by Alison Mello
My life with Poppy has been nothing short of perfect. I am still falling in love with her every day. I wake up with her in my arms, and while I stare at her sleeping face, I find something new to love. Perhaps it is a freckle on her ear that I had not noticed the many mornings before. Or the way she licks her lips just moments before she awakens.
My wife is the strong warrior I always knew her to be. She pursued her dream to sell her art…and it has been sold. So many pieces, all over the world.
She mostly draws portraits, ones that are slightly blurred so there is a mystery behind the person. Sometimes she will draw landscapes.
I took her on a cruise to the Caribbean. She spent hour after hour drawing the ocean and the beaches.
I wish to travel the world with her, to bring more inspiration behind her art. I want Poppy to get a taste of every culture and live a life full of experiences.
Rachel and Talen have forever been a constant in our lives as well. They were there the day Amy was born, and we were with them when their three children came into the world, as well.
Poppy May Daniels, Samuel Reid Daniels, and Mason Grant Daniels. Their three children. Their eldest, the daughter, is named after both Poppy and my mother. Samuel is named after me and Mason after my father.
It was an honor. When Poppy was born and Rachel told us the name, my Poppy broke into tears. My wife still doesn’t seem to understand just how important she is to the people in her life.
The three troublemakers are often at our house, causing a ruckus with our daughter. The four of them spend hours a day with vivid imaginations, running around the house as if it were their own domain.
It is perfect.
The four parents sit on the couch, Poppy tucked against my side, as we watch our children play. I am so lucky.
“Reid…” I snap out of my thoughts and raise my eyebrows.
“He did it again, Mama!” Amy says, softly tsking her tongue. I pull my eyebrows together and stick my tongue out at her. She does it back to me, going as far as blowing a raspberry as well.
Poppy giggles, standing to her feet. She places a kiss on the top of Amy’s head and walks over to the kitchen. Aragorn, the old yet ever loyal dog, gets to his feet and follows his owner. Even now, the dog doesn’t let Poppy out of his sights.
Even a dog loves Poppy…
“Reid, I’m making spaghetti. Rachel and Talen should be here in about twenty minutes!” Poppy calls from the kitchen.
I look down at Amy, giving her an over-the-top excited face. She laughs, rolling her eyes at her goofy father.
Amy gets to her feet and walks over to give me a quick hug. She then runs up the stairs to her bedroom, where I am sure she is changing her clothes for the third time today.
I walk into the kitchen to see my wife boiling water, wearing a dark green apron that matches her eyes.
Her hair, now short and at her shoulders, is pulled into a small ponytail. I step up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her exposed neck. She cocks her head to the side and sighs.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too,” she replies.
Not even twenty minutes later our house is filled with screams and laughter. I carefully walk about, careful not to be tripped by the running little spitfires.
“You can take him. I swear to you, Poppy! Please, take him,” Rachel says, leaning against the kitchen counter with a filled glass of wine in her hands.
Talen is glaring at his wife, his arms crossed over his chest. I chuckle, standing next to my best friend. I clearly walked into an interesting conversation.
“Who are we talking about?” I ask.
“Mason!” Rachel exclaims, throwing her free hand in the air. Poppy meets my gaze and gives a soft giggle.
“You want us to take your son?” I ask.
Talen shakes his head while his wife confirms. “He can be your son,” Rachel says, her voice a borderline plea.
“Rachel! That is not happening! That is our little angel you’re talking about!”
“ANGEL? Talen, he dumped my makeup into the sink and ran water over it!”
I let out a bark of laughter, throwing my head back.
I know my sister is only joking. She loves her children with her whole heart. There is no way on God’s green Earth that she would give one of them up.
But we are parents and our kids are basically the only things we talk about now. Whether it is good, bad, or ugly…
“Mama, can I have a Popsicle?” Amy says, walking over to stand in front of Poppy.
My wife crouches down and opens her arms. Amy quickly hugs her mom and I see Poppy whisper something in her ear. I can’t help but smile as I watch them. They are my life, my pride, and joy. I cannot imagine a world without them.
Poppy treasures Amy every day. As a mother, she has a bond with our daughter that is stronger than mine…and I am not ashamed to admit it. I know that what they have is sacred and I am neither jealous nor upset.
I’m just glad to see the smiles on their faces.
“Okay, Mama.” Amy turns, meets my gaze, and runs full speed to jump into my arms. I act on instinct, wrapping my arms around her small form. Her legs wrap around my waist as she buries her face into my neck and allows me to hold her.
It is rare, these moments. Even though she openly shows her affection toward me and her mother, she no longer wants to be held like a child. She is growing up, however she will always be my little girl.
I give her a gentle squeeze.
“Popsicle?” she whispers in my ear. I chuckle and meet Poppy’s gaze. She has a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
She tossed the child onto me, forcing me to be the bad guy…to tell our little miracle that she cannot have dessert before dinner.
Arching an eyebrow, I smirk back at my wife. “Of course, sweetie.” I place Amy back onto her feet. She cheers and runs to the fridge to grab four Popsicles.
Poppy’s mouth is ajar as she watches our daughter prance off. “Reid Holt!”
“That’s what you get for trying to make me the bad guy!” I quickly defend. Poppy glowers.
“I’ll take Mason if you take Reid,” Poppy negotiates.
Rachel looks over at me, her eyes going up and down as if evaluating the bargain. “Deal.”
Talen chuckles, draping an arm around my shoulders. “Awesome. I’m sure you’re desperate to get out of the house full of ladies.”
Actually, no. There is nothing I want more than to spend every day with my girls. My wife is amazing and she never fails to bring a smile to my face. My daughter is kind and ambitious. Her many adventures leave me on my toes. I would rather be in my home with them than anywhere else.
Poppy closes the distance between us, wrapping her arms around my waist and looking up at me with her beautiful eyes.
“Do you still see me?” she whispers.
I reach my hands up to delicately cup her cheeks. “Every day.” Poppy closes her eyes and sighs.
“What do you see, Reid Holt?”
“I see a beautiful mother. I see a loving wife. I see a fierce warrior. I see the woman I met back in high school. I see the woman I will turn gray with.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Do you still see me?” I ask.
“Every day,” Poppy replies, bringing her own hands up to tenderly stroke my afternoon shadow.
“What do you see, Poppy Holt?” I ask.
“I see an amazing father. I see a devoted husband. I see a strong soldier. I see the man who saw me at Starbucks. I see the man who will hold me for the rest of our days. I see you. Now and forever.”
I smile softly, not caring that my brother-in-law and sister are witnessing this.
They have seen it plenty of times. It has become a constant between Poppy and I, to list the positive traits we see in one another. To always remind one another just how much we love each other.
I am most certainly not ashamed.
“I see you. Now and forever.”
About the Author
I live in Oswego, Illinois. I am a shift manager at Starbucks and I am participating in the Starbucks Achievement Plan through Arizona State University to get my bachelors in English. I began my writing career in middle school, where a friend and I shared stories we had jokingly wrote. I grew to love the momentary escape, and creating characters people can relate to and fall in love with. I now find inspiration for my writing in nature, specifically in the mountains. Lately, I have focused my writing on touching the hearts of young men and women all around the world.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/sisterdear101
Wattpad:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/CharlotteMichelle96
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14161341.Charlotte_Michelle
sea of scars
BY FRANCES PAUL
CHAPTER 1
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
~Norman Cousins
Silence filled the room, lasting a couple of minutes, a little longer than the last session. Dr. Bailey Clark glanced at the wall clock across from her seat. This was their fifth session, and nothing had changed since their first. His reluctance to open up did not come as a surprise since she had dealt with many severe cases such as his. These therapy sessions weren’t by his choice but ordered by a judge. Although she could write him up as uncooperative, that would not heal his illness or solve any problems. The panic attacks and extreme case of anxiety he was dealing with could escalate into something more dangerous, and it was her job to ensure that was prevented, if possible.
“Zachary, this is our fifth session, and we haven’t made any headway. At some point, you’ll need to open up. I am not here to simply report your progress to the court. I am truly alarmed and worried about you,” Dr. Clark expressed as cautiously as she could to avoid him walking out, as he did on his last visit.
She closed her notepad, removed the glasses that sat at the bridge of her pointy nose, and set them aside, hoping the gesture would create some level of comfort and trust between them.
“We can start small, as I suggested on your last visit. Let’s talk about Alison. How did you meet her?” Her voice was now measured, almost a whisper.
Her gestures loosened her client’s tense demeanor. He sighed and took his focus off the blank wall he’d been gawking at for the past fifteen minutes. In an uncanny way, the soft gray wall brought him a sense of solace. “College, right before I enlisted.” He eyed his hands, now clasped together. “We dated for a year before we eloped. She was pregnant with our first kid. I was deployed to Western Asia on a peaceful mission before Amelia was born.”
“That’s interesting,” Dr. Clark said. “What was the motivation behind your enlistment?”
“My grandfather was a SEAL, a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy. So was my great-grandfather. My father was a Marine, Brigadier General. Both served our great nation well. It was tough growing up in a family with such high expectations. From the day I was born, I was groomed to serve my country. I guess that was all the motivation I needed. Their life’s mission was accomplished when I enlisted after my eighteenth birthday.”
“Are you in contact with them?”
“That would be hard to do since they both passed away before I was deployed on my first mission.”
“Sorry to hear that. Your mother, any siblings?”
Zachary shook his head, recalling his lonely childhood being an awkward little boy who spent most of his days trapped in a treehouse playing with his military soldier toy kit. Having a fear of rejection by both sexes, making friends wasn’t his forte. He was safer trapped in his own world of seclusion. His father wasn’t an easy man to love or please, and Zachary lived in fear of disappointing him, hence his decision to enlist, hoping to please the old man. His father suffered from alcoholism and constantly ridiculed him no matter how hard he worked to appease him. When he was home, he indulged in activities that initiated violence against both Zachary and his mother. It was a story that was too painful for him to relive or communicate.
Observing his hesitation to discuss his childhood, Dr. Clark smartly took another approach. “Tell me about your first mission. Your time in Western Asia.”
Zachary slouched onto the couch and continued to eye his hands. “It only lasted a year. It was exactly as the name conveyed, peaceful. We spent days and nights patrolling small villages and protecting them from their own, the local rebels. We had an agreement with these insurgents to stay away from innocent civilians. A few of us were left behind to ensure that they kept their end of the deal. I remember thinking how tedious the mission was. I was prepared for combat, a more active operation. That dangerous duty I had dreamed of partaking in since I was a little boy playing with my military playset. So I thought…” His expression turned somber once more.
“I don’t want to push you too hard…”
“I’d like to get this over with. You want to know about my last mission?”
“If you are up for it.” Dr. Clark picked up her notepad and clicked the back of her pen.
“It was exactly what I asked for. I served two tours before I got my other-than-honorable discharge. It was a difficult time for my family. After my first tour, I could barely sleep at night without visualizing the men I killed in combat. The vicious, ungodly, gory crimes I witnessed. The cries of women that’d lost their husbands and sons.
“I suffered from severe PTSD, yet nobody cared. They only cared about defending the borders, destroying the rebels, sending you out to kill, kill, and kill. I knew I couldn’t complain because it was exactly what I wanted. I soon realized otherwise. This couldn’t possibly be the life my father and grandfather expected me to live. My mind was sick after my first kill. It was a man you could probably say deserved it. He was a member of a group that terrorized the villagers. Killed men, children, and raped their women, though killing him didn’t bring me solace but rather triggered my first stage of depression. On my second tour, I saw my colleagues being blown into pieces. Do you know what the burning of human flesh smells like? Their screams, the squeals, like wounded animals, the horror in their voices. Why was I so lucky to be alive? Is it even luck to live with such disturbing images in my mind on a daily basis?” He arched forward and grimaced, looking utterly disheartened.
“One night, my dear friend and colleague Sgt. Pierce and I were patrolling the borders a few miles from our base. After an hour on duty, we heard gunshots coming from the base. We abandoned the post and rushed to investigate.” Zachary paused and swallowed a lump of grief in his throat. He heaved a sigh, then rubbed the back of his neck in a frantic motion. He gazed at his trembling hands and carried on without making eye contact with Dr. Clark.
“The base was on fire. We heard screams from our men as bombs went off from all angles. I saw one of our corporals running in hysterical circles, his body on fire. I rushed to his aid, except a bullet was in his head by the time I got to his side. I had to drop for cover. That was the moment I was separated from Pierce. I couldn’t see what was going on through the turmoil. I took down a couple of the enemies as I hunted for the rest of my colleagues…but what I saw…” His voice trembled.
The torture in Zachary’s speech was new to Dr. Clark. Although she had counseled many returnees and veterans in the past, there was something distinct about him. His pain compelled her to do more, and she was determined to help him through it.
“What I saw will live with me for the rest of my miserable life. Scorching bodies of my colleagues, heads blown off, some decapitated. No one survived the ambush. My only chance of survival was to be strong. I was obviously outnumbered, couldn’t do anything except hide like a coward. The rogues dismantled our properties and celebrated their accomplishment. They piled up the corpses of my men, bodies on bodies. Some took a piss on the corpses while others spat on them. A while later, a man yelled a few words in their local dialect, an
d the rest cheered while firing shots in the air. They dragged my friend Sgt. Pierce on the ground while he pleaded for his life. There was nothing I could do other than whimper in the dark like the weakling I was. He was executed seconds later, beheaded while he pled.”
Zachary paused and exhaled sharply. “The executioner just tossed his head on top of the pile of bodies they had collected.”
Dr. Clark cleared her throat as she absorbed Zachary’s horrifying experience. “Do you want to take a break? We could continue on your next session. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” In truth, she needed a break from the gory details.
“Do you not understand what I’m saying to you, Dr. Clark? Overwhelming is when your command sergeant tells you the day after witnessing something so barbaric to get back on the field and do your job like nothing happened. It’s just another day. No time to mourn the fallen or receive proper counseling. I was sick, weak, not physically but mentally and spiritually after that ordeal. I snuck out to bars and drank every single night, even while on duty. My judgment was impaired. I didn’t know the difference between an ally and a foe. I blamed every person that crossed my path. I once strangled a man to near death because all I saw were the faces of the animals that killed my comrades. After getting into fights with my team members and the locals on a regular basis and ignoring all the warnings that were issued out to me, I was sent home. Tossed to the side like garbage. I was unmanageable, and for justifiable reasons. That’s it. They throw you back into the world, damaged or not. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or make love to my wife. My kids became strangers. My anger escalated, and yelling became a norm in my home. Everyone tiptoed around me, even my own kids. They are the enemies now. When I get my episodes, which are regularly, Alison becomes the target, and she’s been the target for the past six months. She does it well. Conceals the pain, bruises, and makes all kinds of excuses for my shameful behavior. Until recently. She couldn’t take it anymore. Now she’s seeking a divorce and, no doubt, sole custody of the kids. She is taking the one good thing I have left in this cruel world. I’m drowning, and there’s no coming back from this. So I don’t care what you tell the courts. I’m not your charity case, so quit trying to fix something that is beyond repair. I see what you are doing, and it’s senseless.”