“... Especially since I’m going into the military in January,” Ethan says from the pulpit in the church, and the sentence wakes me from my daydream. I suddenly stare at him, and as he continues his sermon, his dark brown eyes look back at mine. They always do this.
But my otherwise clear eyes are now hazy. Glistening in the light in the church, the light of all the young people around me. The light in my heart, however, flickers.
I imagine Ethan in the same uniforms that my cousins, friends, and fellow students wear in different counties. Ethan at war, Ethan in those little beds. Ethan away from me, perhaps forever.
I stare until I blink, and a tear rolls down my skin. I quickly wipe it and look down, bow my head again, and try to hold my breath. I’ve known him for 17 months, and been in love for 12. It’s been a year since that long hug that made my heart yearn for him more than anyone else. Which made me save every picture I saw of him on the internet, and go to church as soon as I could when I knew he was there. I never dared to say anything.
But everything in life is now or never.
When he flirted with other girls, he always sat next to me. When we said our goodbyes, he always quickly led me into his arms. Asked me about my week. Wrote in my songbook that I am precious, soft and beautiful. Thanked me for the moments in the bathroom with my soft giggles as I drew eyeliner across his beautiful eyes, on our first trip. He snorted as I smiled, and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before storming out, so energetic and happy. But so calm when silence sings across a room.
Now when he walks down the aisle and sits in the seat next to me, he is quiet. Part of me wants to put my head on his shoulder, or my arms around his neck, or my body over his. Wanting him to take me with him everywhere he goes.
A fifteen-year-old girl's first crush, that's what I'm experiencing. It's heartbreaking. So desperate that it's beautiful. But quietly I stare ahead, smelling his perfume, and trying to be like the Lenna everyone knows.
“Which hymn did you choose?” He suddenly whispers in my ear, goosebumps spreading under my white sweater, and I turn my head and answer, “May the road rise up to meet you.”
The hymn my grandmother always sings when we spend the night at the cabin together. With her eyes closed behind her glasses, her short hair in shades of gray and white and a cross around her neck. The captivating voice that I hear when we sing it. I turn six years old every time we sing it. Ethan has no idea about this, but nods. Oh, Ethan, if you let me, I would tell you everything. “It's a good choice.” He says with a nod and looks ahead again. When it's time to write in the hymn books, I sit down on the stone floor and lift my purple pen.
Fellowship trip 2024!!
Thank you for another great trip with you, Ethan! When I heard that you were going to the military, I was happy for you, but at the same time my heart sank. The church will not be the same without you. You have lit up the meetings! Keep that light on. Hugs, Lenna.
I have no more words. What am I going to do with this storm of desires, feelings and words? The beauty is impossible to define. His choice of words that I note on my phone after each meeting. I can't do much, but I have to do something.
I look up, and on the other side of the room, he is already sitting and looking at me. I smile back and put his hymn book aside, when a new confirmation boy runs up to me. “Where is your hymn book, Lenna?” he asks on an exhale, so quickly that it takes me a few seconds to understand. “I have no idea, unfortunately. But I can help you read.” I say and stand up, so he lights up. He is a head shorter than me, but his self-confidence is five heads higher. “Thank you. Everyone wants to write in it.” He sighs, and I light up. Speechless. I look over at Ethan, and he raises the book he has in his hands. Lenna.
And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.
