The Party

She walked him to his car, the happy aura of the party still surrounding them. They chatted softly, the click of her heels loud upon the concrete floor of the garage. When they reached the edge, he climbed atop the brick wall and turned back to offer her a helping hand. She accepted it and joined him atop the wall where their eyes held for a quick second. They continued the rest of the way to his car in silence. Finally she said something.

"I have your Christmas present," she said quietly, her eyes gazing at him discreetly. He looked so good all dressed up in a suit.

"Oh yeah?" He smiled, "What is it?" She handed him a little slip of white paper that she had been tucking away in the palm of her hand. He unfolded it and read the big, black letters scrawled in her familiar print. It simply read:

FREEDOM

At first he wanted to tell her that he didn't understand but he couldn't say it because he did understand. She was giving him his freedom.

"Isn't that what you wanted most?" She asked, not wanting to hear him say 'yes' but knowing he had to. He nodded his head silently, feeling guilty. "You didn't tell me what you wanted," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the ground, "but I caught the hints." He wanted to do something ; hug her, apologize, anything, but he knew it was too late. "Merry Christmas," she said finally, kissing his cheek softly. She turned and headed for the house.

"Wait! I have to give you your present!" He called after her but she kept walking and was gone within seconds. He sighed, staring at the gournd upon which she had just been standing. "I'm free," he whispered to himself, hoping it would sink in before the guilt could. "I'm free," he said louder. "Damn it, I'm free!" He shouted. "I'm free!" He threw his arms out like a mad man, running in circles around his car, shouting, "I'm free! I'm free!"

He fell against his car after a few crazy minutes and tried catching his breath. He leaned against the door, pressing his flushed cheeks to the cold glass to cool himself. He caught sight of the gift in the front seat, wrapped in bright holiday paper topped with an elegant bow. Her gift, the one she didn't want. The one she left behind. His cheeks were now hot from the tears that he began crying. "I love you," he whispered, staring at the gift through the window. "And now..." he swallowed hard, "and now I'm..." He couldn't say it, he couldn't force himself to speak the word - the gift she had given him. The gift he had wanted more than anything, the gift he couldn't exchange, the gift that proved she loved him: his freedom.

He stood there in the cold December night, he and his freedom, the wind rustling the dead leaves, sounding so much like the rustle of her dress when she danced in his arms that night.

A.R.M.
12/16/91