back of your pick-up truck under a darkening summer sky. I shoved you playfully, but you swiftly grabbed my arm and pulled me down with you, kissing the bridge of my nose after I’d landed softly on your chest. I wore contacts now and a C cup, but I was still the same awkward, unsure girl who was happy just to be along for the ride that I’d been back in the playground ten years before.
“I was on a mission,” you said, pushing my hair out of my face with gentle hands.
“I know,” I laughed. “You just showed up there begging me to be your friend!”
“I didn’t beg.”
“Basically!”
You threw your arm around my shoulders and I snuggled into you. Even though the weather is warm and sticky, I never hesitated at the opportunity to be close to you. The sun was falling behind the horizon and it would be cooler soon anyway. We laied like that for awhile, until you cleared your throat and pulled me in even tighter.
“I just wanted to make my mom happy,” you whispered quietly, your lips pressed close to my ear.
Your breath was warm against my soft skin and I shivered slightly, but I didn't move away. Instead, I listened silently as you told me about your dad for the first time - how he threatened your mom and screamed at you and often stumbled home just before dawn smelling of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. You told me how you and your mother left quietly in the middle of the night in a strange blue car that made a high pitched squeal when it made a left turn. You told me how you worried, even after the hours and the miles had passed, that the sound would be your undoing; that somehow your father would hear it from his bedroom and angrily come chasing after you. You told me how your mother cried and apologized for taking you away from your school and your room and your belongings and how you tried to comfort her. And then you told me how that day in the park you’d been determined to make a friend, to be able to go home and tell your mom and show her that everything was going to be alright for the both of you.
After you got quiet, I shimmied away from you slightly so that I could see your face. It was the first time you’d ever opened up to me about your past and I knew that the memories were weighing heavy on your heart because your mouth was drawn into a tight line and your brows were deeply furrowed. I was filled with a rush of emotions I could only just barely comprehend - gratefulness for being allowed such a personal glimpse into your life, sadness over what you’d been forced to endure at such a young age, protectiveness, sympathy, respect... love. And also the strongest longing to see your goofy, boyish grin replace the sad, contemplative look stretched across your face.
“Of course, you had to come upon the most stubborn, unfriendly brat in the whole town!” I teased. And there it was - that bright, warm smile that made my cheeks flush and my stomach flip. You offered it to me like a gift and I greedily basked in it.
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” you answered and above our heads the first firework spiraled into the air and then split into a shower of color with a loud crack. We didn’t even notice.
- - - -
When we were 28, much to no one’s surprise, we got married. It was a simple affair, but the guest list was long and the outpouring of love on that day was breathtaking. We held the ceremony outside, on the grounds of the reception venue. It was on a beautifully decorated patio surrounded by tall, flowering trees with billowing, gauzy, white fabric hanging down from the wooden gazebo that housed the alter. I wore my hair down and curled, the way you liked it best, and your wore black Converse sneakers with your tux, just as I’d expect.
As my father walked me down the aisle, my mind raced with frivolous doubts: Was my dress too poofy? Were the flowers right? Was my makeup too heavy? Too light? Would I trip on my hem and go head first into the alter? Would my parent’s house feel lonely without the constant presence of me and my dirty laundry? But then you turned to see me and you gave me that brilliant, comforting, familiar smile and in that moment nothing else mattered. Everything else melted away.
On a warm, sunny day at the tail-end of summer, in front of all our loved ones, I wed the love of my life. In your vows, you mentioned our fateful meeting in the playground and my thick rimmed glasses and how I had challenged you every day since then in all the best ways. My voice shook as I recited mine, but I had no trouble telling you how much you’d changed me for the better and how much love and affection you’d brought into my life and how thankful I was that you hadn't been deterred by the stubborn girl who had rebuffed you. You squeezed my hand before sliding on my ring and kissed me hard when the officiant instructed you to do so. It was everything I'd dreamed of and more.
The reception was an affair to remember. Our families got along great due much in part to their ability to party. The drinks flowed and the food was delicious, though I only managed a few bites here and there. Our cake toppers were two Matchbox race cars - one white and one black. At one point in the night, your father asked me for a dance. You had reconciled a few years prior and he was now four years sober. You were working on your relationship and it was a difficult, on-going process, but I was immensely proud of you for it. As we swayed to the smooth sounds of the band, your father thanked me for bringing you happiness and love and for giving you the chance to be a better husband than he had been. I wanted to tell him how I only ever returned the love and happiness you had given me, but instead I nodded quietly.
That night, before folding into bed and into each other, you kissed my nose and grinned.
"Will you be my friend?" you asked, pulling down my dress.
"Yes."
"Will you be my wife?"
"Forever."
- - - -
When we were 38, I gave birth to our third child. It was a beautiful, healthy baby boy and even though you’d repeatedly insisted you’d be happy with another girl, I know you were positively giddy to have a son. After expertly coaching me through another successful labor, you ran around the hospital hallways pumping your fists in the air and relaying the happy news to our patiently waiting parents. Then you quickly returned to my bedside to feed me ice chips, your mouth pulled into a proud, glowing grin.
You were an amazing father to our children and it was clear that you were determined not to make any of the mistakes you’d suffered at the hands of your own. You were gentle with them, but stern when you needed to be. You built them forts and tree houses and swing sets. You carried them to bed at night and drove them to school in the morning. You played dress-up with our daughters and wrestled with our son. You taught them all how to ride a two-wheel bike and how to swing a baseball bat and on Sundays we’d all watch football together, dressed head to toe in our favorite team’s colors.
After they were tucked into bed, we’d meet in the kitchen and share a glass of wine or a piece of cheesecake. We’d muse over our luck and the twists and turns our lives had taken. We’d share anecdotes from our day or interesting things we’d heard on the news. Sometimes, you’d help me wash the day’s pile of dishes or sort out the laundry, spraying me with water from the faucet or flinging tee-shirts at my head, a playful, boyish grin stretched across your face. This was my home, our home, a place we had built together over the years and it was filled with a love and a warmth that I never could have expected.
- - - -
When we were 88, you admitted you hadn’t been feeling well for the past week and I made you a doctor’s appointment right away. A few days later, we found out it wasn’t good news. Cancer, the doctor said, aggressive. Your age would make fighting it a difficult affair and you were quick to opt out. Sitting in front of the doctor’s large oak desk in two of the most uncomfortable, stiff chairs ever made, you grabbed my hand and squeezed, offering me your signature grin, just as wide and boyish as ever. I pushed my glasses up onto my nose and smiled back.
When you passed away, I didn't cry. I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to. But that didn't mean a heavy, unfathomable sadness wasn't weighing on my heart. I missed you greatly, from the very moment you left me, but I knew it was temporary. For so long, we had been one and the same, our lives so deeply intertwined that it was impossible to seperate the two. You had given me love and happiness and a beautiful family and we had shared all of those things for so many blissful years. I knew that without you, there was no life for me and so I was ready.
When I passed just a few short days later, it was no surprise to anyone. And I knew you would be welcoming me home with that brilliant grin that I loved more than anything in the world, or any worlds to come after it.