Don't

 Another attempt at the NYC Midnight short story writing challenge. James and Mary, a young couple, find themselves at odds when James gets called back to active duty. 

    The TV was barely audible from its place on the kitchen counter. Standing at the kitchen sink was a woman with long chocolaty brown hair. Her soft humming battled with the cadence of a new caster on screen. Water ran over her hands as it accumulated in the well of the deep basin. Steam rose and coiled through the rays of sunshine pouring in. She paused. Her eyes darted to the TV set.    

“... For a new breeze is blowing, and a world refreshed by freedom seems reborn; for in man's heart, if not in fact, the day of the dictator is over. The totalitarian era is passing, its old ideas blown away like leaves from an ancient, lifeless tree…” 

    A frown slowly spread over the woman’s features, bending her lips and creasing her brow. The faucet continued to run with the water levels reaching the edge of the sink. “Mary!” 

    The woman snatched her body back from the sink just as hot water soaked her shirt front. A man with wild hair, one sock on, and half in his shirt jumped to turn the faucet off. The two stood frozen, staring at the soapy water-filled sink. Mary turned to her husband as laughter bubbled from her lips. The two laughed, holding their sides and then holding each other. 

    Once the laughter died, the two pulled back to stare at each other. “ You look sillier than a half-plucked hen,” Mary said. Her smile reached from ear to ear. James rolled his eyes and gently pushed her away, turning into a half bark, half laugh. 

    “Alright darling, as you say, this half-plucked chicken will go finish dressin’ if you’re finished being an airhead.” James pinched her cheek as he spoke. Mary half-heartedly slapped away his hand. She lingered there, watching him walk away. The smile slowly slipped from her lips. Her eyes flicked first to the TV, then to the flag encased above their fireplace mantel. Alongside the flag were old photos. Much older than she or her husband. If she were to stand before it, she could read the plaque clear as day: 

“An honorable man, an honorable soldier: Capt. Benjamin Robinson.” 

    Her eyes lingered on that for a long while until a bump from upstairs started her once more. A small closed-mouth sigh escaped her chest as she plunged her hands back into the water.

 *** 

    “Must you go?” Mary asked again. Her hands were tightly clenched and held in front of her. James gave a soft smile as he continued to pack his things methodically. “Must you pack now?” His smile widened more. He turned to her and opened his arms. Mary shuffled a step closer and swayed with her resolved to stay put. Caving to her desires, she flung herself into his arms. Her fingers trembled as they threaded into his shirt. “Haven’t you been watching the news? They’re sending you out to your death, James.” Mary sucked in a breath. James’ warm hands rubbed to and fro across her back. 

    “Mary, my love, I have to.” He pulled her back and wiped at her cheeks. “Look at you, trembling like a sheet on the line.” He pulled her back into his arms, but she straightened her arms. Her bottom lip stopped quivering. The light of determination entered her eyes. 

    “I don’t care. You should be home. You should stay with me.” Mary fisted the front of her shirt. James, all the while, smiled softly and ran his thumb up and down her shoulders where he held her. “Mary, it’s a blessing I was even allowed to come back and visit. Let’s not fight now. Everything will be okay.” 

    “Let me come with you,” Mary said. She tilted her chin up just a fraction. Her face contorted, showing off a past scar like lightning streaked across her cheek. 

    “It’s not up to me,” James said, “You know that.” 

    Mary’s eyes searched his face. Her shoulders were the first to fall then her lips curved into a nearly imperceptible frown. She stepped back away from him. Then, she turned away with glistening eyes and thundered down the stairs. James turned back to his packing. There wasn’t a whole lot to pack. What he made sure to always include, tucked into the lining of his luggage, was the medal of his great, great grandfather. He held the cool metal in his hands and turned it over and over gingerly. 

    While color bearer wasn’t widely needed anymore, those who did carry that flag during the battle were fearless. Honorable. Brave. James clutched it tightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the smooth surface. Then, upon hearing a loud crash, he shoved it back in place. 

    “Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind, Mary?” James stood amid shattered plates and glass. It littered the kitchen floor, every inch a minefield of sharp edges and colorful glass. 

    When James initially came down, all he could do was stand frozen. The case above the mantel was shattered, its pieces lying against a century-old flag. Breathing in through his nose and out his mouth, he spotted the picture frames smashed and strewn on the floor. The only light was from the kitchen as it cast its light on the scene. Toeing his feet into his shoes, he made his way slowly through the wreckage to find what he lay his eyes on now. 

    Mary was now sitting at the kitchen table. A cigarette was clutched between her fingers, and blood was on her hands. Her shoulders were drawn up, her eyes dry, but her cheeks sticky and semi-wet. A smear of blood across her forehead kept a clump of hair stuck at an odd angle. James could only blink at the woman before him. 

    “You know, when I married you, all the chivalrous shit really got me. It felt too pure for this world.” She laughed. It was a cough more than a laugh, maybe a bark. Empty as the cupboards around her. Unceremoniously, she threw her body back. The chair creaked its protest. “You should see the shit they’re saying on television. Or at grocery stores. Maybe even listen to the way our neighbors talk about it.” Mary scoffed, tossing her finished cigarette to the ground and lighting another. 

    “Then you should report them. Nothing is happening over there,” James said. “When did you start smoking?” 

    Again Mary’s hollow laughter echoes in the kitchen, this time louder. “You’re joking?” Mary turned her sharp eyes to him only to look away once more. “Of course, you’re not.” She sighed and pulled another long drag. The silence stretched between them. James’ hands slowly formed loose fists. 

    “Why’d you go and break pa’s case?” Mary rolled her eyes. Her face remained fixed in the direction of the wall. James took a step forward. 

    “What does it matter? You’ll just get it fixed right up, good as new. I have half a mind to take it out back and burn-” James slammed his hand onto the table. A crack split the air, and another shatter sounded. “Great. You broke the fucking ashtray.” 

    “Who cares about the goddamn ashtray. Who are you right now? Because this isn’t the Mary I-” 

    “Fuck off.” Mary threw her hand up. “Don’t even start with that shit. What do you expect after being gone nearly three fucking years? Most of my friends have babies by now.” 

    “Is this what this is about? Babies? I thought you said you didn’t-” 

    “I don’t,” Mary screamed, silencing both of them. Tossing another cigarette to the ground, she picked up another. James snatched the pack off the table and threw it into the sink. The two glared at one another. “That’s not the point. It was never the point, you fucking dimwitted wannabe.” Mary blew at the strand of hair stuck to her face before outright snatching it back as she threaded her fingers through it. “James. You’re being stupid.” 

    “Now you’re just insulting me. Use your words, Mary.” 

    “I have been,” she said, throwing her chair back as she stood. “I have been saying for days now. Look with your own eyes. I have been patient as a saint waiting for you to see how idiotic all of this is.” James drew himself up to his full height. He squared his shoulders. 

    “I am following orders. I am doing my duty to this country. I pay for this house, your clothes, and apparently those fucking cigarettes you smoke.” Mary snatched up the chair she was sitting in and tossed it against the wall. James jumped backward. She stumbled with the momentum of her throw. 

    “Don’t you dare hold that shit over me! I have my own job. I can make my own way. Hell, I can go back home and run my mother’s bakery. I don’t need you.” James froze. His shoulders dropped. His mouth opened and closed as he deflated. Mary shook her head. “There is always going to be some new fucking war or threat or reason for them to take you from me. I never needed you, James. I can think for myself. Could you even do the same?” Her footsteps barely registered as she left. It wasn’t until a step creaked that James roused again. 

    There was a long pause after that. James stood, barely breathing and straining his ears for her movements from above. Glass crunched under his weight as he shifted. “I’m not leaving without a goodbye.” He called out. No response came. He waited longer still. “It’s not even dangerous over there, you know?” He asked the empty air. “It’s just a bunch of guys comparing the size of their guns.” The creaking above stopped. James took a step forward. “Mary? I’m not leaving without my goodbye.” 

    “Guess I’m not saying it then.” Mary’s reply was muffled. James looked down at his hands and waited. Finally, his hands opened and closed. 

    Before long, the sun was rising, blinding James as he blinked at the window. A car was approaching in the distance, and with a heavy sigh, James began to move. 

    

    Mary sat at the kitchen table. Her chocolatey brown hair was pulled up in a long ponytail. A pack of cigarettes sat to her right. She hugged a coffee cup tight to her chest. A pile of letters sat as the centerpiece of her table. The TV on the counter played at a quiet murmur. 

“...Thousands of east Berliners have been pouring into west Berlin since the borders were open, and tonight in the city famous for its carefree nightlife…” 

    The TV was practically screaming at her. Her eyes softened despite the thunder of her heart at the scenes playing out. People ran and jumped and danced. They were happy. Things were on their way to returning to normal or what could be expected after such a harsh and long separation. 

    Mary turned away from the TV. She sipped her coffee and reached for a letter. The latest to come. She turned it over and ran her fingers over the edges. Not a single one had been opened. Her eyes flicked to the mantel. The case and flag still hung there, broken glass and all. The cupboards were mostly bare. A single cup in her hands. A plate in the sink. 

    The sound of an engine rumbled closer. Mary remained seated with her cup of coffee. Straining her ears and jumping when a car door slammed shut too close for her comfort. She held her breath. The screen door gave a long moan followed by a knock. Then a second knock. 

    “Mary?” She frowned. The letter in her hand suddenly felt much heavier. “Mary, can I come in, please?” Then, standing from the table, she rounded the corner. The door seemed larger somehow. She stood before it controlling her breathing. “You never said goodbye, you know.” James’ voice rattled from behind the solid wood. “That means I never really did leave, did I?” Mary almost laughed aloud. She slowly sank to the floor as her hand hovered over her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes. She placed her back against the solid wood of the door and clamped her hands over her mouth. 

    On the other side, the sky grew darker, turning into a brilliant golden-orange hue. James stood staring at the floorboards of the porch. His fist opened then closed. Raised and lowered. He sank to one knee, then the other. Finally coming to rest with his back against the door, he pulled his grandpa’s metal out of his pocket. He held it out, examining every inch, observing every scratch or dent. It glinted in the sun’s rays. 

    In the end, the sun sank, burning brightly until its golden wisps turned grey and vanished