She wrote the last sentence in her journal, and closed it. She put it in her backpack, and then put her backpack on and went downstairs, got an orange and got on her bike. Riding down Cedar Road to the pond and sitting underneath the old willow tree was her favorite thing in the world. Pushing back her sandy blonde hair, she began to think. She wondered why her mother never cried or spoke of her dad anymore. Why it seemed as though she had forgotten all about him and how happy he made her. It was almost as if he had completely vanished from their lives. Like an empty chapter, never written. She soon got out her journal again and wrote all her thoughts and hopes down. The sun began to set, so she rode home and realized her mother was on the side of the house, crying. Not wanting her mom to know she could see her, she slowly set down her bike, and stood behind a bush just watching and listening to her mother; talking as if someone could hear her. She listened as her mother cursed and fought with someone. Someone who wasn’t actually there? Almost as if the wind was her target of rage, just getting all of her frustration out. Then she soon realized that, that who she was really talking to, was her father. As if he were really there. Almost as if she thought he was alive again. She tried to get a little closer to hear more clearly, but stepped on a twig. The twig soon snapped in half making a sharp loud noise. Her mother’s face shot to her in almost an instant. Her mother’s face turned to almost a sort of sorrow. She immediately wiped her eyes and asked her how long she had been standing there. “Not long,” she replied, “Just long enough to know you still care.” Her mother said in a soft docile tone, “Of course I still care, I just don’t want to make you upset.” The girl stared at her mother, and just simply smiled. They grabbed onto one another’s hips and strolled into the house. They sat down in the kitchen and cut the cake for her father’s “would be” birthday.
January 21, 2011