“Father, tell me a bedtime story.” Said Cecilia, walking out of her bedroom with the quietest touch, in only the way a kid can, nearly knocking over my glass of water on her way to my chair.
“Absolutely, love. what would you like it to be about?”
“You’re the writer, come up with something.”
I gave her a mean mug,sat her up on my lap as best I could. She leaned against my left thigh, carefully avoiding its metal counterpart. I began reading..
“Once upon a time there was a quite snobby girl, who didn’t appreciate my efforts to please her.”
“Hey, that’s not right! I’ve heard that one before!”
I gave a small chuckle and said, “Well, alright. I personally think it’s a classic.”
I began my story.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Stanley with a prosthetic leg. One day, he was eating brunch at a darling little Bistro, called “Heartlands Bistro.” He sat out in the open patio, sipping his morning coffee. He noticed this woman wearing a suit, with a proper bun and a rather large suitcase hurrying down the sidewalk, on the phone with what sounded like a client. She hung up the phone, and in one motion, spilled the entirety of her briefcase. She gave a look of exasperation, and bent down to pick it all up. The man hobbled over to her, bent down as best he could, and helped her with her spill.
“Oh, thank you so much,” She said without looking at him, already calculating how fast she needed to drive in order to get to her next meeting.
“My pleasure,” He said, catching a glimpse of her abundance of beauty. There was a small mole to the right of her upper lip, a sharp contrast from her sunshine hair. He imagined she had dimples, had she stopped for a moment to smile. And then she was off.
Had this woman stopped for a moment, she might have struck up a conversation with this gentlemen. She might have slipped in how she had always wanted to be a track star, but broke her leg and could never run quite the same again, even after it healed without any signs of there being an injury. She may have told him that in college she made a terrible choice for a guy, and when this guy left, he left in a rage, telling her she wouldn’t amount to anything, because she was a business major, a ridiculous idea for a woman at the time. Perhaps she would have told him, and the boyfriend from college, how absolutely wrong he was. She was aptly named Busy, and had worked her way through the corporate ladder, demanding respect at every stop. This seemed to be an instance where she still wasn’t respected, being forced to move next to one of the smaller branches. She ought to be CEO by now, for all the work she’s put into this company, she says. Lastly, she might have asked the man what happened to his leg.

Stanley had grown up as the youngest of 4 children, frequently getting his siblings playful teasing. He had always felt like he wasn’t as prominent in the family, as his oldest brother was going to Law school, and his sister was attempting a career in acting. When his other brother died when he was 14, and his older brother barely passing Law, it left an enormous amount of pressure on Stanley. He hated his mother and father’s materialism, always promising him a new car, or perhaps a new nice briefcase, when he graduated at the top of his high school class. Stanley did in fact graduate top of his class, and when he trudged up on stage to receive his diploma, and saw the looks on the faces of every parent, he decided he couldn’t bear it any more. So he enlisted in the army.

With him was his best friend, Rand, who unlike Stanley, had been drafted against his will. It was sheer luck the two of them were in the same platoon. Rand had been given a fancy helmet by his dad, a gesture meant only for laughs. Rand promised he and Stanley would be home before Christmas.

(For obvious reasons, I had to tell my little Cecilia that we were home before Christmas. In actuality, it was the christmas after that, and Rand didn’t return from the war. He was killed by the same bomb that claimed my leg. He had left his helmet at the base, and I still had it to this day in my bedroom.)

Cecilia seemed to read my mind. She was always asking questions, that little one.
“Why don’t I ever see Rand if you two were so close, father?”
“Well,” I replied, “People don’t stay in the same place forever, darling. I didn’t always live in Chicago, and neither will you, darling. There’s a lot of world out there to see. My dear friend is out seeing it.” This answer seemed to satisfy her, for the time being. I knew she’d have another question soon. Fast thinker, she was.

Another thing I couldn’t tell Cecilia about was my side of the war. I couldn’t tell her about the draft, how many people had come to the war grudgingly, and didn’t make it to the other side. They didn’t have the will to make it through the war. They were too hopeful. They always said “we’ll be out by Christmas,” and by the time christmas came around, they were still there in the trenches. At some point, every one of them just gave up. They saw the enemy coming, and the routine made them lose the will to survive.

“Fire!” Our sergeant yelled, and with this command was the sound of inhumanity. The ground shook beneath us, as if appalled by our actions. This command lasted for 15 seconds, ending with a cloud of smoke. I could feel my breath. Then, the sound of a firework. Ah, yes, the star spangled banner! We were back home! I now felt the american soil in my hands, how for granted I had taken it all these years! The fireworks were a bright red, such a beautiful red, stunningly vibra-

“Get down!” Bellowed the sergeant, and that was the last thing I heard. I woke up with a ringing in my ears, with a nurse trying to talk to me, her apron covered in blood. I ask, “What happened to the soil?..” as I looked at my hand, and instead of soil I saw another hand grasping it, and couldn’t tell if the limb was connected to a person at all. I slipped back into unconsciousness.

“..Father?” Cecilia asked. I had trailed off after mentioning Rand, and been staring towards my room.
“Sorry, love. Where was I?”
“The part about the lady.”
“Ah, yes. Right then.
Stanley had watched this lady go, and immediately knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to find something as beautiful as her.”
“Does he?”
“Patience, child, Patience.

When Sunday came along, Stanley sat at the exact same bistro, at the exact same time, waiting for the exact same woman. As luck would have it, he saw her, this time not in a suit, but in a yellow skirt and heels, carrying a purse that was stuffed to the brim. Stanley walked over to her, being careful not to put his cane in any of the muck on the street.
“Hi, remember me?” He asked, and her face in a way he hadn’t seen in a very long time. It was his last christmas at home, and her face shone in the same light as the angel on the top. This angel seemed so far away to him then, and now it seemed as if it had never been as far away as he thought.
“Yes, Indeed I do.” She said. “Thank you for helping me yesterday, i’m sorry I never thanked you.”
“No need. Would you like to go for coffee sometime?”
And within the year, they had married.

“Now Cecilia, you learn an awful lot about someone in a year, both good and bad. You learn how they like their coffee, what their favorite constellation is, and when they need to spend time alone. This doesn’t seem all important at first, but it all adds up. The most important thing, however, is learning what their passion is.”

Busy’s first passion had been running. As mentioned before, she had injured her leg in high school, in a freak accident during PE class. Her track career had subsequently been ruined, yet despite her business job, she had always wanted to run again. Her busy job wasn’t holding her back. Her fear of fully accomplishing something was. Busy spent so long trying to climb to the top of the corporate ladder, she didn’t know what she would do if given the chance.

“Let’s skip forward, darling. It’s an awful long story, and we’ll get to it eventually, but not tonight. This is the story of how Busy conquered her fears.” I saw my wife give us a glance and a smile, and retreated back to our bedroom. 

Busy one day decided to train for her marathon again. One could argue it was because of her one legged husband, but really, it was her own willpower. She would have decided to train eventually. We all have a certain fate, some people just help you reach it faster than others.

Training was more difficult than she anticipated. Her leg had never quite healed properly, and landing on it resulted in a stiff pain near her hip. In support, Stanley had started to go running with her. Not to say he could properly run. He hobbled along side, taking shortcuts to catch up, like an emphatic coach on the sidelines of a football game. Finally, the marathon day came.

Busy had arrived late to the marathon, and received a spot rather far back. It didn’t matter. She was running again. The gun sounded. Yes, she was running again! the leg injury, the college boyfriends, the businessmen who knew she was better than them, none of it mattered. She was running freely, her own will power carrying her with every step.

At length, the marathon was coming to a close. Busy had found her place, surprisingly, among the top 10, heading into the last mile. She pushed along, closing in on the finish line. 7th place. 6th place. The runners ahead of her were in a deadlock heat. She attempted to pass, giving the extra push she had been saving for the finish line, and then heard a pop. Sh fell down, narrowly being trampled on by the 6th and 7th place runners. Stanley had been near the finish line, but had seen her go down, half a mile away. Stanley rushed to her assistance. Instead of pulling her aside, he pulled her up, and held on to her by the hips. He started walking forward. She gave a quizzical look, and then continued with him. There they walked, 2 good legs between them, the last half mile.