Finding Mikayla

by Samantha Christy

  We gather around a podium and try to shush the children so everyone can hear Claire’s voice in the absence of a microphone. Thank goodness for the bullhorn she has up to her mouth.

  “Welcome, everyone,” she starts. “Thank you for coming to our candlelight service. I don’t need to explain why we are all here, so I’ll get right to the gist of it since I can see you’re all wondering about the balloons.”

  The crowd is eerily quiet as we wait for her explanation. “Of course, you can do as you wish, but the committee thought that the candles would be good to remember those loved ones that are missing. You may light a candle to show your continued hope of the return of a loved one. The flame represents life, life that we haven’t yet given up on; life that we hope still burns brightly somewhere out there; life that we pray will someday make it back to us.”

  Already, there are audible sobs along with many more silent tears from most people in the crowd.

  “The balloons signify those that we’ve lost. Now, I’m not going to preach to you or tell you what to believe. I can only speak for myself when I say that I will release a balloon for my husband, Jeffrey, in hopes that it reaches him in heaven where he is surely looking down upon me this very second.” Her voice cracks and a tear slips out of her eye. “Most of us here never had the opportunity to say goodbye to a loved one. There were no burials to attend. No services at which to grieve. Let this be your closure. Let this also be the day we celebrate the lives of those that are still with us. Let us cherish what we have and not take anything or anyone for granted.”

  No one moves. I don’t know if anyone is even breathing.

  “Go on now,” Claire waves us off. “Find your peace.” She walks off the podium right into the colonel’s arms and they both go over to release a balloon for their fallen spouses.

  Mitch and I look at each other. I momentarily wonder if we are going to do this together. Would it seem strange to light a candle for Jeff with him by my side? Is he going to light a candle for the person that is waiting out there for him?

  He mirrors my questioning expression; then he smiles and holds out his hand for me. It doesn’t even take me a half-a-second to realize that, yes, I want to do this with him. I place my hand in his and he walks us over to the tent.

  People are displaying every emotion imaginable. They are crying, yelling out in anger and frustration, even laughing. It’s like this tent represents one massive funeral. I notice that people have been given Sharpie markers and are writing either the names of their fallen loved ones on the balloons, or messages to them.

  We go over to select some balloons. Conspicuously missing from the various colors available is black. The balloons are bright, vibrant colors and the amazing sun-setting sky is becoming dotted with the brilliant colors. It’s as if God himself chose today to display the most glorious sunset anyone has ever seen.

  Mitch selects a purple balloon. “Mom’s favorite color,” he tells me. “Do you want to get a couple for your parents?”

  “But they didn’t die because of the blackout,” I say.

  “You heard Claire. It’s up to us how we choose to do this. There are no rules here.”

  I nod my head and pick out a single balloon. Then I write both their names on it. “They are together forever, so I only need the one,” I say, releasing it into the sky as a tear rolls down my cheek.

  Mitch releases his as well and we stand, hand in hand, watching as our balloons weave and tangle their way through the myriad of others floating up through the comforting warmth and sweet embrace of the setting sun.

  Part of me dreads walking over to the candle-filled tables. I’m not even sure what I’ll feel when I light a candle for Jeff. Maybe I’ll break down . . . maybe I’ll smile thinking about the good times we had . . . maybe my heart will hurt with longing.

  “There are so many people that I love who are missing,” Mitch says. I think of his dad, his brother, his sister-in-law and three nieces, not to mention all his friends that may still be over in Afghanistan. He reaches for a candle. “I think I should only light one so I don’t burn down the camp.” He means it as a joke, but our eyes meet and the reality of the unknown fate of so many overwhelms us and we share an embrace before we continue on this emotional roller coaster.

  He hands me a candle. “For Jeff,” he says, with an understanding smile. “It’s okay if you need to do this alone, Mikayla.”

  “No,” I tell him. “Let’s do it together.”

  I close my eyes and will myself not to fall apart as he takes a lighter from someone and ignites our candles. I stare at the flame. The flame that represents the life that Jeff still may live. I watch it flicker as the range of colors in the flame mirror that of the awe-inspiring sunset. Blue, red, orange, yellow . . . the flame mesmerizes me. I don’t know how long I stand here and stare at it. My life with Jeff plays out before me. Every glorifying detail flashes through my head and I smile as I think of the stability, the generosity and the sincerity he brought to my life in the wake of losing my parents. But as my life with him dances through my memories, I realize that I’m missing him in the same way I miss my parents. I loved them dearly, just as I love him dearly, but in this moment, I know for certain, I’m no longer in love with him. In my highly emotional state, I’m fairly sure I hear myself let out an audible sob as relief flows through me.

  I think I also hear Mitch say something like, “Okay, then.” His voice is sad and sullen, and when my eyes flutter open for a brief second, I see him slip away, perhaps to put his candle in the receptacle.

  Before I know it, sunset has turned to darkness and I’m still here, my cheeks wet and eyes swollen from the never-ending stream of tears running down my face courtesy of my epiphany. My candle has all but burned down to a nub and the hot wax dripping on my hand pulls me from my trance. I glance next to me to see that Mitch is no longer there. I look around, but I can’t find him among the dwindling crowd. My eyes come across the large white tent, still with a good selection of balloons and I know what I have to do.

  I walk over to the tent and grab one of the remaining balloons and walk out into the open courtyard. I get a Sharpie and write one last letter to Jeff on the side of the balloon. Well, it’s not really a letter as much as a word.

  Goodbye.

  I stretch my arm up high over my head, holding the long string of the bright-blue balloon between my fingers, the balloon softly bobbing in the light spring breeze. As I release it, I’m releasing the guilt that I’ve burdened myself with. I’m freeing myself from my willful condemnation. I’m allowing myself the chance at happiness with another.

  I watch the balloon get quickly swallowed up in the dark sky and as I walk away, I realize I’m ready to give myself over to the possibility of loving again. I suddenly stop walking as my heart splinters into my chest as if trying to tell me something. I decide to take the advice of my friends and listen to it. It’s telling me what everyone else obviously knows. I’m already in love with him.

  ~ ~ ~

  I can’t get to him fast enough. This intense need I have to see him is driving my quickening steps as my feet fly across the fading stripes of the parking lot in front of the apartments.

  I come around the corner and run straight into Holly, our foreheads smacking together. “Ouch!” she shouts. “Where’s the fire, Kay?”

  I rub my forehead, continuing to walk while I reply, “There’s somewhere I need to be.” I head towards Mitch’s apartment.

  “Ah . . . I see,” she calls out over her shoulder, “the fire is in your pants.” She laughs, walking away.

  It doesn’t even occur to me to knock on Mitch’s door. I simply open it and plow through. I’m on a mission and two inches of steel is not going to stand in my way. The living room is deserted so I go back to his bedroom. “Mitch?” I walk into his room only to be disappointed by the emptiness of it.

  “Kay?” I hear behind me and spin around to see Austin emerging from the kitchen. “He’s not here. He didn’t come
back after the service. Did something happen?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” I say in frustration. “We were lighting candles and then he was gone. He didn’t even tell me he was leaving.”

  “Well, you can hang out here if you want. I’m leaving for work,” he says.

  “No thanks. I’m going to see if I can find him.”

  I check the usual places—the clinic, The Oasis, the stables, our normal stargazing spot—but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Maybe the service sparked his memory. Maybe I’m too late.

  My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach while I make my way back to his apartment. I wait for him in his bed. It smells of him and I wrap my arms around his pillow as his scent envelops me.

  “Mikayla?”

  I startle awake in the darkness and wipe sleep from my eyes to see the moonlit shadow of Mitch standing next to the bed. “Mitch, I was waiting for you. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “Why are you here?” he asks with trepidation.

  “Why am I here? Because I want you,” I say, blushing in the darkness at my bold words. I reach out for him but he backs away.

  “But I saw you. You were so distraught. You can’t let him go. I know that now and I can’t . . . I can’t do this anymore.” He turns to walk out.

  “No!” I call out after him. “You don’t understand, Mitch. I was crying because I let him go, not because I couldn’t. I was so relieved that my emotions got the best of me. You left. You didn’t see what happened. You didn’t see me free myself from him. That’s what I came here to tell you. That’s why I had to find you.”

  I hear him turn around and step towards me. “You let him go? What does that mean?”

  “Yes, I let him go, along with the balloon I released into the sky after you left.” I reach for him again, but instead of pulling away, he lets me take his hand in mine. I pull him down on the bed. “It means that I want you and only you, Mitch.”

  Without warning, he flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me and I can’t stifle the giggle that comes out at his Neanderthal tendencies. He pushes my hair away from my face and takes my head in his hands. He leans down to where our breath mingles. “Are you sure, Mikayla? Because I want to make love to you more than I want to take my next breath.”

  Oh my!

  I arch my body into his, moaning my answer into his mouth as I lift my head and pull his lips to mine. Our kisses are demanding, impatient at first, but then they settle into a sensuous dance of unspoken promises.

  I quickly reach for the hem of my shirt, wanting to rip it—and every other stitch of clothing that separates us—from my body. I feel him smile against my neck, where he is trailing kisses up to my ear. He whispers, “We have all the time in the world, Mikayla, and I plan on savoring every minute.”

  His words stroke my libido just as efficiently as his hands stroke my body. He pushes my shirt up and over my head then trails his fingers along the edge of my bra before pulling the cups down and freeing my breasts. I’m trussed up by my bra, heightening the sensation when his fingers tug at my stiff nipples.

  “Oh, God,” escapes me in a deep, throaty voice that I don’t recognize. My hips involuntarily grind against his, seeking any friction that can relieve the ache that is building deep inside me.

  “Mikayla, you are so sexy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  “Please, Mitch . . .” I reach for the button on his jeans. “I want to touch you.” His jeans and shirt come off practically in one motion that would make me giggle if I weren’t so strung out with want and passion.

  I skim my hand along his perfectly toned abs as it makes its way under the tight cotton boxer briefs that hold in the very thing I seek. When I wrap my hand around his velvety steel length for the first time, he lets out a long, slow breath through his pursed lips. I move my hand up and down, listening to his breathing become shallow and quick as his hands continue to explore my breasts.

  “You have too many clothes on, sweetheart,” he says. “Let me take care of that.” I reluctantly remove my hand from him while he strips me of my jeans and panties. Then he removes his own boxers and lies back down next to me. We fervently explore each other’s bodies with our hands. I take the time to savor every ridge and ripple of his muscular frame before making my way back down to his throbbing manhood.

  Strong fingers explore the apex of my thighs as pleasurable shock waves flow through me, pushing me up to the edge of the cliff I so desperately want to fall over. I feel a finger slip inside me. Then he gasps. “God, Mikayla, you are so ready for me. You feel so good. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

  I stiffen when I realize we are about to need a condom, which is tucked away in my closet with the rest of my poker stash. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Uh . . . I think I need to go get something in my apartment.”

  He reaches over to the drawer in his bedside table and pulls out a little square package.

  “You have a condom?” I ask, shocked at this revelation.

  He laughs. “Don’t be so surprised. I saved up and got one right after our night in the meadow. I knew right then that I had to have you someday.” I see the moonlit silhouette of him rolling the condom down his length and I about detonate on the spot.

  He arranges himself between my legs and hesitates.

  “Please, Mitch . . .”

  I hear his smile and then I hear pleasurable moans come from both of us as he pushes himself inside me. “Oh, my God. You feel so good,” he murmurs into my neck. He looks into my eyes as he eases himself in and out, quickening his pace as our bodies demand gratification.

  Looking up at him, I think that watching him make love to me is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I arch my hips into his, seeking that last little something that will push me over the edge of the cliff. Reading my mind, he reaches a hand between us and rubs circles on the very place that will shatter me.

  “Ahhh . . .” he leans down and moans into my shoulder. “You are incredible. I’m so close,” he pants into my ear. Then he pulls back and locks eyes with me, not letting up the pleasurable thrusts or ministrations of his strong fingers. “Let go with me, baby.”

  My body explodes like it is a slave to his command. Every bit of my world is concentrated in the parts of our beings that are molded together and I perfectly convulse beneath him, screaming declarations of pure joy and satisfaction. He watches me come apart, our eyes and bodies connected, and he quickly joins me, falling over his own cliff into a freefall of pleasurable spasms.

  He collapses on top of me and we lie this way, exchanging heated breaths, until we regain the ability to move at will.

  “That was . . .” I can’t even find the words.

  “The best goddamn sex I’ve ever had in my life,” he says, breathlessly completing my sentence. Then he stiffens a bit. “Oh, shit, Mikayla, please tell me it was the same for you.”

  I giggle, running my thumb over his bottom lip. “It was the same for me, Mitch. It was incredible.”

  Encased in his arms, I fall into sleep faster than I have in over a year. The last thing I remember is Mitch sleepily mumbling something about how glad he was to find me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Morning light streaks through the window and dances on the wall in a prism of magnificent colors as it reflects through the glass of water on the sill.

  I’m still drunk on the events of last night. I think it might actually qualify as the best night of my life. As I watch the quivering rainbow of light, I breathe in deeply to smell Mitch’s scent that I’ve come to crave so desperately. I blush when I realize it is mixed with the distinct smell of our lovemaking.

  Mitch is spooning me in what is now a comfortable and familiar embrace. My body moves of its own accord when I recall how his hands caressed me and how he felt when he moved deep inside me.

  Mitch wakes and sleepily rubs his hand down my arm onto my bare thigh. I wiggle my bottom into his growing er
ection. He smiles into my hair and says, “Did you say you have another condom across the hall?”

  I hold up two fingers and smile.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to be the death of me.” He laughs, now fully awake and hopping up to pull on his pants and run a very quick errand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We bask in our post-coital bliss for the second time this morning. Thank goodness Mitch ran into Holly in my apartment and asked her to cover for me at the clinic today.

  “Maybe we should have saved one,” Mitch says, looking over the edge of the bed. “You know . . . paced ourselves.” I follow his gaze as he stares longingly at the three empty condom wrappers on the floor by the bed.

  I laugh when I spot our pile of discarded clothes next to them. The pile is topped by the smiley-face boxer briefs that I threw at him that day at the PX. “You bought them?” I ask.

  He reaches down to pick them up and throw them at me. “Of course I did. You obviously liked them. I just can’t believe I was wearing them last night of all nights.”

  I retrieve them from where they landed on my chest and grin deviously at him as I seductively pull them up and over my hips. His eyes darken with passion as they follow my movements. “Shit, Mikayla, can you stop being so damn sexy? I’ll never be able to wear those again without getting hard.”

  He gets up and puts on his jeans—commando—which is hot as hell. Then he pulls his t-shirt over my head and drags me along behind him to the kitchen. I stare at his broad muscular back along the way and when we sit, I ask, “Have you remembered anything about your scars?”

  He shakes his head as he feeds me a bite of a stale granola bar. “No, but I’ve had some bad dreams about being hurt, so maybe I was in a fight or something.”

  I sigh and lower my head thinking of how awful that would have been. “I like my other theory much better.” I think of the time I suggested that his scars were from some sort of intentional sexual gratification.