I needed...movement. I went for a walk tonight. On my way back I took a detour to the small memorial off Campbell.

The memorial consists of a three spout fountain in the middle with three black marble stone forming a half circle around it. They read "Friendship," "Hope," and "Charity". In front of the fountain is a larger black marble slab. One side contains every American war since WWI and the names of Valpo residents lost in them. The other side is labeled "Duty and Sacrifice" and lists any men and women who have lost their lives in Valpo serving in law enforcement, the fire department, or any other community service related field. Three huge flag poles form a triangle between the large slab and the sidewalk. Red brick is the base that everything sits on and the names of donors and groups are etched in many of them.

I walked onto the red bricks and read through the smaller marble slabs, each one containing two quotes from adolescents in the community. After "Charity" I froze for a full minute in my tracks and didn't feel the wind whipping me and didn't hear the flags ripple and the metal clang and I didn't sense the cars driving by on the street one hundred yards behind me.

I stopped and stared and cried. I stared at a single white rose laying on the bricks at my feet. It looked dried and the leaf still attached to the stem fluttered with the wind. The bulb hadn't opened up and this made it all the more beautiful. It lay pointing towards the dry fountain. I felt like the guy from American Beauty who does his dance with a plastic bag. I immediately wanted to know who left it there, why, when, for whom, and everything else and nothing else. I smiled at the tears but couldn't pry myself away just yet. In an instant the ending for the story I'm currently writing revealed itself in the rose and the memorial and the wind and cold. The color drained from me momentarily and I felt my gloved fingertips go numb in my pockets. In the single instant I turned around and saw the white rose my heart broke and became whole. It was easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I walked around the large marble slab and looked to see if any names had been added under "Iraq War," but saw the same two as before. Again I felt my eyes drawn to the flower, but I kept my distance, backing away step by step and suddenly feeling the wind, feeling the cold sweep through my legs, heard the clang of the metal against the flagpole, and I sensed the rose getting larger as I stepped away. Its poignancy bewildered me, filled me with sadness, with hope, with joy.

I finally let it go and turned to leave when a the honk of a goose above put another smile on my face. I couldn't see it through the thick mass of clouds, but I heard the lone voice soon joined by a few others and it felt like the perfect ending to a movie, walking away from such a small memorial.

In eighth grade I went to D.C. and saw the Vietnam Wall up close; old enough to go, old enough to understand and appreciate its enormity, it didn't reach me much, only names, endless names that meant shattered families. But this tiny memorial in Valparaiso, Indiana, these sparse quotes and lists of names, some person's remembrance rose, that broke me and made me whole again in an instant.