Soldier’s Goodbye

The soldier, worn and tired, stands at his post. In the shadows rising behind him are the memories of those he left behind. They are strong and proud, and from them he draws the strength to last the night.

I could smell the cigarette on his breath when he kissed me hello. It was almost foreign, since I had quit. But it was still him. The car was new. I couldn’t even tell the color in the dark. He was his usual impossible self, arguing against the stop at Hannaford’s. But he went along with it all. He drove past my house and stopped the car. I didn’t get my kiss. He still tasted the same.

We kept driving and he pointed out a huge house they had put up a few years ago. I decided to show him the mansions on the hill. I missed the road and we ended up at a dead end. He said I owed him a kiss for that. He didn’t let go of my hand when we pulled out of the dead end. He kept a hold on it as we drove through the darkened neighborhood.

We ended up at a rec park. The moonlight was shining through the window and bouncing off my face. There was something familiar and yet something so different this time. Six months can seem so long when you are trying to say goodbye. We both wanted this more and the desire was deeper, darker.

I didn’t want to let him go. I would have laid there all night with him. He didn’t want to move either. Slowly, he cleared the fog from the window and we returned to reality. Sitting in the driveway with the final goodbye staring us in the face, it was so hard to leave. I didn’t cry. This was all too surreal.

His smell lingered on my clothes as I curled up on the pillows. I licked my lips and could taste him still there. I’d bottle it up if I could, to take it out when I missed him the most. Instead, I’ll bottle up my emotions and fears in a smile. And face the world, knowing he’s gone.