October is officially in full swing now, and a lot of the "firsts" of September and the beginning of October are behind me.
But now, I'm enjoying the routine and the wonderful fall weather, and looking forward to new firsts God is going to open up in my future. They say there's a first time for everything - so let's have the courage to let God lead us on that first step, let's have the courage to step out, and speak up, and maybe do something for the first time.
Most importantly, let's let God have complete and total control in our lives, and trust Him with every breath and every step. If you give Him control, He just might have something up His sleeve for you that will make this October an extra special month.
And for now, enjoy that completion of last week's writing snippet.
First
The first time I saw her cry, we were walking past a graveyard. It was snowing, and the clouds overhead were such a gloomy, heavy gray, I shivered less because of the dropping levels in temperature and more because of the wet chill hanging in the air. This time, at least, Kenna already had a coat on. Her fuzzy white hat shone so brightly in the oppressive whirl of snow it made the ground look like more of a gray.
The gates surrounding the graveyard were a stark contrast too, their shockingly black tendrils harsh against the dull tones covering the rest of the world. I quickened my pace, the thought of a warm house and scalding coffee shared with Kenna spurring me forward. I hoped she would too, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, she was still staring silently through the iron bars, hands buried deep in her pockets and shoulders hunched in quiet consideration.
“Kenna, let’s go!” I called against the wind, jogging back towards her. “Kenna,” I repeated when I neared her and she still hadn’t flinched. “Come on, this graveyard is creeping me out and it’s freezing—”
“It’s not the graveyards that are sad.”
I froze—almost quite literally—at her words. Sadness permeated the very cloud of her breath, and an unworldly heaviness seemed to cling to her words. “What?”
“People say graveyards are such sad places—so creepy, so haunting, so scary.” Her eyes found mine through the haze of snow, sorrow buried deep behind her heavy eyelashes. “But it’s not the graveyards that are haunted,” she continued in a whisper, “it’s the people left behind. The people left still living.” Her mouth opened to release a slow sigh, almost… almost a sob.
“The saddest thing is,” she continued in a whisper, “we’re surrounded by graveyards—surrounded by people tied to death, haunted by death. And when we look at these mounds of dirt and pretty stones and disintegrating flowers, we pretend to be sad, rather than caring about the real live people around us, carrying their own graves in their hearts—” Her voice broke off, and she pressed a curled, shaking fist to her mouth.
“Kenna,” I breathed, my own voice breaking as I pulled her into my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around her. “Kenna, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, Jak.” Pushing herself away from me, she swiped a hand across her reddened nose, the glisten of tears mixing with melting snow on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m—” She sucked in a deep breath, and set her shoulders. “Today’s the day my mom died, three years ago.” Her face crumpled, momentary strength displaced with the heavy weight of remembrance.
I reached for her, my own eyes stinging at the sight of her in such pain.
“Don’t,” she said brokenly, stepping back and shaking her head. Snow swirled between us, and the sudden retreat of her presence, even just a few feet away, was numbing. “I don’t deserve your sympathy—it was my fault, Jak. My fault!” Her sudden shout echoed in the deep stillness of the storm, the anger and furious sadness rolling off of her matching the howl of the snow.
“Kenna—”
“Do you remember what I said when you found me at the beach?” Anger snapped at her words like the cold threatening our noses. “Do you remember?”
“Yes—of course,” I replied hurriedly. “Of course I remember.”
“How I said I wish people didn’t leave me, and then act like I left them—I wish people worried about me when I’m around, and not just gone?” Bitterness thickened her voice, but even under the hard exterior, I caught the tremor in her lower lip, the tears frozen on her eyelashes. “Yeah? Well guess what, I’m a person too. I left my mom, and then when she died I acted like it was all her fault, that she had left me behind, when really I had left her first.” Sniffling, she turned towards the graveyard, eyes wandering over the snow-blanketed stones. “I don’t get any sympathy for that—it’s all on me.”
Jaw working to stem a flow of words, or maybe tears, I stepped towards her slowly, snow creaking under my boots, and wrapped a hand around her icy one, squeezing. The shaky in and out of her breathing filled the silence cocooning us, and I let it hang, forcing myself to let her break it in her timing, not mine.
“So no,” she finally breathed, “it’s not the graveyards that are sad.” Her last words trembled as she turned her face to look up at me, and the red, raw sadness etched in every crevice of her cold-numbed face, the snowflakes crystallized by tears on her eyelashes, the haunting brokenness of memory swimming deep in her eyes, threatened to bring tears swarming to my own.
“It’s… me.” Wall of anger cracking, she crumpled into my waiting arms, sobbing. And with every sob that shuddered through her, with every shaking gasp for breath and heartwrenching cry, I promised myself I would never leave her. I would always be there to catch her.
And I would someday show her that even in sadness, joy and hope can be found.
The first time she said yes, it was New Year’s Eve and we were at another one of those big parties that some friend of Grimm’s was throwing. She was more relaxed in the large crowd than usual, but still clung to my shadow like it was the only thing protecting her from a swarm of sharks. Maybe it was.
Still, she was having fun, her smile more casual and shoulders less tight. And when Grimm started telling a story of one of my first days of work, she laughed so hard that the tiny diamond earrings I’d gotten her as a Christmas present trembled and splashed the disco lights across her neck.
When Grimm left, she turned all her focus to me, a smile still quirking around her lips. “Sorry you had to take the brunt of that joke, but you don’t seem too mortified,” she said, smirking.
“Not at all—anything to see you laugh.” My own mouth tilted up as she rolled her eyes.
“Taking all the credit, huh? Grimm made me laugh, not you, hotshot,” she laughed.
“We actually rehearsed, beforehand—” Her laugh cut me off, and my grin widened. “Seriously though,” I continued after she quelled her vibrant laughter, “you’re enjoying the party, right?”
Kenna’s eyes turned serious, and she looked up at me. “I’m enjoying hanging out with you.”
“Well then,” I paused, swallowing my nervousness and looking her straight in the eyes. She raised her eyebrows, waiting, almost… holding her breath. The last time I asked her this, she’d asked me to wait. So I’d waited. Question was, had I waited long enough?
“Oh just hurry up and ask me!” she exclaimed with a pent-up exhale and a daring twinkle in her eye.
I smiled. “Would you like to dance?”
“Yes!” she squealed, grabbing my hand and pulling me onto the dancefloor.
She had said on the beach that first time I ever saw her that wishes don’t come true.
I think sometimes they do.
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