Crinkled Eyes

I felt the mud squish under my feet and through my toes. It was a wonderful, cool contrast to the heat that was blistering my skin. Though I was overheated, I continued sprinting. It was the only thing I could do; the only way I could escape everything. To hear the blood roaring in my ears and my pulse pounding blocked out all of my other thoughts.
The sun beat down on me and the wind curled through my hair. The thick auburn strands flowed out behind me. I hadn’t bothered to put it in a ponytail to keep it away from my face, out of my brilliant burnt-emerald eyes. I took a deep breath, like a fish gasping for water and fell to my knees.
I held myself and cried for longer than I thought. Time held no importance. It was simply me and the cornfield. The bugs that buzzed in the air and the field mice that occasionally scattered over my bare feet were my only condolences. I was truly and utterly alone in the world.
I heard dead stalks crunching beneath feet and I knew at that moment I was no longer alone. I hastily wiped the tears from my eyes while I contemplated whether to begin my glorious sprint again or to face my problems.
I unfurled myself, stood up, and staggered drunkenly. I was winded and tired, but I paid no mind to it when I glanced at the person behind me.
“Rose,” she murmured soothingly while she took me into her arms. It was a fluid, sweeping gesture that seemed so simple and fit my mother’s personality perfectly. I sobbed into her shirt uncontrollably, even more upset that I had gotten her perfect suit stained with my tears.
I pulled back and picked my way slowly back to my house. I had noticed that my mother’s eyes had brimmed with tears when she thought I wasn’t sneaking glances. I felt like staring daggers at her. He was the love of her life. Why didn’t she show that she was upset about it in front of me?
I raced into the house and slammed the door to my room. I swept my gaze over the mounds of clothes and hurriedly blasted my radio like any other angst-ridden teenager. I plopped down on my obsidian comforter and covered my head with my pillow.

School was tougher to get through. My best friend, Eliza, tried to council me. She eloquently weaved a tale of how nearly everyone’s parents divorced and that I just needed time. I pounded my fist into the wall and raced off. Well my parent’s divorce wasn’t like any other. Most children got to see their dads again. I would never see that kind smile, or the eyes that crinkled at the edges peering down at me again. Ever.

I backed up against an old, weathering locker and fought not to scream.

“It’s your fault!” I shouted at nothing. Several kids gave me a weary glance, but other than that, paid no mind to me. It was his fault. My dad had to drink. Had to create an unstable environment. Had to ruin my life.

I felt the anger churn within me. There was so much hatred and despair mingling together; I couldn’t tell which was which anymore. I yelled at everyone, ignored those who cared about me, and didn’t eat. I was slowly spiraling into a pit that I feared I would never come out of.

One day I got a call that changed everything. I was sitting on the edge of my bed when I heard my cell ring. We didn’t have a landline and my mom hated technology, so I was the only one with a phone.

I didn’t bother looking at the contact ID when I picked it up. I just answered the phone with a swift: “hullo,” oblivious to any and all consequences of picking up the cellular device and answering it with feigned nonchalance.

“No,” I whispered when the line went dead. It couldn’t be happening to me. My parents had already had a divorce that broke my life, but what the caller said had just shattered it completely.

I screamed at nothing. Rage and hate stormed in my heart. I felt no sadness, no despair or depression, just overwhelming frustration and anger. He kept doing it to me, ruining my life. I loved that man, but he was making it extremely difficult to like him. What did they say? That there was a fine line between love and hate? Well I felt like crossing it.

The funeral was a quick one. It was a rainy day. The sky was a sickly green-grey and the wind whipped at my hair furiously. I couldn’t muster up the emotions to cry like everyone expected. My father was gone. I no longer felt hatred toward him, just emptiness. I no longer had any will or desire to do a thing.

“Rose,” Eliza muttered quietly. She pulled me into a tight hug and then pulled back, obviously she had thought better of hugging a girl devoid of any emotion. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“How do you feel about stopping by Tony’s tonight and getting some pizza?” She quizzed.

“That sounds fine.” She left after that, shaking her head. I couldn’t care less though. If I tried to care that would mean breaking my shell and entering the universe of pain and death and destruction.

Months passed of emptiness. Eliza still remained by my side, but I lost every other friend that I had. One night, I got a call from one of my old friends, Jack.
.
“Hey,” he rumbled. His voice had a low timber; it was soothing.

“Hello,” I greeted robotically. I could almost see him frowning. I was not the young girl full of life and joy that he remembered.

“Remember that time your dad took us boating, and his beer spilled onto my head, ruining my new hairdo?” Jack asked quietly. I perked up. That day had been full of laughs and love. Suddenly, I realized something. My father hadn’t ruined my life. It wasn’t his fault that my mom wanted a divorce. It wasn’t his fault he had been in a construction accident. I had blaming him for all of my problems and erasing him from my mind because I wanted something to focus my hate on. Really, I should have been remembering all of the good times we had.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the receiver. I could practically see Jack’s smile on the other end of the line.

“Your back,” was all he stated. And he was right. I was finally living again.