9/13/10

Holding Out For A Hero
By Sarah Ashwood


Stephanie Rawlins had always dreamed of marrying a hero. From childhood, she devoured fairytales featuring bold knights and handsome princes. In junior high her tastes matured: handsome knights gave way to drawling cowboys who shot straight and carried their ladies off into the sunset. Reaching high school, even as “Holding Out For A Hero” became Steph’s personal theme song, disillusionment began to set in.

The medieval ages? Long expired.

The Wild West? Not so wild anymore.

In college, the plethora of losers Steph met convinced her real heroes were a thing of the past.

“Forget about it,” she told herself firmly. “There are no heroes anymore. Not like those of the past. Might as well settle for what you can get.”

What she got was Zak. Little about Zak smacked of precious past ideals, but he was sweet, quietly charming, and head over heels for Steph Rawlins. A few months of marriage, however, were enough to convince Stephanie that Zak was no chivalrous, undercover knight.

In bed, he snored. Loudly.

Home from work, he kicked off shoes and shucked off jacket, leaving them wherever they fell.

The sink stopped up; he didn’t even try to fix it. Just called the plumber instead.

Flat tires Steph had to change—a skill she’d learned from her mechanic father.

“Still, you could’ve done much worse,” her sister consoled.

Steph couldn’t disagree. After all, Zak was no drinker, no wife beater. The man was steady. Dependable. Honest. Nevertheless, in the little girl corner of her heart Steph couldn’t help remembering the princes, the knights, the cowboys of old and half wishing she had held out for a hero…

Three years later, finances tight and no much-wanted baby, their marriage was strained. Zak, deciding they both needed time to think, left, saying he’d return in a year. Steph refused to see him off.

“How can he do this to me?” she raged. “Leave me all alone like this? I don’t care if this new job will pay the bills and give us space. He has no right!”

The following months, Zak wrote. He didn’t say a lot about his doings—unwilling to scare her, she figured. Still, from his mother, from internet headlines and news stories, from newspapers and blogs, she kept abreast of his situation. She missed him, even as her concern for him grew, but was too proud to admit it. Until, that is, an image of Zak popped up on the internet, on television, in the newspapers, in magazines. Dressed in desert camouflage, face bleeding from flying shrapnel, he knelt in a dusty street. His glasses off, his helmet protected the head of the gaunt child he shielded with his own body.

Steph’s heart stopped. That’s—that’s my husband, she thought, mind reeling. My husband. My Zak. Since when did he become…

A hero? So the local and national news services labeled him. For the first time since he left, Steph finally wrote.



Dear Zak,

You make me so proud. Stay safe. Come home soon.

I miss you.

All my heart,

Steph



In fact, wounded in that strategic struggle in foreign streets, Zak was coming home. An excited crowd gathered at the airport to welcome their national hero. Among them was Steph, her mouth dry with anticipation.

But it’s just Zak, she kept thinking, stupefied by the crowd, the hullabaloo. My Zak. Just my Zak.

“Her” Zak was finally wheeled down the ramp. Flashes flared, people cheered. Desperate to see her husband, Steph tried to elbow her way forward. The crowd’s refusal to yield had her panicking, yelling Zak’s name.

Finally, someone saw, recognized her. “It’s his wife, let her through!”

Shockingly, the crowd acquiesced. An avenue opened amid the throng. Faces beamed as Steph raced through, stumbling out to see…

Zak. Pale beneath his tan, clenching his jaw to hide his pain. He wore no armor, no leather, no furs. Just a military uniform, a blanket over his knees. His formerly shaggy hair was cut short and square. His shoulders seemed broader, his carriage more upright, his stare more direct.

Or maybe that was all her imagination. She’d always had a good imagination. Now…well, maybe she didn’t need it anymore. Knights, cowboys, princes? Pshaw, what were they to this? He may not have been six foot six, ridiculously muscular, or carry a glittery sword. He may’ve been just her Zak, but that was it, wasn’t it?
He was hers.

Stooping before her soldier’s chair, Steph framed his face with her palms, bending to capture his mouth with hers. Cameras blazed. The cheers were deafening.

Tomorrow, captions in newspapers across the nation would read “A Hero’s Welcome” beneath a photo of a smiling Steph kissing the man she loved, the hero she’d always desired and finally found.


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BIO: A genuine “Okie from Muskogee,” Sarah Ashwood is a full-time college student soon to obtain a B.A. in English from American Military University. During the course of her collegiate career she has gained entrance to three international honor societies: Phi Theta Kappa, The Golden Key, and Delta Epsilon Tau. Sarah’s prose and poetry have appeared in a wide variety of publications, while her first book, a volume of poetry titled A Minstrel's Musings, was published by Cyberwizard Productions in April 2009. In 2010, Sarah’s Young Adult fantasy novel, Knight’s Rebirth, will be published by the same. Along with her cousin and fellow author Dara England, Sarah is co-editor of the fantasy ezine, Moon Drenched Fables and the romance webzine, Moon Washed Kisses. For more information on Sarah and her writing, please visit www.sarahashwood.com.