He had the soul of an old man. His scowl caused him to look old as centuries.
But when he smiled, oh how young he was.
She remembered this about him now, while she slowly walked down the path. The little song birds jumped from branch to branch, letting the world know that it was time to be happy; the sun was out. She smiled at the memory she had of him, getting the paper in the morning drinking his coffee. Muttering to himself as he worked the crossword out.
He taught her French, or had tried. She remembered merci and that was about it. She would ask him of how it was there, in France and his eyes would age as he would tell stories from a different time. A time of heroes. A time when a boy could look up to a man and believe in that man enough to grow up like him. A time when to be a leader was to serve. A time of gentlemen bowing and women had doors opened before them. A time of chivalry, a time of conduct.
She smiled. He still treated her like a princess, but she knew better. The world had told her she wasn’t. She was just another. So she smiled when he made her tea and touched her shoulder. She closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead, and when he scrounged enough money together to take them out she held her head up high and put her arm in his.
But she knew better. In a world of twenty four hour news networks, weekly reality shows, five minute fame lunatics, and such a time of trouble, she was never to be a princess and he was never to be a prince. She told him that she suspected he knew this and that was why he resembled an old man sometimes. It was as if the world had killed romance.
No, he would say quickly, Nicholas Sparks did that. Then he would burst out laughing and she knew he couldn’t be taken seriously for the rest of the night.
He worked much and made little money, but it didn’t seem to bother him as it had her. He had come from a poor family; she came from a better bred one. So it would keep her up at night. He would roll over and look at her as she stared into the pages of a book she wasn’t reading. Don’t you worry, he’d say, we’ll make it. We always do.
After, he would kiss her head and sleep like a baby. Damn him for sleeping so easily.
She loved him more dearly than she cared to tell others. For one thing, it was none of their business for another, it scared her. She hadn’t loved before and this hurt sometimes and made things more difficult. After a while the poor was too much and she left him. There was just too many times when she was worried for money and he didn’t have an answer except that they’d make it. It wasn’t enough.
She told herself it wouldn’t be forever, just long enough that one of them would make money then they could live together but it was just too hard right now and he didn’t need her like he thought he did why would he? She didn’t think he did but she kissed him goodbye and told him it was only for a little while and that she loved him.
She married a different man a year later. He was a lawyer and had dinner parties where adults would drink and be civil until they were inebriated and not. It bored her. But it was safe and she never worried where the next meal would come from. Still sometimes she thought of her poor prince and how he would never be. She had a child a year after that.
Her second child would be her last. Her husband was graying and fat. He told her he was tired of trying. She smiled and said yes dear and wished for another time when men were men. They never divorced but she moved into another room and it was safer.
Her children weren’t beautiful but they were normal, they were maybe a little fat but that was to be expected. So she drove them to private school and soccer practice and told her daughter when she grew up she’d be a princess. Her son went to college like his father and studied law. He grew bigger than his father and had his mother’s eyes. Her daughter never quite made it through her teens. She was permanently stuck in this material world of want and shallow. There was nothing to be done. Her daughter graduated from college with a liberal arts degree before marrying some plastic surgeon who was all face and no soul.
She always thought she’d see her old love again someday but she never did. Then a mutual friend sent a letter saying he had died of lung cancer. She cried for a time and felt lonesome longer. She went to the funeral and said goodbye.
She stood at this tombstone now, by the lake in the twilight of the day and her life. It said his name and that God blessed the faithful departed. And she was angry because he wanted to be scattered over the ocean and she remembered him saying that but no one else did. They just walked by pretending to know but they never would and how could they? She was his only.
So she knelt down, and put her hand on his name.
Her tears fell as a damnful rebuke on the world that had killed her prince; her sobs cursed a world that had killed heroes and immortals, men and strength, gods and devils, conduct and romance.
Then she remembered his young smile and his old eyes.
Oh my beautiful Prince, she said, Tell me of France again.
Storied By Josh 