Wait.

"Daddy," her little voice croaked as she looked out the window. Her dad was loading his luggage into the trunk of a cab, enough luggage to last him four months on a trip in South America. It was the first time he would be gone for so long.
She craned her neck as the trunk slammed shut and the cab drove off down the street. Tears streaked down her face as she sobbed silently to herself, her tears darkened the green upholstered couch like little mossy lakes. Drawing her knees into her chest, she began the long wait for his return. She became used to waiting. It was not so bad after a while. When he first left it felt as though she had swallowed a hot stone and it was just sitting there in her throat and no matter how hard she tried to swallow it that feeling always bubbled up. But as time went on the tension eased and life was normal, life even became normal without him there. She got used to waiting.

"Dad, when are you going to show me how to make a wood sword?" He asked excitedly. He had been looking forward to this and had drawn out models and designs of the kind of play sword he wanted. The drawn plans were in his pocket so that he and his father could set to work at a moment's notice. His father seemed to be searching for his keys which were dangling from hims back pocket.
"We'll do it later. I've got to take your brothers to football practice," he said distractedly, "Boys! Let's Go!" he yelled when he finally realized where the car keys were.
Thunderous thumping noises sounded from upstairs as two teenage boys bustled out the door, cleats clenched in their hands and shoulder pads thrown over their arms.
"Bye, son," his father called as he shut the door.
The boy was left to wait. He came from a large family of eight. He would have his turn, and was used to waiting.

"I had a good time tonight," she said to her date from the passenger side of his pick-up truck. He unbuckled his seat belt and slid over to her side wrapping his arms around her tightly. She, shocked, pushed on his chest hoping he'd release her. He clumsily tried to find her lips but she turned her head away. Her hands groped for the door handle and she managed to extricate herself from his grasp. Hopping down to the dark, wet pavement she shut the door and never looked back. She was tired of waiting for these high school boys to grow up and to treat her with respect. But she would not settle and got used to waiting.

"Just ask her!"
"She won't even give me a second glance!"
"Well this is a way to get her to notice you."
He was looking down the hallway at a pretty blonde girl at her locker. Just ask her to the dance he thought.
"Alright, fine! I'll do it." He strode off in her direction starting with a speedy place, but once he neared her his steps slowed in hesitation. He stopped altogether and looked back at his friend who, from a distance, nudged him on. He swallowed hard a approached her.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she replied with a weak smile.
"I was wondering, I was wondering ifyou'dliketogotothedancewithme." It all came out so quickly. She didn't even blush.
"Sorry, but no thank you." She closed her locker door and left for class. He would have to wait for women to realize what he had to offer, how genuine and considerate he was. He got used to waiting.

Years rolled by and they each waited. They waited to grow up, to learn, to understand, to be a part of the world and not feel outside of it. There is a helplessness in being young and watching the grown-ups bustle about. Children always dream of growing up and being in control of things for once. Adults always dream of becoming children again, without being plagued with responsibilities.
He and she were caught in between having just entered college and still finding out who they wanted to be and how to get there.

She was at a party one night talking and laughing with her friends and new acquaintances. For a moment she longed for a little silence, a little break from small talk, and left the kitchen where everyone was gathered. As she headed to the living room she realized that she was not alone. Someone was playing the piano in the corner. She approached out of curiosity. He was fiddling with the keys, playing things that she had never heard of, playing whatever popped into his head. His back was turned to her, and she paused just watching for a moment. They had met earlier through a mutual friend and had the usual conversation of "What's your major?" "Where are you from?" "What classes are you taking?"
Crap, what was his name? she thought. He turned.
"Oh hi, Hannah." Crap. He remembered mine. What is Dan? Caleb? Something biblical?
"Hey," she replied," I liked whatever you were playing." He chuckled.
"It's strange that I can make fingers like mine move so quick." His hands were large and thick with wide fingers. She envied them for being able to make music.
She made no reply and he filled her silence with music. They both looked at his moving fingers for a long time as they progressed up and down the keys.
She realized that he was waiting. He was waiting for something more than small talk, more than chatter to fill an uncomfortable quiet. He was waiting to express himself, and playing was the only way he could do that in front of strangers. He had so much to say, so much to him. She saw a flicker of who he was.
"Do you want anything to drink?" she asked unsure of what to say, but wanted to speak so badly.
"No, thank you," he replied without missing a note. She took this as her cue to leave. Right now she felt she could not offer him more than small talk. She would have to wait.

And you'll have to wait for then end... stay tuned.