3/14/17

Elliott Poulley
Herzog
Fiction
The Waiting Game

In 1937, We were born in the same town. She was older than me just by a couple of

months. A beautiful 7 pound baby girl with bright blue eyes and a huge smile the second she

came out of the womb. As soon as she entered the world her bubbly personality touched every

single person that got the pleasure of meeting her. Her parents named her annabelle after her

mother who died during childbirth.

In 1950, We were classmates. Sitting one seat away from each other, we never said a

word the whole year. Our classes were mostly made up of awkward glances and unsteady

corrections of her silky blonde hair. I knew we had something though. And as the year went on I

was slowly developing a crush. The way I started to feel about her I never felt about anyone

else in my life. One of my biggest regrets was never talking to her that year, it was one of my

only chances. Her laugh made anyone around her immediately cheerful and her positive attitude

was infectious. Annabelles father wasnt around much, business trips all over the world forced

her to grow up sooner than any child should.

In 1955, I was drafted for the war. The day we left everyone at my school was saying

their goodbyes. I saw her across the courtyard. This is my chance, I whispered to myself. I

walked over to her chest out and head held high. 3 steps away from her, another boy from my

soon to be platoon cuts me off, sweeps her off her feet, and kisses her on her perfect cherry

lips. Shocked, I try not to act too devastated and walk right by.

In 1956, the war was at its peak. Id think of annabelle in the trenches as napalm strikes

would hit my bunker. That way if I died right there, my final thought would be of something I
loved. No one knew of my love for her. Not even that boy who kissed her that day we left. Jack.

He turned out to be my best friend during the war. All the more painful when he would get letters

from her. Every month was the same when he got them, Is that from the old ball and chain, Id

say with a crackle in my voice.

Shut up, man, hed say as he shoves me with a red face.

I was desperately in love with her, but I wasnt about to let him know that. Sometimes when he

slept I would creep into his drawers and take some of the old letters. Id sit there for hours

reading the gentle letters on the page pretending she wrote them with me in mind. Id never let

myself think otherwise. Annabelle got me through the war, she gave me a reason to come

home, and a purpose to keep fighting.

In 1958, I came home. I expected a sign in annabelle's hands and a rose behind her ear

waiting for me, like ive waited for her my whole life. Few came home, not even Jack. Being the

last to come off the bus I looked for her, holding out hope. I looked to my left and there she

stood in the most beautiful yellow sun dress. She was the image of beauty, even with the pain of

not reuniting with Jack in her deep blue eyes. Im sorry he didnt come home, I said.

I figured after he stopped writing me back, She replied looking down with tears in her eyes. I

reached out to hug her and she reciprocated.

I cant imagine what youve seen, She said to me through sniffles.

Yeah it wasnt pretty, I replied with a laugh.

Well I better be getting home. Hopefully I can see you again, Thomas Abernathy.

Id never held 8 words so dear in my life.

I never stopped thinking about her after that day but never saw her again, until last year.

I walked up to the door of my house, took out my keys and unlocked it. Walking through, I

looked down at my feet where there was a letter sitting on my rug. As soon as I saw the
lettering, I knew it was her handwriting. I was annabelle. I sat down eagerly to read. In the living

room I tore open the letter, hands shaking. It said she wanted to meet, and that she was

terminally ill with lung cancer. All these years and I never stopped thinking about her. I booked

my flight and planned to meet her in St. Mary's hospital in Chicago.

In 2016, Annabelle died in my arms on march 19 at 2:12 pm. Before she passed, she

whispered to me saying, I love you Thomas Abernathy, I always had, but never had the

courage to tell you, She said.

I love you too, I repeated back. While I sat there stunned, I couldnt even get angry at myself

for not telling her how I felt earlier. I just sat there cherishing a moment it took me 80 years to

cultivate. I held her for hours until I finally heard the heart rate monitor flatline. Through my tears

I manage to mutter to 8 words I promised myself Id never forget. Hopefully I can see you

again, Annabelle Brown.

Rubric rating submitted on: 3/21/2017, 10:29:41 AM by kherzog@westport.k12.ct.us

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