The Yes Stone

I laid on top of my bed, replaying the train station good-bye over and over in my head. It had been a month since he left. He was probably through basic training and beginning his specialization. I rolled over and reached under the bed to pull out a box of mementos.

We had spent one lazy summer day at the lake. We skipped stones as the sun set and watched the ripples distort the orange reflection. That was the evening the flaming spaceship crashed beyond the water.

I'd grabbed his arm and cowered in fear. Flaming debris began to fall into the lake. I was too scared to move. He took me by the shoulders and made me look into his eyes. "Do you trust me?" I'd said, "Yes." He took my hand and we ran.

It was after that night that he'd vowed to join the army. He'd given me a smooth stone, told me it was a worry stone and to rub it with my thumb when I was scared or nervous and he wasn't around for me to talk to.

I put the stone in my pocket, warm with my touch. Neither time nor space could keep us apart.