The Nest

We never expected it to be like this. On the day of Edgar's death, when they came to our doorstep and gave us the news, the sun rays were shining like diamonds in Frank's den. The sky outside was a brilliant blue and Charlotte prayed a quiet, tender Hail Mary as tears, like a river, fell down her rosy cheeks. The birds were chirping in that cliché laissez-faire fashion that sometimes would drive us nuts when we were trying to sleep.

But Edgar always liked the sound of the little ones chirping in their nest. When he was a boy, he would press his nose against the window and stare at the nest from one of the bigger shrubs outside the window of our receiving room. When we heard the news of his death, our hearts shattered like the vase that fell, turning into a million shards on the floor of our den. The house was silent without him. The sky, though painted such a beautiful cerulean, was nothing without him. Without his presence in our lives.

Frank, always being a man of resolute character, did not show a shred of emotion that day. We always joked about it, That one day, when he would marry, that he would not even show a single hint of joy for the woman that was to be his. Even Edgar joked about it too from time to time. But God, the pain of thinking of Edgar and all of the jokes he used to make, from the jokes of weather to the joke about the old man who lived down the street from us in his little shack. It was so much to bear.

We always thought that Edgar would be the one to outlive us all, with his vigor for life and his never give up attitude. But we supposed that, in the end, it was his fiery passion for his country that led him to his death. Charlotte said that it was all for good in the end, that his death a war hero, meant that we would get a medal of honor for his death. That his death was not for absolutely nothing.

We walked down the path that led to the grotto, the one that mama and papa discovered when they first built on the estate. We could feel his presence there strongly, as if he were walking down the natural trail with us, taking in the smell of growing jasmine. Of petrichor just as soon as the rain began to fall. We had tears in our eyes as we slowly made our pilgrimage to the grotto, hoping beyond hope that we would find Edgar there, greeting us with that excitement in his eyes. The passion that could not be contained.