Lucy And AnnMarie

The room was quiet. There was none of the buzz nor lively rhythmn that is so characteristic of most Operations Rooms, the heart of every army camp. We sat silently in a circle, the rain swallowing us from outside, drowning out all sound with its monotonous, incessant beat. Though nothing was said, you could sense immediately that this wasn't a group of people just sitting around bathed in gloominess, but a group of people waiting for something, and waiting very, very anxiously.

And then the door burst open, with a clap of thunder right on cue. The weary stranger, looking tired and gaunt, out of place with his strange out-landish clothes, grit his teeth and said,

"I am here. For I am the Photocopier Man."

Life throbbed hard in the Operations Room, once those words sliced through the immense suspense. The elders hopped out of their chairs, guiding The One to Lucy. I held the hands of those around me, mouth agape, unable to believe that the time had finally come. The expressions we wore then reflected the relief and hope that had been born anew, which like twin shining beacons had already driven off the darkness of the past month. The young ones ran around and played again, freed of an oppressive silence they didn't understand. All eyes were on The One.

He placed his strange, magical bag on the ground beside him, took Lucy in his arms and took a good long look. Finally, he grimly muttered, "Looks bad, but I should be able to do something for her." Our relief was then complete, for finally, eventually, Lucy would return to the folds of the living.

And as The One began his healing, I was probably the only person in the gathering crowd that was fearful, uneasy. A dark secret, nested in me, burned painfully inside. I know other people would understand, but would Lucy? If I told her that I am a man, I too have my needs, would she forgive me when I explained how AnnMarie had come into my life during the dark month that she was gone?

I caught myself thinking these dangerous thoughts, and chuckled quietly. As long as Lucy was well again, as long as she could live and breathe freely again, what did it matter, whether she still wanted me? What did it matter that I would never be able to see her again, cherish her the exact same way, if she was happy?

Unnoticed, I walked to the door and slipped out. As I walked away I could hear the chorus of cheers and jubilation from behind the closed door, and I could somehow feel Lucy again, almost as if the bond was still there. But time rolls on, and my time with her was over.

Oh, Lucy. If only you knew.