The idea for this snippet came to mind when we were traveling home from the stable and I really took notice of the Christmas decorations. (It'll make sense to you when you read the story)
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. Feedback is welcomed at nickerbits@nni.com
Rating: G
Catagory: Angst
Disclaimers: All together now! They aren't mine, we all know who they really belong to, I'm not making any money off this and please don't sue (all you'd get would be 2 uppity cats and 4 horses who would mug you for carrots whenever you came near).
Special thanks to Sherry for her quick beta and for convincing me to post this to the Angst list and to Wolfpup for being really pushy about getting this up on her page, too.
Nickerbits
I keep a lit candle in the window of the loft all the time now. I know he's coming home to me one day. He did promise, and Sandburg never was one to break his promises.
I had noticed and commented on the number of houses that featured an electric candle in every window at Christmas. I speculated idly on what the reasons for this could be. I can still hear his voice, delighted and enthusiastic as he explained the history behind the tradition of leaving a candle, or nowadays, an electric replica of a candle, burning in a window. "Oh, man," he'd babbled on, his hands waving dramatically to emphasize his point, "the candle in the window is a very old and very neat tradition. In one form or another it exists in almost every culture. In primitive tribes, a fire would be lit and kept going. A hunting or scouting party could see the blaze from a distance, and it would promise warmth, safety and welcome.
"As civilization advanced, and man took to living in permanent dwellings, the hearth was the center of the home, and, once again, it promised warmth, safety, welcome and light against the darkness. The candle in the window was a symbol to travelers and to loved ones that food, shelter and hospitality were waiting inside." He'd laughed then, a bubbling, infectious sound that announced his joy with the world as a whole. "How do you think these homeowners would react if we knocked on their doors and told them that we saw the candle offering travelers shelter and wanted to take them up on it?"
He'd giggled a bit then and smiled a mischievous little smile. "What do you think, Jim? Wanna try it?"
I'd growled at him, tired and hungry and just wanting to get home. "No, Sandburg. I don't think we should try it. I don't know where you get some of these ideas that pop into your head. Why don't you act like an adult sometime? I know I'd take it as a welcome change." His face fell a little bit at my retort, and we traveled the rest of the way back to the loft in silence.
Leaning on the balcony wall, looking out over my city, I reach my hearing out. I know what I'm listening for - whose heartbeat I'm listening for - but I know I won't find it. I dial down my hearing with a sigh. I can't afford to zone out now - there's no one around to bring me out of it. Turning to head back inside, I once again curse myself and my lack of patience that night.
It had happened the next day. Blair had had to shoot a man. Yes, he'd fired a gun before, but he'd never actually shot at a specific person. But now he had and, while he hadn't killed him, the man was never expected to regain the full use of his right arm.
Even though he'd had no choice, Blair was shattered by what he'd done. I tried to help, but I've had to kill or injure more people than I care to think about in my life. I learned to deal with it without too much trouble, so I really couldn't understand what he was going through. Long, deep conversations and wallowing in emotion have never been specialties of mine either, so I'd tried to show I cared in all of those safe, non-verbal, non-emotional ways. I teased the kid, I gave him an extra, manly punch to the shoulder, I paid for take-out whether it was my turn or not. In the end, though, it wasn't nearly enough.
Blair had come to me a week later and told me slowly, hesitantly, that he was becoming more and more of a basket case. He had to leave, to find some peace and solitude to work out his feelings. Discover what he'd gained and lost and who he was now. I'd tried to talk him out of it, or to talk him into letting me go with him. He'd insisted that he needed the time alone, and promised he'd be back once he was able to put his feelings in perspective.
So, here I wait. My mind keeps going to back to the night we'd discussed Christmas traditions. That was the last time he was happy, the last time I'd seen him bouncing and bubbling before it happened. And, I'd shot him down - I keep coming back to that, and to the significance of the candle in a window.
A welcome home for the weary traveler. A promise of hearth, hospitality and family. A promise of love and acceptance. So, I keep a lit candle in the window twenty-four hours a day. I know that Blair will understand the meaning and the emotions behind it immediately. I had considered an electric candle. It certainly would have been easier and safer, but somehow a real flame is friendlier, warmer, speaks of home more eloquently. Sandburg deserves that.
He asked me to wait for him and promised he'd be back, but I'm not sure how much longer I can wait. I've arranged a leave of absence with Simon, my bags are packed and I'm ready. If my friend cannot find his peace and his way back soon, I know he will need my help to find it. I'm willing to do whatever I have to do to help - I'll even learn to engage in long conversations and wallow in emotion if necessary. I'm also bringing a candle with me. That way I can bring the promise of love and home to him.
The End