Always Be With You
(Scholastic Regional Honorable Mention 2014)
The sun had almost reached its peak in the sky when the distant garble of the television drew Annie out of a restless sleep. She wearily lifted herself out of the recliner in an attempt to garner the necessary energy to make it through the day. It had been four months since her husband, Andrew, had been deployed to Afghanistan just weeks after their wedding day, and she hardly slept in the bed anymore. Although she had only woken up next to him during those fleeting weeks, she couldn’t make herself take on the vast expanses of the king-sized mattress alone. She walked to the kitchen while stroking the shiny silver chain around her neck that led to Andrew’s spare dog-tags. He had given them to her just before he stepped onto the airplane and said, “As long as these are around your neck, I will always be with you.” And she had taken his promise seriously; not even when she entered the shower had she removed them from her neck. She knew that they weren’t supposed to tarnish, and she was glad, for their glow gave her the comfort she so needed.
She squinted her eyes in the wake of the unanticipated brightness searing through the kitchen window, and she turned her head to open one of the new cherrywood cabinets. She began jumbling the glasses and plates and mugs among each other to find any that needed washing. It was no use, though. They had been wedding gifts and were all too new and clean and sparkly for her liking. Nevertheless, she took a gold-rimmed china plate to the sink and began pumping soap.
She was quite positive it had never been used, but that was beside the point. It was this sort of activity that kept her sane; doing commonplace housework that wasn’t really needed had become her area of expertise. It was Sunday and she had nowhere to be except locked inside her cell of worry and fear—a sentence that confined her even when she stepped outside the house, a home that was too big for just one occupant. She had begun to think that the dish was actually developing an even more resilient shine when she heard the words coming from the television: “bomb” and “Kabul” were all she needed to hear. The gold on the dish and its brilliant sparkle no longer mattered as it shattered when Annie dropped it on the floor.
She practically made divots in the floorboards as she thundered to the living room, each footstep like its own separate grenade. The silver tags around her neck banged against her chest with every stride, and they seemed on fire even when she stopped, the horror on the screen seeping into the room like toxic fumes. Annie just stood there, resenting what she saw and denying what she heard. It couldn’t be true. The city in which Andrew was stationed lay under a pile of debris and she could do nothing but stare at the thousands of cruel pixels and fear that she and her husband would always remain thousands of miles apart. She drew in a deep breath and let it out with enough nervous tension to crack all the windows in the room. She grabbed the tags from under her shirt and held them tight, their warm edges soothing her shaking hands. I will always be with you. Always be with me. Always.
One day passed by another and another until they seemed to form a whirlwind of uncertainty that encircled Annie. Some days she couldn’t even tell how long it had been since she learned of the explosion. The only correspondence she received was the generic “We don’t know where your husband is and we know you’re anxious but so are a lot of people. We will let you know when we learn of further developments.” And then the click—the termination on the other end of the line that dashed all her hopes for relief. It was the same every day, but still she waited for some type of definitive answer: news that Andrew had been outside the city that day, had been in an unscathed building, or was recovering from minor injuries. Something. But all she got was that same message that might as well have been pre-recorded, and she began to think she would have to endure it forever. She thought it had to be the most unpleasant parasite, the not knowing. It tore her open from the inside out until she thought she had nothing left. The thin layer of rust developing around the corners of her dog-tags didn’t help either; it unsettled her and left her skin red and irritated. The television stayed on, and every time the bombing in Kabul was mentioned, Annie thought she might finally be liberated of her anxiety and tarnished emotions. But it never happened. All she wanted was a real answer; all she needed was to not be alone.
It wasn’t until two weeks after the initial news report that she felt something. As always, she had fallen asleep in the recliner. She awoke in a cold sweat with an uncomfortable pressure weighing on her neck. It took her a few moments to find the root of her disorientation, and when she did, she thought she might be sick. Her hands immediately shot to her upper chest, and she felt frantically around for the two rounded metal objects, but all they touched was a plane of pallid, stinging skin. She jumped up and felt around the floor and the nightstand and the chair for her amulet—nothing. As long as these are around your neck, I will always be with you. She felt the panic puncturing her chest and the tears that were ready to stream down her careworn cheeks as she began to understand why her piece of Andrew was missing.
She sprinted to the bathroom, pain welling up at the back of her neck like the chain was being repeatedly yanked from her body, and dreaded what she might find. She flicked on the lights, which blinded her, and tore the United States Army t-shirt from her body. For what felt like forever, she stood motionless in front of the mirror. At first, she thought it was some kind of sadistic mirage. She rubbed her eyes and got closer, but it stayed the same. She backed off, stopping only when she hit the wall behind her. She saw Andrew’s face reflected off the mirror as if he were in the room with her, and she could do nothing but stare at the red, circular marks beading his neck and chest like radiation burns. She could imagine the pair of gleaming dog tags, identical to those that used to adorn her neck—melted and buried under a pile of rubble halfway across the world.
She squinted her eyes in the wake of the unanticipated brightness searing through the kitchen window, and she turned her head to open one of the new cherrywood cabinets. She began jumbling the glasses and plates and mugs among each other to find any that needed washing. It was no use, though. They had been wedding gifts and were all too new and clean and sparkly for her liking. Nevertheless, she took a gold-rimmed china plate to the sink and began pumping soap.
She was quite positive it had never been used, but that was beside the point. It was this sort of activity that kept her sane; doing commonplace housework that wasn’t really needed had become her area of expertise. It was Sunday and she had nowhere to be except locked inside her cell of worry and fear—a sentence that confined her even when she stepped outside the house, a home that was too big for just one occupant. She had begun to think that the dish was actually developing an even more resilient shine when she heard the words coming from the television: “bomb” and “Kabul” were all she needed to hear. The gold on the dish and its brilliant sparkle no longer mattered as it shattered when Annie dropped it on the floor.
She practically made divots in the floorboards as she thundered to the living room, each footstep like its own separate grenade. The silver tags around her neck banged against her chest with every stride, and they seemed on fire even when she stopped, the horror on the screen seeping into the room like toxic fumes. Annie just stood there, resenting what she saw and denying what she heard. It couldn’t be true. The city in which Andrew was stationed lay under a pile of debris and she could do nothing but stare at the thousands of cruel pixels and fear that she and her husband would always remain thousands of miles apart. She drew in a deep breath and let it out with enough nervous tension to crack all the windows in the room. She grabbed the tags from under her shirt and held them tight, their warm edges soothing her shaking hands. I will always be with you. Always be with me. Always.
One day passed by another and another until they seemed to form a whirlwind of uncertainty that encircled Annie. Some days she couldn’t even tell how long it had been since she learned of the explosion. The only correspondence she received was the generic “We don’t know where your husband is and we know you’re anxious but so are a lot of people. We will let you know when we learn of further developments.” And then the click—the termination on the other end of the line that dashed all her hopes for relief. It was the same every day, but still she waited for some type of definitive answer: news that Andrew had been outside the city that day, had been in an unscathed building, or was recovering from minor injuries. Something. But all she got was that same message that might as well have been pre-recorded, and she began to think she would have to endure it forever. She thought it had to be the most unpleasant parasite, the not knowing. It tore her open from the inside out until she thought she had nothing left. The thin layer of rust developing around the corners of her dog-tags didn’t help either; it unsettled her and left her skin red and irritated. The television stayed on, and every time the bombing in Kabul was mentioned, Annie thought she might finally be liberated of her anxiety and tarnished emotions. But it never happened. All she wanted was a real answer; all she needed was to not be alone.
It wasn’t until two weeks after the initial news report that she felt something. As always, she had fallen asleep in the recliner. She awoke in a cold sweat with an uncomfortable pressure weighing on her neck. It took her a few moments to find the root of her disorientation, and when she did, she thought she might be sick. Her hands immediately shot to her upper chest, and she felt frantically around for the two rounded metal objects, but all they touched was a plane of pallid, stinging skin. She jumped up and felt around the floor and the nightstand and the chair for her amulet—nothing. As long as these are around your neck, I will always be with you. She felt the panic puncturing her chest and the tears that were ready to stream down her careworn cheeks as she began to understand why her piece of Andrew was missing.
She sprinted to the bathroom, pain welling up at the back of her neck like the chain was being repeatedly yanked from her body, and dreaded what she might find. She flicked on the lights, which blinded her, and tore the United States Army t-shirt from her body. For what felt like forever, she stood motionless in front of the mirror. At first, she thought it was some kind of sadistic mirage. She rubbed her eyes and got closer, but it stayed the same. She backed off, stopping only when she hit the wall behind her. She saw Andrew’s face reflected off the mirror as if he were in the room with her, and she could do nothing but stare at the red, circular marks beading his neck and chest like radiation burns. She could imagine the pair of gleaming dog tags, identical to those that used to adorn her neck—melted and buried under a pile of rubble halfway across the world.