The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights..
There is a story that seems to get passed around from time to time, and I Always seem to get it. The theme is supposed to be beautiful and what not, but for me it falls flat of what *I* could hope for. I'd tell you what it's about but that would give away the story you are about to see here, and surely you're intelligent enough to figure it out.
Fortunately for me, I've got that story well deleted, so you're going to get this in *me own* words. . .I hope you enjoy. The following is an Uber tale of a sorts. MCA owns the idea of the characters, but not the heart. . .
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I'm sure it was one of those spur of the moment things for her. She was part of a group from home who'd sent letters to my troop. Each letter had an individual's name on it. We'd gotten things like this before. It was part of the homefront effort and was supposed to help us through the "trials" of warfare. It was nice to know that they remembered us, but who could quite forget, what with the constant patrolling of the newscasters and cameras. Still I took what I anticipated would be a generic letter and opened it up with as much enthusiasm as everyone else.
Her handwriting was neat, though not precise. The dot on her "i's" listed to the left and her "t's" were barely crossed. It was, however, legible. She'd scripted the date on the top right corner on the first of four pages. She started off fairly normally, just like all the others, "Hello, My name is," and "How are you?" Then tone of the note changed and she wrote to me as if she'd known me forever, rather than as a stranger whose name she'd been assigned.
It felt so good. I had family, but they hardly wrote. We stayed connected through phone calls more than anything. But, her words inspired something in me, I don't know what. I did something I'd never done before. I wrote back. I didn't actually think she would respond. I was, after all, just a soldier.
But she did respond, with a deep wit and intelligence that captured my imagination. We began a long correspondence with those three letters. She traveled, through words, with me as I toured across half the world. I experienced home, through words, as she operated her business. We mourned loss together, made new friends together, we solved puzzles and sent small gifts to each other. I fell deeply in love with this wise and witty woman. I made a promise of dinner to her, in gratitude for her continued writing and she'd accepted. We made plans to meet one another when my tour of duty was up.
Neither of us had exchanged photos. She prefered to be surprised, or so she said. I agreed to it. Instead we planned on looking for identifiers. She would be wearing a dark jacket and carrying a pink carnation. I would be wearing my best uniform and carrying the well worn book of poetry she'd sent me.
The day finally arrived. My flight had been incredibly long. I'd managed to catch small doses of sleep, but truthfully the anticipation of finally meeting this woman kept me up. I dreamed of what she must look like, but knew that whatever form she took, I would be just as happy to meet her. She was always beautiful in my mind's eye.
I stepped off the plane and into the terminal's hatchway. My feet thudded on the soft carpet as I shuffled with everyone to the waiting area. I was standing as tall as I could, trying to see over the shoulders of everyone. For once I was grateful for my height. I managed not to be rude and shove people out of the way.
I hoisted the pack on my shoulder to a better angle and was in the waiting area before I knew it. I stood in the center, hoping she would see me first, since it was obvious I was missing seeing her. Then this woman came towards me. She wore a blue jacket and held a pink carnation. She was lovely, beautifully shaped. Her blonde curly hair was cut short and it bobbed a little as she walked. Her smile was bright and catchy. I found myself smiling back and stepped forward with anticipation.
She smiled up at me and held out the carnation before I could speak. "This is from her." Her long arm pointed south past a flood of people into a quiet and slightly shadowed area. I thanked the flight attendant for the flower and paced forward as quick as my legs would take me.
Then I saw the love of my life. She looked at me with wide blue eyes. Her long dark hair held a thick streak of grey. She was middle aged, I guess, but I was never good at guessing ages. Her stocky body wasn't exactly trim, in fact, she was a little paunchy, but she was as neat as her letters. Her black leather jacket held a purple triangle button.
"Julia Pappas?" I asked. I gave her back her carnation. She nodded somewhat shyly, but grinned at me. I grinned helplessly back, and lurched forward into a hug. She held me warm in an embrace.
"Welcome back Liddy Covington." We squeezed again, then parted from the hug. She brushed a lock of my hair. "Such a pretty color," she said, "I've always loved red heads." I think I blushed right to my toes.
"Well," I ahemed, "Where would you like to go to dinner?" She hooked an arm through mine and we started walking.
"I know this great place on Kearney Street. Fabulous Italian. You like Italian right?" I committed inside to loving Italian forever and grinned a yes.
This was better than I ever imagined.
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These pages were last updated: April 19, 1999
(c)April 1998