Marissa sat staring at the screen, acting as though I wasn’t even there. I shrugged and began to leaf through a magazine on the coffee table. I didn’t really read, just scanned pictures when all of a sudden I heard a, “BOOM!”
I jumped and looked around. Marissa was in the same slumped position and was still staring at the television. I looked at the screen and saw what had made the noise; it was an airplane. “You see that?” Marissa asked, not even bothering to look at me or for me to answer, “That’s a 56X Fire Fighter (AN - I don’t know anything about planes; everything you read about them is entirely made up) I’m going to fly one of those; just like my Daddy.” She finally turned toward me. “What are you gonna do?”
I blinked, not sure I understood the question. What did I want to do? Go to Disneyland, travel the world, be smart, and...”Sing.” I said. She frowned at me. “Sing something then.” I stared at her, struck dumb. She snapped her fingers in my face. I jumped. “Sing, Ikey!” she said grinning.
I started to relax a little. I could sing; I knew I could. I opened my mouth and sung the first few lines of “Merry Christmas Baby” which my Dad had just taught me. When I was done, she blinked at me. “Wow, that was good. I mean, really good.” she sat back.
“Your Dad flies one of those?” I asked, gazing awe struck at the plane on the television. “He did.” she said stiffly. “He was killed in combat.” I looked at her and whispered, “Sorry.” She continued to stare at the screen, blue eyes blazing and blinking. I saw that she was trying hard not to cry. Without really realizing what I was doing, I moved over to her and embraced her.
I felt my arms go around her and I could feel her skin; cool and soft underneath me. She stiffened slightly, but she quickly relaxed. I could feel her heart beating steadily against my chest. I whispered softly, “It’s okay,” to her, but she only responded by closing her eyes. I felt her breathing calm down and for a moment she just laid there, letting me hold her. Then she suddenly moved and turned toward me.
She stared at my face, unblinking, face carefully blank. She steadied my face for a good five minutes and I was beginning to squirm. I never really enjoyed being looked at when I felt like I was under a microscope. Then she slowly leaned forward, her eyes never giving away what she was thinking.
I could feel the warmth of her breath on my lips and I would have given anything to keep that feeling. I sat dumbly, staring into her sky-blue eyes. I could feel the electricity shooting through my body. But then she turned back toward the television set. “You know,” she said, “My Daddy used to say you could tell what kind of person someone was by their eyes.” She stared at the screen, avoiding looking at me, “You have eyes just like my Daddy.”
