Passionfruit 6, Pomelo 1: let go
Title: let go
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 6 (They also serve who only stand and wait - John Milton ), pomelo 1 (One murder makes a villain, millions a hero.), My Treat (Tie into reality; reactions to war.), malt (historical documentation challenge), butterscotch, pocky chain.
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Rose Marie Kendall loved her husband very much.
Notes: I hope I did a decent job on this... if you find fail, please be gentle but please, please tell me.
WARNING for suicide, discussion of PTSD and the Vietnam War.
Her name was Rose Marie Marshall, and no one ever got it right.
No one who wasn't related to her, at any rate. Her family could say it easily enough. "Rose Marie," her mother would say, "come set the table." "Rose Marie," her father would say, "have you met anyone?" They knew.
No one else got it right. Either they called her just Rose, or they slurred it all together-- "Rosemarie," or worse, "Rosemary."
"Rose Marie," she corrected them.
"Rose Marie," said Daniel Kendall, "I'm pleased to meet you."
She might have fallen in love with him then and there.
--
She wore blue on their first date. Daniel told her it matched her eyes, and every date after, she wore something blue, something small. He always noticed. She loved that about him.
Six months into their relationship, he asked her to marry him. She didn't even have to think about it.
She wore blue lingerie to their wedding, and pearls in her hair. Daniel wore his father's suit and a brilliant smile. Her mother wept, but Rose Marie laughed, because she was so very happy.
She stood before the priest with Daniel's hands in hers, and couldn't imagine herself happier.
--
And then she found out she was pregnant and she found that she could be happier, could be breathless with joy every time she opened her eyes. Nothing could sadden her then; nothing could hurt her. The days she spent with Daniel's child growing inside her were so perfect an so endlessly wonderful that she could never remember the actual weather afterwards, only clear and sunny skies and bright, warm weather.
Then their son was born, her little Nathan, so tiny and so perfect and so incredibly theirs, and it felt as if the skies could never be cloudy again.
--
She had ten years, a decade of joy. Oh, there were hard times and unhappiness, but all in all she could not imagine a better life, with her good men, her warm and loving home.
And then the draft.
Daniel had been exempt, before. A married man with a son, he was safe until the president decided that was no longer so. But even then, Rose Marie had thought they were safe.
"I have to go," Daniel told them both. "My country needs me."
We need you, she wanted to scream. But she let him go.
She had no choice.
--
Months went by. Daniel wrote occasionally, always censored-- even if it hadn't been, Rose Marie knew there were things he wasn't telling them. Dark things.
She did her best. She kept Nathan's spirits up, not that it was hard with his nine-year-old's permanently happy temperament. She got a part-time job to help with the bills and to keep her from melancholy loneliness. She wrote to Daniel, letters full of cheerful news that she always ended with 'I love you.'
Most of all, she counted down the days, marking them off on a calendar. Four months. Three months. Two. One.
Now.
--
They met Daniel at the airport. Nathan made a sign, "Welcome Home, Daddy" in bright colors and glitter. Rose Marie made sure it was just the two of them, no crowd of friends or relatives to overwhelm him. She held their son's hand and strained for a glimpse of her husband, relief and terror mixed in every breath.
And there he was, his uniform loose, head down, feet dragging. Nathan yelled "Daddy!" and waved his sign frantically-- Daniel looked up and smiled, but there was something horrible and broken behind that smile.
She looked at that smile, and couldn't breathe.
--
She spent the next year with her heart in her throat. Daniel was... he had nightmares, when he could sleep-- mostly he sat awake all night, smoking, when he'd never smoked before. He never talked about Vietnam. He never talked about anything. She tried to help him, but nothing she did changed anything.
She did her best to keep this from Nathan, not that it was hard. Their son was only nine years old, hero-worshiping his father, and how could she tell him? He never knew. At least she thought he never knew.
At least she hoped he never knew.
--
Daniel tried. He still loved her, and Nathan; she knew that like own name. He tried so hard to be like he was, before. She tried to tell him he didn't need to, that they both still loved him, but he only looked at her blankly.
"Rose Marie," he said one night, and smiled, almost like his old self. "I love you so much."
She touched his face, traced the new lines there. "You're my heart," she whispered.
He pressed his forehead to hers. Her cheeks were wet, from whose tears she didn't know.
The next morning, he was dead.
--
He was drunk, they said. He drove off the road, hit a tree. He died instantly. Such a tragic accident.
Except it wasn't an accident, and Rose Marie knew it.
She still didn't know what had happened in Vietnam, what Daniel had seen or done. Dark things, awful things, things that took his sleep. They'd eaten his life, those things; not even her love had saved him. Nothing could have saved him.
She held Nathan against her side and let him cry for his father, let him cry the tears she couldn't.
Was it horrible of her to feel relief?
--
He was buried in his father's suit, the one they'd been married in. She refused a military funeral, refused to let those dark things haunt him even after death. She stood at his grave with their son by her side, and wept for all that had been taken from him, for his lost sleep and his broken smile, for herself and for Nathan who must now go on without him.
She did not weep for him, because he was safe now. He was free.
She never told anyone the truth about his death.
No one else could ever have understood.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 6 (They also serve who only stand and wait - John Milton ), pomelo 1 (One murder makes a villain, millions a hero.), My Treat (Tie into reality; reactions to war.), malt (historical documentation challenge), butterscotch, pocky chain.
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Rose Marie Kendall loved her husband very much.
Notes: I hope I did a decent job on this... if you find fail, please be gentle but please, please tell me.
WARNING for suicide, discussion of PTSD and the Vietnam War.
Her name was Rose Marie Marshall, and no one ever got it right.
No one who wasn't related to her, at any rate. Her family could say it easily enough. "Rose Marie," her mother would say, "come set the table." "Rose Marie," her father would say, "have you met anyone?" They knew.
No one else got it right. Either they called her just Rose, or they slurred it all together-- "Rosemarie," or worse, "Rosemary."
"Rose Marie," she corrected them.
"Rose Marie," said Daniel Kendall, "I'm pleased to meet you."
She might have fallen in love with him then and there.
--
She wore blue on their first date. Daniel told her it matched her eyes, and every date after, she wore something blue, something small. He always noticed. She loved that about him.
Six months into their relationship, he asked her to marry him. She didn't even have to think about it.
She wore blue lingerie to their wedding, and pearls in her hair. Daniel wore his father's suit and a brilliant smile. Her mother wept, but Rose Marie laughed, because she was so very happy.
She stood before the priest with Daniel's hands in hers, and couldn't imagine herself happier.
--
And then she found out she was pregnant and she found that she could be happier, could be breathless with joy every time she opened her eyes. Nothing could sadden her then; nothing could hurt her. The days she spent with Daniel's child growing inside her were so perfect an so endlessly wonderful that she could never remember the actual weather afterwards, only clear and sunny skies and bright, warm weather.
Then their son was born, her little Nathan, so tiny and so perfect and so incredibly theirs, and it felt as if the skies could never be cloudy again.
--
She had ten years, a decade of joy. Oh, there were hard times and unhappiness, but all in all she could not imagine a better life, with her good men, her warm and loving home.
And then the draft.
Daniel had been exempt, before. A married man with a son, he was safe until the president decided that was no longer so. But even then, Rose Marie had thought they were safe.
"I have to go," Daniel told them both. "My country needs me."
We need you, she wanted to scream. But she let him go.
She had no choice.
--
Months went by. Daniel wrote occasionally, always censored-- even if it hadn't been, Rose Marie knew there were things he wasn't telling them. Dark things.
She did her best. She kept Nathan's spirits up, not that it was hard with his nine-year-old's permanently happy temperament. She got a part-time job to help with the bills and to keep her from melancholy loneliness. She wrote to Daniel, letters full of cheerful news that she always ended with 'I love you.'
Most of all, she counted down the days, marking them off on a calendar. Four months. Three months. Two. One.
Now.
--
They met Daniel at the airport. Nathan made a sign, "Welcome Home, Daddy" in bright colors and glitter. Rose Marie made sure it was just the two of them, no crowd of friends or relatives to overwhelm him. She held their son's hand and strained for a glimpse of her husband, relief and terror mixed in every breath.
And there he was, his uniform loose, head down, feet dragging. Nathan yelled "Daddy!" and waved his sign frantically-- Daniel looked up and smiled, but there was something horrible and broken behind that smile.
She looked at that smile, and couldn't breathe.
--
She spent the next year with her heart in her throat. Daniel was... he had nightmares, when he could sleep-- mostly he sat awake all night, smoking, when he'd never smoked before. He never talked about Vietnam. He never talked about anything. She tried to help him, but nothing she did changed anything.
She did her best to keep this from Nathan, not that it was hard. Their son was only nine years old, hero-worshiping his father, and how could she tell him? He never knew. At least she thought he never knew.
At least she hoped he never knew.
--
Daniel tried. He still loved her, and Nathan; she knew that like own name. He tried so hard to be like he was, before. She tried to tell him he didn't need to, that they both still loved him, but he only looked at her blankly.
"Rose Marie," he said one night, and smiled, almost like his old self. "I love you so much."
She touched his face, traced the new lines there. "You're my heart," she whispered.
He pressed his forehead to hers. Her cheeks were wet, from whose tears she didn't know.
The next morning, he was dead.
--
He was drunk, they said. He drove off the road, hit a tree. He died instantly. Such a tragic accident.
Except it wasn't an accident, and Rose Marie knew it.
She still didn't know what had happened in Vietnam, what Daniel had seen or done. Dark things, awful things, things that took his sleep. They'd eaten his life, those things; not even her love had saved him. Nothing could have saved him.
She held Nathan against her side and let him cry for his father, let him cry the tears she couldn't.
Was it horrible of her to feel relief?
--
He was buried in his father's suit, the one they'd been married in. She refused a military funeral, refused to let those dark things haunt him even after death. She stood at his grave with their son by her side, and wept for all that had been taken from him, for his lost sleep and his broken smile, for herself and for Nathan who must now go on without him.
She did not weep for him, because he was safe now. He was free.
She never told anyone the truth about his death.
No one else could ever have understood.