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Those that know me are aware that Mothers’ Day, along with another, are the hardest days of the year for me—especially this year. I’ve written some very sad things about this day, how it affects me, the loss, the pain, the moments when I … want to know … but I’ll never really know. The thing is, however, the reality doesn’t have to be the story. I can try to tell a story in which there are moments which aren’t so sad, so painful to remember. I can try to express them and …

 

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By TeraS

 

A long time ago, well before Tera came to be, long before there was a pair of so-green eyes, a red tail, and horns, and that bemused smile she always has …

… there was another who had much of the same.

A long time ago, well before Keith came to be, long before there was a pair of deep blue eyes, a red tail, and horns, and that particular chuckle he has …

… there was another who had much of the same.

The two were from completely different worlds. Their backgrounds, family, nothing about them crossed over, save for one singular point in time and space: their friendship—but that’s another story of another time and place.

One was blonde, with the most interesting smile. The other was brunette, with the tendency to keep twirling a finger in her hair as she mused.

The blonde was reading, as she was wont to do, and just enjoying this moment in time. The brunette, also on the park bench, was less interested in the book, more in the cup of tea she was holding.

Taking a sip of the tea, the brunette mused to herself: “So, tell me. Have you thought about what your kids will be like?”

“Sometimes. What makes you ask, anyway?”

Looking at her tea, she shrugged: “Just was thinking today about what it would be like. What they’d be like.”

“And?”

She continued to sip at her tea: “Well, I think I’ll have to read the leaves and see what the future holds.”

The reply began with the rolling of eyes: “You know, you love being mysterious. You pop up when I least expect it …”

“Oh come on, you love it when I do that.”

“I still want to know how you keep managing it.”

The answer was a zipping of lips and a bemused smile.

“Fine … I still think you’re studying to be a magician or something. I mean, you’ve never really said what your major is, or what your classes are over in that college of yours.”

“Same thing as in yours: teachers giving us dirty looks while we look innocent.”

“You have never been innocent.”

Another sip of tea: “Well, I can fake it well.”

Turning the page, she continued to read and her companion on the bench continued to sip at her tea.

“I’d like a daughter.”

“You’d make a great mom.”

“Not half as good as you.”

A bit of laughter: “Oh, I’ll be terrible. I’m … well, let’s call it overbearing.”

“Remind you of anyone?”

The closing of the book was accompanied with: “You’re strong-willed. That means your daughter will be a huge pain in your ass. I’ll bet you’re looking forwards to years of chasing the boys away from her.”

“I have my ways to be sure they’ll … behave around her.”

“You’re talking about that pitchfork from the family farm, aren’t you?”

The laughter was telling, more so when the two shared a hug and didn’t manage to spill the tea.

“What about you?”

“A boy; actually, I’d like a few of them. A daughter would be nice too.”

“But?”

“You know, you really have to stop that. How is it that you know there’s something else to be said, anyway?”

More tea sipped: “I know you.”

“And I know you, too.”

Shrugging, the reader admitted: “It’s unlikely I’ll ever have a son or daughter. The doctors tell me it’s impossible. It’s a dream, that’s all. But who knows? A mouse might run over the bedsheets, scare me, and something might happen.”

The one sipping the tea regarded her for a long time: “Or … something.”

“There you go again, all mysterious and oogie boogie and stuff. You aren’t going to get me to go to one of those wild parties, missy.”

“I’m shocked! I would never make you wedge yourself into a pair of hot pants and spend an evening at the coffee house listening to poets that are trying to get into your pants.” She took another sip, then added: “Besides, you do that on your own. I have absolutely no influence on you.” She almost lost her hold on the styrofoam cup when the book was slapped against her shoulder.

“You are so full of it.”

Rubbing her shoulder, she sighed: “Oh … probably. Still, what’s the harm in trying?”

“Trying what?”

She put the cup down: “The doctors aren’t always right. They don’t know everything. It’s your life. You want kids? Then keep trying.”

“Sure. And sometime the stars will align, the impossible will happen.”

“They just might, you know.”

Changing the subject, the brunette asked: “Have you thought of a name for her?”

“Tera.”

“I like. She’ll be something special.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not going to …”

“You are. What’s the name of your first son going to be?”

“I … I’ve always liked ‘Keith.’ Seems like a good name.”

“He’s your son. It will be.”

“Huh?”

A wave of a hand before it picked up the cup again and she looked inside: “You’ll have a kid. Probably a few of them. You’ll see them grow up, raise families, and make you proud of them.”

“And you?”

She took a longer look: “The leaves say I’ll know her, love her, and be with her always.”

“They don’t say that! You’re making that up.”

“No, really they do say that.”

“Let me see.”

She handed the cup over and the brunette looked at the bottom of the cup.

“All I see is a mishmash of leaves and the dregs of tea into which you have put far too much sugar again, you dummy.”

“I happen to like sugar … a lot of it.”

Musing, she answered: “Too much of it.”

“So, what do you see?”

Swirling the cup around a bit, there was no answer for a time.

“Well?”

“I see a raven-haired girl who likes red. I see a cute looking brunette guy with her. I see the two of them in love, holding onto what their mothers taught them.”

“Sounds … nice.”

“It does.”

The cup was placed to the side.

“’Tera,’ huh?”

“Yep. ‘Keith,’ huh?”

“Uh-huh. You never know what can happen.”

“No. Really, you can’t.”

The brunette picked up her book and stood up: “Same time tomorrow? I have a class to get to.”

The blonde did, as well: “Sure. You have a good day and I’ll call you later.”

From far away, someone watching would see two teenagers embrace then go off in opposite directions. If the light was just right, one might see the brunette being followed by three small sparkles of light. If the light was just right, one might see the blonde being followed by one small sparkle of light as well.

The moment shared, the future to become, and the joy therein shared.

The future still to be.