Blue reached out to touch the chain of the empty swing. His trip to the smoldering remains of
Blue had met her here. When he saw her for the first time, he knew he would find her in his heart and thoughts until the end of everything.
The way the sun broke through the canopy of trees in small patches, crossing over and reflecting in her brown eyes. Her smile with that one slightly crooked tooth made him feel stupid and clumsy, and when he first met her gaze, time stopped. His ears didn’t seem to work anymore, his palms sweat, and he thought his heart might not be beating.
Blue grabbed the warm chain of the swing so he wouldn’t fall over. His mouth smiled back while his eyelids closed on tears.
He saw her reach up and loop a strand of long brown hair over her ear. She spun her green summer dress in a half circle, coming out to stand in a patch of sunlight.
Despite his protests, she always wore summer dresses on their Sunday morning picnics.
“You must be freezing,” Blue said one January morning. Looking back to him, she shook her head. “Here, take my jacket.” Her eyes brightened as he hung the coat over her shoulders.
“It smells like you, Blue.” And to her, that was a good thing.
Blue walked over to a burnt-out tree trunk on the edge of the clearing, where the fire was started. It had been dry from the summer and burned fast, spreading outward in a ring. He sat down at the base, between the roots, facing the metal swing set. The ground was black and warm.
She sat down in front of him leaning against his chest.
He bent his head forward to take in the sweet smell of her hair, but he only took in the smell of smoke and burnt wood.
She fell asleep there, under the tree, in his arms.
He called her Meadow, but her real name was Molly. She named him Blue, but he never asked why.
“Push me on the swing, Blue.”
Blue noticed that her laugh seemed to make the park smile when she was on the swing. The giggling was contagious. She jumped off the swing and ran over to him, reaching out.
He reached out to meet her hand, but his fingers fell on air. He snapped out of his reverie.
The idea of climbing the tree had been brought up before, but he always shot it down. “Please, Blue. I just want to climb up to that branch there and take a picture so we can both see our spot the same way God must see it.”
Blue knew God didn’t want him to see it. When the camera fell out of her hands as she climbed down the tree, the film popped out on impact with the ground and was exposed.
He was held by the sight of Meadow reaching out to grab the camera with her right hand as her left was switching to a lower branch. He jumped to catch her, but the fall was not far. Her body fell inches from his outstretched hands. Her head impacted on a small rock. The crack in her skull would cause severe bleeding. He would not be able to hold in her life. The ambulance would be too late.
Now the sun didn’t break through the canopy of trees in patches. And the trunk he leaned against still smoldered in areas. He pulled out the matchbook he had used to start the fire that burned the park. He lit the remaining matches, tossing them on the ground around him, leaving only one unlit. One by one, they each went out. There was nothing left around him to burn.
He lit the last match and held it under the cuff of his jacket. The fibers twisted and melted, but wouldn’t catch flame. The match burned out against the tip of his finger, making him flinch in pain.
From deep within his body, a sob escaped. His chest trembled. The grief welled up and poured out. His cries deafened his own ears.
But they passed.
Blue looked around, but saw nothing. Not a creature, not a memory. This new emptiness made him uncomfortable. He moved into the center of what was once their clearing hoping to stir up a vision.
Nothing came.
1 comment:
Took me a while to find it, but here is Meadow Park. I wrote it while taking writing classes at UCLA Extension back in 2004. The italicized sections are flashbacks. I would appreciate any comments. Thanks for reading.
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