"Why, Whittaker?" she whispered as she laid the rose on the mound of dirt. "Why'd you do it?" She felt the tears sting her eyes. Mark Whittaker, member of the 23rd Airborne. He was her training partner, pairing himself with her from the first day. He had said she had honest eyes. And she was wearing sunglasses. He had always made her laugh, had always found a way to make her smile. In class, a tiny paper airplane would sail onto her desk from across the room. She'd open it and inside would be a sketch of her, looking goofy, or a cartoon of the teacher. It had been all she could do not to laugh out loud. When she would look over, he would wink at her, then turn back to the front.
"Damn it, Whittaker," she cursed him, her voice breaking. She buried her face in her hands and just cried, sobbing violently as her entire body shook. "You should have left me behind! You shouldn't have followed me. You shouldn't have came in after me! You shouldn't have..." she started to go on, gasping when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The wind had started to softly blow and though it was midsummer, she felt a chill on her skin. What she saw didn't frighten her, it didn't cause her to scream. It only broke her heart all over again. The rational part of her brain couldn't believe what she saw. It wasn't possible. But the spiritual side of her, the side that truly believed, never questioned it.
"Mark..." she whispered and yet another tear fell down her cheek as she saw him smile. He was dressed in his formal uniform, the white, crisp suit and hat. His medals and buttons adjusted just so. He had always been so particular. She had loved that about him.
"Hello, Jess," he said. She saw his mouth move, and then later, she heard the words, as if they had to catch up, as if they had been spoken from so far away.
She was speechless as he kneeled before her, fading in and out, like a television with bad reception. When he put his hands on her shoulders, making her look him in the eyes, she could hardly feel the weight of them, but just the same, she knew they were there. He was there.
"Mark, I..." she started to say, but saw him shake his head. And she was silenced. She heard a voice, soft in her mind, whispered. He looked into her eyes.
"Don't say you're sorry...I'd swore I'd give my life for you and I died in the perfect place, in your arms. It wasn't how I imagined, but God did answer my prayers. I asked him, from the day I met you, to let me win your heart and to let me die in your arms. And He did, Jess. My only regret is not telling you when I had the chance to change it all. I should have told you, should have made you listen to me. I played the best friend and I loved it, but Jess...I never wanted that to be it. I loved, love you...And I will forever."
She just stared at him then reached up, her hand brushing against his cheek. "You should have told me," she finally whispered, hating it. "I love you, Mark..."
The anger began to rise within her, of a true love denied as she looked down, tears flooding her eyes again. She felt fingers under her chin and he was lifting her head once again. "I always hated when you looked away....Don't do this, Jess...Don't be angry or hurt or bitter. Some things just aren't meant to be."
She saw him fading and grabbed his hands, trying to hold onto him. He couldn't leave her, just like that. She had so much to say to him. She couldn't lose him again.
"No..." she whispered, shaking her head adamantly. "Don't...Stay..."
"I don't belong to this world anymore," he told her, brushing her hair out of her eyes like he had always done. She choked at the gesture. "I'll always watch over you, Jess...I'll be in every cloud you see and every star you wish on. Don't forget me..."
And then he was gone. The wind died down and the summer sun beat down on her skin. She could feel the heat, but then, a soft breeze blew, tousling her hair.
"Love me...." was the voice on the wind.
"I always will," she whispered and placed a single kiss to the cold marble marker. "Always, Mark..."