Page 125 of Mariposa
Isleep with the wooden eagle Kade gave me every night.
It’s been thirty days since I’ve kissed his lips—thirty days since I’ve seen those eyes—and thirty days since I’ve felt alive. I’m completely shut down. I haven’t cried, screamed, or slept since I was discharged from the hospital. I feel like I’m lost in nothing but grief and tragedy.
How do I move on?
Color doesn’t exist anymore. Everything is dull, and I have no spark inside me—no drive…nothing. I am empty. My heart doesn’t beat without feeling a weight digging into my aching chest. Nothing tastes good. I’ve lost fifteen pounds. Every song I hear sounds like static.
I’m alive, but everything inside me is shriveled up and dead.
The crash and attack left a devastating tragedy for many families. The last update I got from Slater was that The Surgeon is hiding. Intelligence is on it, but I don’t know any more details. It may take months to years to find him again.
I got a complex text today. My grandfather let us all know that my grandmother’s time to pass is coming sooner than he thought. Her heart is weakening drastically, and she won’t be able to survive the surgery to remove the cancer from her frail body. Instead of going into hospice, they’re having a nurse take care of her at her house so she can go comfortably.
Today will be the first day I see her. Now that I can walk—granted, with the help of a boot—I’m in Greenville. She still thinks I’m training in the Special Forces course and doesn’t know about the helicopter crash or how the failed mission made worldwide news.
I’ve avoided the internet like the plague. Every national news reporter keeps calling my phone. I send them to voicemail each time because there’s no way I’m ready to sit in front of a camera to explain what happened to strangers and civilians who will pick my story apart. The thought of sitting down for an interview feels wrong. I can’t talk about it without wanting to break down. I wake up screaming every night, and once that stops, I’ll take the next step: meet with Booker’s and Kade’s families.
As for my career in Special Forces…
I don’t think I can come back.
I’ve been making choices for other people all this time because I think it’s the right thing to do. I joined the Army to honor my father, not because it was my dream. I don’t regret joining…not at all, but I think it’s time to explore a new chapter—a new era where I choose to do something that makes me happy.
And I’d like to start with wood carving classes.
Walking inside my grandparents’ master bedroom, I see my grandmother on her bed. She straightens her spine slowly. The wrinkles at the corners of her lips lift when she smiles at me. The same blue teddy bear is in her lap.
My grandfather prepared me for this visit and told me mornings are usually the best time because by the time the afternoon comes, she’s weak and in pain.
“Oh, Violet. I’ve missed you,mija.Como estas?” She opens her trembling arms to me, and I rush toward her, so she doesn’t have to wait a second longer.
“I’m okay, Abuelita,” I murmur, holding her a bit tighter as I soak in her warmth. Holding her while her heart is still beating is a small detail I will miss. Her staple scent of perfume welcomes and reminds me of my childhood. As I hold her, all the good times of being a worry-free child return—everything that made me who I am today sears into me, and my mind drifts.
The times when I stayed up late, helping her bake flan.
When Christmas came around, I’d help her decorate the tree.
Watching her favorite drama shows together while we fold laundry.
Helping her makecaldo de polloon cold, rainy days.
It’s all withering away, and there’s no stopping it.
Holding back tears, I don’t want to move. I have no desire to pull away, but to embrace her a bit longer. My grandmother seems weightless now that I’m here.
With low energy, I give her a strained grin.
“Ready to read the last letter together, Grandma?” I wave it in my hands. She looks at it for a moment, her gray brows pinching together. I prepare for her to tell me she doesn’t remember, but then she sighs, and her eyes grow a tad wider. She nods slowly.
Dear Grace,
Oh Grace. My darling girl. Your brown eyes are all I can think about. I don’t get much sleep. But when I do,it’s your rosy cheeks and red lips that help me find some type of relief from the shadows before I’m consumed by them. As I lay down on nothing but dirt, enduring days accompanied by death, your voice is the silver lining of each day.
After we danced, I wanted to get on one knee and ask you to be my bride. I was too much of a coward, though. I was afraid I’d send you running for the blue mountains if I did. So I did everything I could to push away the one question I’m dying to say now. I regret it so much. I shouldn’t be writing this. But here is my confession. I’ve been obsessed with making you mine since the day I sat down at the diner. You should be in my arms on Wrightsville Beach right now. It’s summer time, and I can smell the sand and hear the waves crash all the way in a warzone. You should be wearing that little blue dress you wore on our first date to the carnival, and I should be getting down on one knee to tell you all the reasons in the world you would be making me the happiest, luckiest, wealthiest man in the world by saying that three-letter word. I hope I don’t scare you away with this letter. But if I do, I’ll die a happy man knowing you gave me days of your time. Just know that every time you hear our song, nomatter where I am in the world…no matter the distance, the miles, the oceans, I’m right there dancing with you.
I will see you soon.
All my love, Graham
