Writing If It Takes Forever [E]

[Shinmaru]

I usually just put up stories on my site now, but I decided to put this one I wrote on here, too, just because I haven't posted a story on OB for a while. I hope that everyone enjoys it.

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?I will wait for you.

The sun is out; it?s high in the sky, glaring down at me with all of its heat and power. The shade I?m under does nothing to quell the warmth. I?m so sleepy. So tired. But I wait. It?s all that I can do anymore.

The bench rocks slowly back and forth. The feeling is soothing, comforting. I should never know something as calming ever again. But I would like to. That?s what I?m waiting for, you see. Reassurance.

He?s gone away, you know; my little boy, that is. He?s run away and he hasn?t come back for such a very, very long time. Does he not know that I worry so very much about him? If only he knew how I cried every night for him. I miss him so.

I used to get letters from him almost every day. I have a rather large stack of them on a desk in my house right now. I have so many letters from him! It makes me proud that he would take the time to write me so often, even with the tumultuous life that he must surely lead. I can hardly be sad whenever I take a glance over at that great white column of envelopes; but there?s still that little feeling inside, that twinge of sadness in my heart that I must bear.

The stack of letters has been dwindling for ages now. I have not received a letter from my darling little angel in the longest time! I do hope that he is okay. He worries me so much. I do not have so much as a tiny clue to what he is doing these days. For all I know he could have run off and eloped with some floozy he met? but I can?t think thoughts like those. Not about him. He would never do such a thing. But sometimes I do wonder where it is he has gone, and why he refuses to write me.

It is as if he does not know that he is breaking my heart, by not writing me. But how could he not know? I am his mother! I am very interested in what he is doing, but he insists on being so very far away from me. Why does he do this to me? I should not think that is very fair to me, or to him, for that matter. He needs me just as I need him. My darling little boy is just not ready for the world. He?s not ready!

I can see them crowding around the bushes. My neighbors, peeking over the hedges, whispering their filthy, scandalous thoughts to one another! I know what they are saying. I?ve always known what they?ve been saying. Even now they peer at me with their beady eyes, trying to bore into my mind and read my thoughts. They think that they are so clever? they plan against me at every opportunity. I think that they aspire to keep my little boy away from me, but I am not quite sure. But I do suspect.

You see, the neighbors have not just been spreading their absurd thoughts among one another, but they have been peddling them at my doorstep, as well! For such a long time, my neighbors have been trying to convince me that what I?m doing is fruitless. They tell me that he is gone forever. They tell me that he is in a better place now. They tell me that they worry about me, that I should stop waiting on this bench every day for my beloved son! Have you ever heard such an absurd line of thought in all your life?

I think that they are a very foolish bunch, indeed. He is in a better place now? What rubbish! There is no better place for a boy than with his mother; not until he is really ready to go out into the world, at any rate. And my young boy was most certainly [i]not[/i] ready to venture out into the world.

Oh, he insisted on going, all right. He was very adamant about it, even. But I tried to be the voice of reason. I tried to convince him that he was making a very poor decision. There was nothing I could, however. He always was a very stubborn boy, bless his heart.

So, he went. Everything was fine for the first few months. He was very far away from me, but he was very close at the same time. But then his services were requested elsewhere, somewhere that was very far away from here. He had no choice but to go; the explanation was that there was a shortage of people. More and more young men were needed every day. It was his duty to go. I had no say in the matter.

He kept up contact for a few months, but that is when the letters started slowly dwindling down to nothing. And it seems like such a long time ago when I got this last, very curious letter? it seemed to be a very smug, very official document. They said that he was gone, and that they were very sorry for my loss. And that was it.

How could they say such a thing to a poor old woman? Sorry indeed! They are just like my neighbors, always planning against me, always attempting to keep my special little boy away from me. But I will have the last laugh. He?ll show up on my doorstep someday, and we will be reunited, mother and son! Things will be the same as they always were. They have to be.

There?s a truck driving up the street right now. It?s stopping in front of my mailbox. A young man gets out of the truck, and he stuffs a few letters into my mailbox. Then he gets back into his truck and drives away. I try and contain my momentary glee, at least enough so that it does not show on the surface. I cannot let the mailman suspect how much I enjoy the arrival of new letters, for it would only lead to questions from yet another ignorant person. And I am much too tired to deal with such things.

I walk up to the mailbox. The muscles in my back are stiff, and my joints groan with pain. This is the only trip that I make every day, but it is also the only trip that is really worth it. I take the letters out of the mailbox, and I sift through them. There is nothing worth reading so far. My hope builds and builds, and I feel as if my heart will burst with sadness if the last letter is not from my son.

It isn?t.

I hear everything go silent around me. I turn around slowly and shuffle dejectedly back to my bench. I sit back down and let the bench swing. The motion is still soothing, but not as soothing as it once was. The sun has almost sunk all the way down past the mountains off in the distance. I lean back and sigh.

There is always tomorrow. He will come back, I know it. I cannot bear to live much longer without my little boy. But I know that I can wait for him.

If it takes forever?

[Kamuro]

[SIZE=1]Although I can't really relate to the POV of the women in the story, I liked it a lot. My mother passed away and although its not the same situation I could see her exemplifying some of the same things you've written here. I can see true feeling behind the words and it's obvious to see a great loss of someone important in your life. I like the use of the letters as the writings basis. Although it seems to be about a mother and her son, the story clings to the existence of a simple letter. Showing that even the most seemingly lackluster things can be of the utmost importance to someone. And everyone has felt that uneasy feeling of waiting for something that may never come, or waiting on someone who might just not be there. Its easy to relate to and it really drew me in as I assume it'll do to others. Nice work.[/SIZE]

[Mitch]

I like how you used a voice that's unlike your own personal writing voice - a voice of an old lady. You did pull it off, too, pretty well. I can't really relate to this story, and the old woman sounds altogether selfish and paranoid, which I disliked about her character. What was nice was how you linked the end with the beginning (the whole "I will wait for you. . .if it takes forever),, showing how this woman does this every day with pretty much the same result. . .showing how she can keep hope, a fruitless hope, but a hope nonetheless.

[benakittie]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=1][FONT=Comic Sans MS]
I was touched by the mother's point of view. Made me think of my own mother and almost brought a tear to my eye. It was a wonderful piece of art. :animesigh [/FONT] [/SIZE] [/COLOR]