Palpable Perceptions: Positive or Pessimistic?

She feels she has lost everything. It's been three years since her husband left. He walked out the door without looking back, leaving bitter words hanging in the stagnant air of loneliness, and what's worse, he took everything but the furniture. He left her with the furniture. What's a chair without the matching painting? A grandfather clock without the accompanying oriental rug? What used to be their home has since become a shell of her house. Three years it has been, and she has clung to the things he left behind as reminders of a love that once was.

Recently her employer told her she was no longer a necessary asset to the company. Granted, she didn't enjoy her job, but everyday she had been faithful to it, as she had been to her husband. Yet it, too, had betrayed her. 4 more weeks would she have an occupation, a paycheck, an excuse to get out of bed in the morning and face the day. 4 more weeks of dreading the sedentary day, but dreading more the quiet, empty nights in the shell of her house.

Her children would rather be with their father, that's obvious enough. Two of them are grown already, and refuse to come home for holidays. She still decorates the tree every Christmas with their traditional ornaments, bits of memories from the good times, in hopes that one or four of them will drop in to visit. She feels fully and utterly alone in an infinitely cruel world. The bank is threatening to take her home, since she has had a hard time keeping up with the payments after he turned his back. She has sold everything she could without making a visible dent in how she was living. She still eats on the fine china, although she disagrees with the blue swirly pattern slightly, and sips from their crystal wine glasses (a wedding gift) nightly. She and her husband had known the mortgage would be a challenge for the two of them, but when it became just one, it was simply impossible. Three years of defaults. Three years of scrambling to stay above water. Three years of misery, and she would soon have absolutely nothing to show for it.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~~
He woke up this morning to the crisp fresh air of another Christmas morning with nature. His breath formed small puffs of steam in the chill as he yawned, quietly taking in the soft pastels of an infinite sky moments before sunrise. To him there was nothing like seeing the first rays of light peeking over the sharp silhouette of a distant snow capped mountain, and he waited with the anticipation of a child listening for the click clack of reindeer hooves on the roof Christmas eve. This was his reminder that there was a world out there yet to be explored, enjoyed, and that he would be free again soon enough.

He scanned the rest of the hilltop, as he quickly thought through past Christmas celebrations he'd enjoyed. Scenes scrolled through his memory, all of them focusing on smiles of loved ones, moments by the fire, the beauty of being alive and comfortable. Back in the world of reality everyone was still sleeping soundly, save the four who were scanning the surrounding valley for any movement through their scopes. He glanced at his bag, black on immaculate white; a stark contrast.

He blinked away yesterday. He had seen the eyes of a man, full of hatred, full of murderous intent. A man at the far end of an AK-47, dressed in black, with an equally black, stony gaze. Half of the man's tight expression had been hidden by an apple tree, but he saw enough. The muzzle flashed, and in a moment he was in a river bed, screaming to his brothers around him, ensuring everyone was responsive; returning fire. They had made it up the hill, the one from which he was enjoying the quiet moments of predawn light, and only then had he realized how close he had been to not being around another day.

In his bag, there had been a plastic bottle of mango iced tea, a few choice bits of MRE, changes of socks, and a sleeping bag. Tied to the outside had been two mortars. Tired from the excitement of the day, he reached into his bag, only to realize his iced tea had spilled on everything. Pulling it out, to inspect the carnage, time stood still for a moment. There were three holes in the bottle. Upon closer inspection, he realized there were also six holes in the bag. The mortars escaped unscathed and so had he.

That was yesterday. Today if the snow holds off there would be an air extraction, and he would be able to get a shower and hot soup. He smiled thinking of a cozy night in his warm tent. The first rays of light crawled over the jagged peak, and touched his face. A gentle, warm caress in a bitter cold. This morning he was alive and being warmed by the sun's first light. Life is a gift.

The snow stayed at bay long enough for him and his team to get lifted from the landing zone they set up in a nearby clearing that afternoon. He returned to the Forward Operating Base, hungry and exhausted from the firefights and ground they had been covering over the course of the week. Upon entering the chow hall, he was greeted with the sign, "Well come to Christmas!" He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Far from everything, disconnected from home, alone in Afghanistan, and laughing. Life is good.

As the evening wore on, he decided to get into line to use the computers for his allotted half hour. He wrote his mom as often as possible to let her know he was OK. After an hour wait, he finally got to the computer. The homepage took a full 90 seconds to load, and he sighed as he worked his way to Facebook and GMail simultaneously in different tabs. By the time both had loaded and he was ready to begin communicating, he had 22 minutes remaining.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
She had written him an email on Facebook. They had been friends for years, since high school. The bank was threatening to take her home, her things, what she thought of as her livelihood, and she was threatening to take her life. She believed God had taken everything from her, and she saw nothing but dark. No light. No exit, just the darkness of a perpetual tunnel with round disorienting walls.

She, in her warm three bedroom house, decorated with Christmas ornaments, was emailing him from Florida. He, who had just almost died, ate dry turkey on a bench in a tent, and wanted only to curl up by a fireplace with his dog anywhere, just received an email from her. He stared blankly at the screen in disbelief. There is so much good in the world. He knew it existed. He even knew that underneath the hateful facade of the man in black, there was a loving son, brother, or father. There is so much for which to live, but how could he explain this to a woman who couldn't see it through the thick veil of her own tragic portrayal of self?

She was torn apart by an obsession with a man who hadn't wanted her for the last three years. She had pushed away her children because they reminded her of him, and was now losing everything she held dear to her. Her house, her furniture, her car, her status. He didn't understand how she couldn't see this as an opportunity for growth. He began to respond to her email, trying to explain to her that change is not a detriment, but an opportunity for growth. He alluded to self worth, and acknowledgement of such. When you know what you are worth, your need to try to convince others of it fades. If he doesn't appreciate you, you can do it better yourself. Love yourself, people are drawn in by that love. You do not need a fancy car or a big house with nice things to convince people how great you are. Your soul shines through your eyes, your smile, your actions, and in this world, the people worth being in your life see those signs as clear as day.

He was concluding the email, expounding upon her positive qualities, reminding her of her kindness, her intelligence, her ability to love, when the moderator made an announcement.

"Commo blackout, guys. Sorry. Say goodbye and shut it down," bellowed the young soldier. He froze, with his finger poised above the mouse, ready to send the email. How horrible to lose somebody on Christmas. Never is there a good day, but on Christmas...It broke his heart. He changed his mind and added another thought before hitting send: Tomorrow's not guaranteed, my love. Live this moment as well as you can. It will get better. I have to go, there is a commo blackout. He knew she would understand what that meant. The family of the soldier who had been killed would have to be notified before he would be allowed communication with the outside world again. They would get visited this Christmas not by the jolly fat man in the red suit, but by two somber men in immaculate blue and brass.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
She received his reply the next morning when she ambled from the bed to the computer to seek empathy or even just some sympathy on Facebook. She read his mail, and suddenly felt foolish. She began to sob, asking herself why she had been so blind. He was her best friend, and separated from his family constantly. He lived in a tent, and looked forward to nights that weren't spent in a sleeping bag on the side of a desolate mountain. She looked at her California king Temperpedic mattress, framed by her cherry oak headboard, and decided to retake control of her life. If the bank wanted the house, they could have it. She chose that moment not only not to take her life, but to truly live from that day forward. She would sell those things she had clung to as lifelines but actually held no value in her life. She would take off her wedding band and would not allow the bitter words she had tasted in his departure to remain in the stagnant air of loneliness one more day. She would make loneliness her home, embrace it, and get to know herself once again.

She decided to get out and job search, but this time, she would only do a job she enjoyed, even if it meant a pay cut. She would strip her closet of the endless throngs of stilettos, slingbacks, and clogs, and replace them with satisfaction in her naked self. This would be the first day, the first step of a journey to self love. She responded to him in an email saying such. He was her angel. He opened her eyes to the world, and she was eternally happy to have a friend like him in her life.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
The afternoon of the 26th, the blackout was lifted, and Morale Welfare and Recreation room was unlocked. He entered to check his email once again, and write to his mother, who was probably beside herself with worry by now. He received his friend's response, and relieved, couldn't help but smile yet again. Hers was a soul too bright to be dimmed by the cruelties of accumulation, and the worship of inanimate objects. He closed his eyes, seeing clearly his mother's loving expression, hearing her light laughter, and for a moment, he was back in her warm home, enjoying a cup of chai by her side with a movie playing and the fireplace roaring.

He opened his eyes, wet with memories, and began his email to his mom: Hi, mom. I love you. I'm one day closer to coming home today. Merry Christmas.