Alex woke suddenly from a fitful sleep. He sat up quickly in the bed not fully aware of just what had awakened him. It was still dark outside; raindrops fell against the window with tiny thumping sounds as if hundreds of tiny people were pounding against the pane demanding entry. There were small, dim flashes of lightening and a moment later thunder rumbled in the distance.
He sat in the bed for long minutes listening to the sound of the storm as it grew more and more distant. He surveyed the familiar surroundings of the tiny room; four grey walls, bare except for the tiny window on the left and the dark doorway to the right. The window was covered by a simple tattered shade, and the doorway contained no door, just the darkness of the hallway beyond. A small chest of drawers stood against the wall opposite the foot of the bed.
Alex focused his eyes on the top of the chest. He could make out the letter lying there in the dim flashes that penetrated the room. Slowly, an unknown uneasiness crept within him. He wondered how it had found him. He closed his eyes and thought of all that the letter represented; promises broken, goals unrealized, dreams unfulfilled, and a life without meaning.
He had tried to bring himself to destroy it the night before. When he read the invitation he immediately crumpled the letter in his hands. He turned to face the wastebasket; hand poised in the air then he froze before delivering the letter to oblivion. A memory held him motionless. It was her, standing just as he had left her; in the doorway of her father’s house. She had waved to him mournfully as he drove away. It was raining then also. As the memory grew stronger, he slowly lowered his arm and gently smoothed the paper on the top of the chest.
It waited there for him now, silently. He knew he should toss the letter into the trash, forget its very existence. Yet, he could not bring himself to do it. However it had found its way to him; whatever force had sought him out in his exile no longer mattered. It was here. All that remained was the decision; to go or not to go. After all, it was simply a reunion. Perhaps redemption was possible yet; perhaps.
He rolled out of bed and walked across the dark room. He stood naked at the chest of drawers, looking down at the letter. The room was warm, but the sweat on his back cooled in the night air caused a chill to run down his spine. Another flash of lightening in the distance allowed him to make out his name at the top of the letter. Several seconds past before the sound of the thunder from the dying storm rumbled through the room and he pulled open the top drawer and began dressing.
Portsmouth is so very far away, he thought. And fifteen years is a very long time. He thought of her again as he pulled the shirt over his shoulders. He remembered the soft curves of her face, her deep, dark brown eyes, and the warmth of her breath against his neck as she hugged him that last time. He had held her tightly for a long time before releasing her to look into her eyes. He had carried the memory of their final kiss for all these years. He had given her his promise of return, and even though he had tried to keep it; that kiss was the last moment they had spent together.
His feeling of duty had been strong. He had wanted so eagerly to serve his country, to do the right thing, to make a difference. He had done so, and the cost had been so terribly high. He had been young and talented. He was quickly recruited by and assigned to several special operation units. While eager to serve, his service had exacted a cost; he had to disappear, to become a non person, never able to claim the praise for the deeds he had so proudly accomplished. Finally, the cost too dear; the payment too high, he put his service behind him. He had the freedom to return to a normal life; a life that had forgotten him.
He walked through the doorway and down the hall. The dim light of morning was just appearing through the windows of the tiny apartment. He stopped in front of the hallway closet door. He opened it slowly, as if expecting some hidden terror to pounce upon him from inside. It was still there, his uniform, waiting just as he had left it. Yes, he thought. He would go. He would return as he had left, wearing the symbol of his exile. That would be how he would be remembered.
He lifted the garment from the hanger and carefully extracted a picture from the breast pocket; her high school picture. It was all that he had to remember her by; that and the memories. He had not looked at the picture since he had placed the uniform in its hiding place two years ago. He gazed quietly at the image of the beautiful young woman.
He remembered the day the picture had been made. Senior pictures were very important to everyone. Alex, unfortunately, had not been able to attend the photo shoot. He had spent the day with the recruiter. He knew his service would better prepare him to give her the life they wanted. It was more important at the time. How utterly wrong he had been.
Three days later he was standing on the bridge that overlooked the tiny river that flowed so purposefully past the building that used to be his old high school. It was still a school, but high school kids no longer walked its halls. It served as a training facility for naval officers assigned to the naval shipyard in nearby Norfolk. The reunion would be in the gymnasium of the building. He looked at his watch, its face barely visible in the gloom of the early morning. Just a few more hours, he thought.
The morning clouds gathered overhead as the rain fell in a soft steady mist. The street lights still burned as cars passed in each direction. Alex pondered how each car was moving from that one spot onto its own life’s path. Momentarily connected by that slim spot of geography then moving on; no one knowing what forces, what decisions each had made to bring them to that one tiny intersecting point that each would forever share; albeit unwittingly.
Alex bent to pick up his single suitcase. The taxi driver had seemed perplexed at Alex’s request to get out in the middle of the narrow bridge, but he had complied. After handing Alex his case, he was rewarded with a five dollar tip. The driver offered his thanks and left Alex standing alone in the mist. He watched Alex in the rearview mirror as he drove away, and for no reason he could fathom, he experienced a lonely, melancholy feeling as the figure grew smaller in the distance.
Alex turned his collar to the wind and began walking slowly toward the motel a few blocks away. There was no name to specifically identify the business, only a single neon sign that brightly declared “Motel”. He rented a room with a single bed. Though the room was small, it was almost as large as his tiny apartment half way across the country. He lifted his suitcase to the bed and carefully extracted the clothing within. He inspected the garments, smoothing the wrinkles from each then laying them neatly on the bed. He then removed the last item from the suitcase; a long black jewelry case, like one might expect to house an expensive necklace. Alex opened the case and very deliberately removed the item and placed it over the collar of his uniform jacket on the bed. It was a military silver star.
He thought back to day he had received the award. There were no celebrations, no spectators, and no speeches. His commanding officer had simply placed the case containing the award on his bunk and patted him on the shoulder. It was amazing that he had received the award in the first place. The men in his unit were well aware that their contribution was largely unseen and more importantly, unspoken.
Alex would wear it for the first time today. He would wear it for her. To show her that the long lonely years had not been entirely for nothing. He would tell her that she had been with him in his heart all along; that she was the reason he had stayed alive. She was the reason he was here, now. He would tell her he was prepared to mend whatever bridges had been broken. To tell her he was ready to live again.
He could see the building in the distance. Only a few windows were lit in the early morning dim. He pulled the curtains closed as if to shield himself from the world outside and listened for long minutes at the passing traffic and the sound of the raindrops falling against the window. He walked to edge of the bed, removed his shoes then stretched out next to his uniform. It was many minutes before he found the comfort of sleep.
He woke in the early evening hours. He checked his watch. It was nearly 6:30 p.m. the reunion started at 7:00. He would not rush. He rose, showered, then dressed himself in the uniform he had so carefully prepared. He surveyed the image before him in the mirror. The material was sharply pressed; buttons were shined as well as the shoes. Above the breast pocket were rows of brightly colored ribbons. He opened the black case and removed the Silver Star. He held the medal in his hands for the first time outside the case in which it was presented. It felt heavy in his hands. He carefully positioned the medal on his uniform then stood for only a moment at the mirror before turning and leaving the small room.
The rain had stopped but the streets were still wet. The traffic and street lights reflected brightly in pools standing on the roadway. He walked slowly and deliberately toward the building. As he drew nearer he could see and hear the activity inside. Reunion banners were strung along the main entrance to the gymnasium, and several signs were posted along the entrance to the parking lot. Alex paused at the foot of the concrete stairs leading into the building. A woman and man were seated at a table just inside the doorway. They checked a clipboard and handed out name tags as people entered and declared themselves.
Alex did not enter; instead he turned and followed the walkway around the corner of the building to a discreet side entrance. He ascended the stairs and checked the door. It was unlocked as he knew it would be. He slipped inside making an unseen entry to the event.
Old habits die hard, he thought.
The hallway was dim. The only light was that visible from the doorway 20 feet beyond. This door too was unlocked. He pushed the lever and the door swung open. Alex found himself in the corner of the gymnasium at the far side of the event. He walked slowly along the room staying close to wall. Music played as several couple danced. Others huddled in small groups throughout the room; little cliques much the same as fifteen years earlier. It was nearly eight O’clock and the party was well underway.
He scanned the faces carefully, recognizing a few. Others seemed familiar but he could place no names with the faces. She was not there. He wondered briefly about the sanity of his decision to come. Was he a fool to think she would be there? It’s early, he thought. She’ll be here. I know it.
Several people passed him and eyed his uniform. None said a word and a few even averted their eyes when his sought to meet them. All were wearing the usual handwritten name tags so often utilized at such affairs. From his position along the wall he noticed a table set aside from the crowed activities. He could see pictures and other items placed carefully atop the white linen table cloth. He made his way to the table careful not to cross the main floor avoiding most of the attendees.
A handmade poster board sign stood in the middle of the table. The words “In Memorandum” were carefully stenciled across the front. He gazed at the pictures of the three people honored there. One familiar face gazed back at him. It was Bruce. He had only a few friends those final years in school and Bruce was easily the closest he had ever had to a best friend. The information listed below the picture stated that he had died the year following graduation. An automobile accident had taken his friend so long ago.
Alex thought for a moment of how he had wondered about his friend so many times. In the dark places of the world he had imagined his friend working, living out his life, each day facing the normal challenges he himself had so regrettably forsaken. Now Alex realized that his envy had been for naught. His friend had not spoken to others and wondered aloud where Alex may have been or what he may have been doing. He had simply passed into memory only to be remembered here on this small table of pictures and clippings; at least remembered.
A voice from behind pulled Alex from his thoughts.
“What a shame, three of us gone already.”
Alex turned knowing already who the voice belonged to. It was her. She was there. He had been so lost in his thoughts of Bruce that he had not even noticed her approach. As he turned he realized her words were not directed at him, but to her companion. They stood there clasping each other’s hand.
She stood mere feet from him carefully reading the notes and honorarium to their fallen classmates. She picked up each picture and gazed carefully at the image; her eyes displaying a genuine sadness. Alex followed her every move. Her eyes were the same deep brown, the curves of her face and the soft skin of her cheeks had changed very little over the years. He was close enough to even smell the fragrance of her perfume.
Her companion was a tall slender man. He was dressed in a blue suit and tie. Alex noticed he wore the clothes in a way that seemed to suggest he was uncomfortable with such clothing. His training immediately told him this man was more comfortable in a more casual dress. He was a man that used his hands for a living and worked hard for what he earned; an honorable man.
She raised her hand to brush the hair from her face. Alex noticed the ring. The man wore a similar ring on his finger. The rings were not fancy or extravagant in any way. They were plain simple gold bands and their significance was all too clear to Alex.
She turned to leave the exhibit and for the briefest of moments her eyes met Alex’s. There was no recognition, no acknowledgement, and no sign of memory of any kind within them. She brushed by him and muttered a soft “excuse me” as she would when passing any stranger on the street. Alex stood silently and watched the couple make their way across the room, stopping to chat to various people. She did not look back in his direction a single time.
Numbness crept within him. He felt suddenly as if he was watching some sad and distant scene acted out in an amateur production of a silly soap operatic play. He watched her form fade into the crowd before exiting the room through the same discreet passage he had entered. He paused before leaving the building; instead he turned and walked up a dark staircase to the upper floors.
Alex walked slowly and deliberately down each hallway. He passed room upon room and remembered each as it had been so long ago. He could see the students that once packed the classrooms and halls now only as silent phantoms in his mind’s eye. He stood before the now empty wall that was once home to his school locker. Her locker was just seven spaces to the left of his. In the darkness he could see her as she was then; another phantom, laughing, talking. He could see her lips move but there was no sound in the darkness.
He walked for a long time meeting the ghosts from his past, each one passing him without acknowledgement or recognition. After a long while he found himself standing in front of what was once the school library. The room served the same purpose still; books lined the walls and filled shelf upon shelf. He entered and slowly walked the maze of passages throughout the room; scanning book titles drawn to nothing.
In the far corner of the room he stopped abruptly and raised his hands to touch the bindings of a group of books along the self. They were familiar. The books had obviously been saved from the old school library, tucked away in that hidden corner as some sort of historical reference. They were volumes and volumes of his old school’s annual. The year of each volume was clearly visible on the binder.
Alex’s fingers moved slowly over each volume, finally coming to rest on one particular book. He withdrew it from the self and gazed at the cover. The date was that of his own senior year.
“Hey you! What are you doing in here?” the voice came from Alex’s right. Alex turned to see the man. He appeared to be a custodian. He clutched the handle of a push broom as he spoke. “The party is downstairs. You’re not supposed to come in the building. What have you got there?”
Alex did not speak. He held the book up so that the man could clearly see the title.
“You need to put that back and get back downstairs.” The man’s voice was more firm. Alex slowly moved his right hand. Carefully he removed the Silver Cross and held it up for the man to see. Calmly he tossed the precious award to the man. The man looked at the medal uncertainly and then looked back at Alex. Alex nodded and lifted the book slightly offering the trade. The man grunted softly to himself as he considered the man in uniform. He then placed the medal in his pocket before turning to walk away.
Four hours later Alex sat quietly in the nearly deserted bus station. He stared at the book opened before him. He had not returned to his motel room, there was no need. There was nothing left of the world that had sustained him in his mind and heart for all those many years. He understood now the power that had drawn him to this place; the force that had sought him out in his exile to lead him back.
He lifted his eyes from the pages and looked at an old man sitting across the room. The man had watched Alex with interest since he had entered the lonely terminal. The soldier had caught his eye immediately and the stoic look upon his face had not changed since the old man first saw him. A loud voice announced the departure of the next bus over the public address system.
Alex gazed one final time at the pages of the book then placed the still open volume on the seat beside him. Standing he looked again at the old man across the room. The man turned away and peered out into the night. Alex walked slowly out of the terminal and onto the bus. The bus was deserted save for a young couple seated at the front. Alex walked calmly to the back and sat in the final seat, shrouded there by the darkness barely visible.
As the bus pulled away from the terminal, the old man rose and walked to the window. He watched as the tail lights faded into the distance. He turned and looked across the room at the book the soldier had left behind. He walked across the room and lifted the old volume from the seat. He looked at the pages the soldier had studied so carefully. The pages were lined with pictures of the graduating class; rows of young, smiling faces peering up at the man from the past. A single conspicuous empty space was noticeable on one of the pages. The old man traced his fingers over the names along the side of the page. His finger glided down the page to the corresponding spot.
It read simply, “Alex Ryman: Not Pictured”.