I Won’t Be Home For Christmas
It was supposed to be an ongoing tradition, the delivery of box to his home to be handed to the rightful owner. While the flowers from the year prior would be different, there would always be that sole orange one, forever speaking of his unshaken admiration of the fellow medic.
This year it would nestle among a bed of a dozen red and white roses, most of them twined in unity and all of them bare of thorns. Like last and the year prior, they would be delivered to the door of his home. Yet, this time, he wouldn’t be there to answer the door when the delivery man brought them. Delivered on Christmas morning, they would sit there and as he watched the snow fall outside of the mountain-side base, he wondered how long they would remain before someone thought to clear his doorstep. Exhaling a slow breath, he took a sip of his coffee, more out of the need to move rather than desiring the bitter brew.
Another year had passed and so many changes had taken place, many of which brought him to where he was now. Returning to what he knew wasn’t an option, not yet. Perhaps when the festivities were over and new year was well on its way. He could always go under the cover of night to his place of residence. As for the base… He didn’t know what he was going to do about his office there. Catching the attention of others was risky and the temptation to wander to see her would be near impossible to resist.
At the very least he wanted to retrieve a box and its black and red ringed contents from his home office. He could only imagine the deeper impact of his sudden disappearance if it was found. Or perhaps he was simply fooling himself and it would have no impact what so ever. That it was just one more bauble that was ultimately meaningless despite the promise its presence revealed.
It wasn’t true, no doubt, but he had to think that. He had to believe that she moved on and dashed aside the ghost of his memory. It was better that way. No, not better. Easier. He had ran so often, left behind so much and knew that he would eventually do it again and again until his mind was solely his own. Until he no longer had to be concerned about a malignant passenger.
It was a thought that lead him away from melancholy memories to the events of tomorrow. It hadn’t gotten past his notice that he, a Jew, was going to be spending the holiday with a former Schuzstaffel soldier. He would have spent it alone, mourning and still weighed that decision. He knew his mood was going to be dour, warned the Soldier as much, but the man was insistent. Perhaps he understood that company--even if possibly quiet and withdrawn--was better than nothing at all.
The distant and ragged cry of a corvid brought him out of his thoughts and after taking another drink of his coffee, he pried himself away from the cool window. There was a bit of cooking to be done and if he wanted to get any where with it, he’d have to get started before the rest of the base woke up. Last thing he wanted was for others bug him about ‘sampling’ what little food he was making. There wouldn’t be enough left to take to the gathering tomorrow.