Apollo's Rebellion

The soft whistle of a bird echoed throughout the garden. A delicate hand trembled as it placed the needle on the record. Low music started to blare from the gramophone. A small wrought iron table stood on the patio floor, there were two chairs, but only one was pulled out. Atop the table sat a tray of exquisite china with a pink flower pattern. The garden seemed to be at peace.

A small woman of about forty gently placed her book on the table and sat down. Although she was young of age, her face looked as if it was twenty years her senior. Her arms trembled as she lowered herself into the chair. She poured herself a cup of tea and observed as two sparrows played together on her well manicured lawn. They, somehow, made her think of James.

Suddenly, she heard a crunching noise on the gravel path, small stones moving for hard, black boots. She looked up and there he was, James, as handsome as the day he had left. He was still in his army uniform, his dark brown hair brushed back, his hat in his hands. He looked at her and a smile started to grow. She immediately got up from her chair and embraced him.

“James,” she said as she buried her face in his chest. “You were gone for eighteen years.” He held her closer and kissed her forehead.

“Jenny, I’m so happy to be back,” he looked her dead in the eye and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

Jenny poured him a cup of tea and they sat on either side of the table, facing out into the garden. The music from the gramophone still blared.

“It was 1940 when you left, it’s 1958 now,” she said, almost childlike. “The war ended in 1945, where were you?” He didn’t answer, he just looked out into the garden with his cup hovering in front of his mouth, deep in thought. The song on the record changed and his lips lifted up into a smile.

“Do remember this?” he asked placing his cup onto the saucer. “Our first date.” He got up from the chair and stood in front of her, his left arm extended towards her, the other tucked behind his back. She smiled jovially and grabbed his hand. James pulled her closer towards him and they started to sway in the breeze.

All the memories started to flood back to her. They had met at a party in 1937, he called her Jen and, in turn, she called him Jimmy. He asked her to dance and she agreed, albeit with a little bit of reluctance, but James didn’t care. Something told her that he had fallen for her the moment his grey eyes had spotted her from across the room. Six months later he proposed to her and, a year after they had met, they were happily married. Then, in 1939, Hitler’s reign began to take its toll on the world. The war had started and Britain was looking for soldiers. A later, in 1940, James was commissioned to join the army, and Jenny had to send her twenty-five year old husband out to fight in the war.  She started to suffer from insomnia and spent many restless nights staring at her ceiling hoping that he would return to her. Before she could even realise it, the tears started to roll down her cheeks. It was like this for nine months, and then the telegram came in the post...

Jenny would never forget the day she had received that telegram. It started out like any other day, slightly warm, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The words on the page were like daggers to her heart, each one drawing more and more blood. “Dear Mrs Lee…we regret to…husband, James Lee,…died in action…one of the noblest soldiers…”

Suddenly, she let go of all her thoughts and she was back in James’s muscular arms. “You’re dead,” she whispered struggling to hold back the tears. He tucked away a lock of her hair and solemnly smiles at her. Her warm, salty tears blurred her vision and, when they were finally flowing down her cheeks, James was gone. She stood alone in her tiny garden, weeping to herself, her entire body heaving with every sob. She reached out her hand to the place where James was standing, but he was already gone. His ghost carried away by the wind.