Nothing was said. Not a word.
Drops of salty water fell down his cheeks and found his lips.
Poor Daniel. If only he'd known. He remembered everything.
-
"Daddy," A two year old Daniel said, showing his dad a white rose.
"What, Dans? What's that?" He said, picking his little boy up.
"Happy mother's day!" said Daniel.
His father let out a loud laugh and smiled. His smile was good. It was like the sun. A beautiful little world, in that one smile.
"I think that's for your momma, Dans. Did you get it from the garden?" The smile asked.
The smile.
Say goodbye, Daniel. Say goodbye to your father's smile. But you don't. Because you don't know.
Not yet.
-
A white rose.
Daniel clutches it now. He won't let it go. His mother is weeping. "Put it down, Dans," she says.
He can't find words. He's squeezing it. He's bleeding. The thorns. They're cutting him. He squeezes harder. He doesn't feel it, but blood drips onto the gray stone below his hands.
"No." He says to his mother, but he drops the white flower anyways, furiously trying to rub the blood off the stone, but the result is a gray stone turned red.
"Sorry," he says.
More memories.
-
A seven year old Daniel kicked the soccer ball hard. It missed the net by a good three feet. He grunted in disgust and flopped down on the grass.
"Maybe soccer's just not your sport, son." His father said as he came up to him.
Daniel furiously fought back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "I don't want to let you down, though, dad."
"You could never, ever let me down, Dans." His father said. His eyes told the story. He was proud of this boy. He loved him. His eyes were the sea. Green and blue and loving. He won't forget the eyes.
'I love you' they said.
The eyes.
Say goodbye to his eyes, Daniel. But you don't, because you don't know.
Not yet.
-
A red stone. Not gray anymore. It says something. There are stones all around. Then it hits Daniel hard in the face. This is really happening. He screams in agony. "No!" He says, and sobs uncontrollably.
He remembers.
-
Daniel has turned thirteen. He blew out the candles and sat quietly in his chair. His mother was trying hard to smile. He doesn't even try. His friends were there, smiling, laughing, and marveling at his gifts. Daniel stood up as his cellphone rang. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back," he said excitedly.
He picked it up as he walked into the hall.
"Hello?" He said shakily.
"Hey, Daniel." A warm voice replied. The voice was food. Daniel drank it in. He needed it to survive, but he was sad. Boys express their sadness with anger.
"Hey, dad. When are you coming home?" He said, his voice with an edge.
"I don't know son. Soon. Maybe in a month, okay?"
"A month? You should be home. Right now." He was definitely starting to let his temper go. "You know, I thought that you were the best dad. But all my friends's dads were home on THEIR birthdays. But guess what. You weren't, dad. I hoped, and you just 'couldn't make it.' Whatever." He started to cry.
"I'm trying, son." His father said sadly. "I wanted to, but you know I can't." The voice fed him, nurturing Daniel's sadness.
"I'm sorry, dad. I….I shouldn't have….I….I just miss you so much." he said between sobs.
"I miss you too, son. I love you so much."
"I love you too, daddy."
"I have to go. Never forget how much I love you and miss you. I'm trying, okay?" The voice.
Say goodbye to it. You don't, though. But you prepare for the worst.
After all, your father is in the military.
He was drafted two months ago.
-
The stone says:

Bryan Faulkner
July 21, 1976 - December 15, 2013

'Hey,' Daniel's mind says. 'Your last name is Faulkner.'
"Come on, Dans. Let's go home." His mom says.
"No." He clenches his fists. "Why didn't you save him?" He says to the uniforms standing across from him in the grass, tears streaming.
His father wore one of those uniforms. These were his friends. Why didn't they save him? They could've done something….they could've taken his father away from the stupid bomb.
Daniel looks at the uniforms. He looks at the mechanical leg that is attached to a man. Then there's one in a wheelchair. One with a bandaged arm and a neck brace. One man has a shriveled arm, and another has an eyepatch and crutches.
'They were hurt, too,' Daniel's mind says. But he doesn't care.
He remembers.
-
Daniel ran to the door when the doorbell rang. "Dad!!" He screamed. He flung it open and flew into his father's arms.
"Hey, son," his father said, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
The smile, the eyes, the voice. All together.
Daniel felt his father's crisp uniform and frowned. "Stay here, dad. Stay here forever, okay?"
"Okay. Not forever. I wish. Just for now." The tired man smiled and put his arm around his son's shoulder.
"Lets go fishing, dad," Daniel said, happy for once. He'd be turning fourteen in two days. His dad had been home only seven times since his thirteenth birthday. He missed him a lot. "I started soccer. I'm actually pretty good, now." Daniel said as his father embraced his mother. Daniel is happy.
Happy.
-
Daniel's mother pulls on his arm. "We've been here over an hour, now come on, Daniel!" She's crying. "I can't bear it anymore!"
Daniel picks up the rose. A drop of blood splashes onto the white flower.
He ignores his mother and rolls the rose between his fingers, feeling the thorns prick him again.
He is fourteen. He knew that it wasn't his father walking toward that door. It was too early.
-
Daniel woke sleepily to hear his mother walking down the hall. He walked out of his room and trailed behind her. It was three in the morning, and his mother had a shotgun on her arm.
Someone was at the door.
Daniel scratched his head and saw a uniform through the glass. A military uniform.
"It's dad!" He said excitedly.
His mom dropped the gun and flung the door open.
Daniel saw two uniforms. Wrinkled, dirty uniforms. An arm in a cast. A man with crutches.
What?
He looked at the faces. Cuts and scrapes covered each….
But neither man was his father.
He had known it was too early, his father had left just three weeks ago after his fourteenth birthday….no. No, no, no.
"What do you want?" He said, careful.
"Well….there was a bomb," said one. "Your father was too close….he lost a leg…."
"So he's coming home soon?" Daniel interrupted, testing them.
"….No." Said the other one.
Daniel was confused. But then it registered.
His father was dead.
The men said other things, and soon his mother was crying. He couldn't understand their words. The world was spinning. Faster, faster.
"Bring him home soon…" Daniel managed to get out. "We're going to go fishing." He concluded.
"Son," one started. "Your father…he's dead, kid. He bled to death before we could get him to a hospital. I'm sorry."
"Don't…" said Daniel, bile coming up in his throat. "Don't lie. He's alive. You're a liar."
"No, kid. He's gone," said the soldier.
"Stop…stop saying that! You're lying. He's lying, right mom?" he said, looking at her.
She shook her head and collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Daniel felt tears streaming, and then he walked around in circles. "Dad!" he called. "Dad, come tell them to go away. They're just lying, huh? That's dumb."
Daniel knew they weren't lying, because his dad didn't answer.
He whirled around. "Not MY dad. Maybe someone else's, but not mine." he said.
"Your dad, yes. He was a good man."
"Shut up," said Daniel.
He backed away, tripping in the process. He ran to his room, flinging himself on his bed, sobbing.
They WERE going to go fishing. They WERE going to go to the movies. They WERE going to play soccer. His father was going to help him through high school and help him go to college. That was all gone.
He missed the smile, and the eyes, and the voice. He just missed his father. he wanted him back. And no matter how hard he tried, no amount of wishing would give him that treasure back.
-
Daniel neatly places the rose on his father's grave plot.
"I love you dad," he says, with fresh tears.
He takes his mother's hand and walks her home.
Though he's leaving his father's body behind, he knows that his dad is far ahead of him in a better place. In heaven.