The brown lump of over-turned earth sat smack in the middle of the sprawling green field. A red robin dove from the cloudless sky and landed on the grass a few feet away. Hopping a few times before stopping in front of the freshly carved granite headstone, protruding out of the ground like a looming building. The bird chirped once, a long mournful note that tugged at my heart and threatened the tears I had thought had been cried out. It flew up into the sky and disappeared.
I kneeled down on the soft earth, pulling my black dress over my knees. A cool breeze blew my hair around my face and I placed my hands on the ground.
I could have prevented this.
I could have stopped it, if I hadn’t been so goddamned stupid and selfish and naïve.
But it was too late now, what’s done is done.
Sitting there, on the cold grass, under the blue sky, I promised myself. I would never, could never, think about, look at or talk to Brent Ryans again.
* * * * * *
23 years later
That face was smiling up at me from the counter. The perfect white, award-winning smile. The smile that had won the hearts of millions, including, unfortunately, the heart of my sixteen-year-old daughter. The smile on the face that made me want to scream.
“Sam!” I called, clenching the dishtowel in my hands, “Get your magazine off the counter or I’m throwing it out!” That what I wanted to do, throw it out I mean, I wanted to throw it out and every other magazine like it.
Samantha came bouncing into the room. Her hair pulled up into a high ponytail in the back of her head. Her hair was brown, like her fathers, a traveling journalist. He was in Montana now, doing some story on wild-fires. Samantha was a result of the drunken night of my college graduation party, when my lab partner Bernie and I had gotten a little to close.
He had agreed to stay and help me raise her but it didn’t take long to realize we were better as friends. Now he was off following his dreams. He would send us post cards from everywhere he went.
Samantha snatched the magazine off the counter. I felt instantly relieved, with that face gone. “Can I sleepover at Julia’s tonight?” She asked, spinning her phone around in her hand.
“Will her parents be home?” I asked instinctively.
She rolled her eyes, “Yes, mom.”
I wished there was some way I could know that this was true, that my daughter really would be staying at her friends like she promised but I knew what it was like to be a teenager and to feel indestructible. I just wished there was some way I could protect her. I knew what it was like to get hurt in a way impossible to fix.
“So… is that a yes?” Samantha had her phone propped open, her fingers ready on the buttons. The magazine was stuck under her arm so that only the eyes were showing.
I nodded absently, my eyes locked onto the page. She typed something, snapped her phone closed, and disappeared out of the kitchen with Brent Ryans tucked under her arm.
* * *
It’s not like I wasn’t used to seeing his face everywhere I turned. Samantha was under the impression that she was in love with him, the irony of which was not lost on me. It was about three years ago when I saw him again after all those years.
Samantha had been having a few friends over for the night, and the girls were sitting on the couch watching TV. I had been making popcorn, and watching from the kitchen.
A movie trailer flashed on the screen. “I really wanna see this,” one of Sam’s friends said. It was an action flick, some world ending type. The microwave beeped, signaling that that the popcorn was done.
I grabbed a serving bowl just as Sam giggled, “ooh, your right. He is cute.” I turned my attention back to the screen, where your average hero type was running through crumbling buildings. As the camera zoomed in I saw my daughter was right, he was cute. But as it zoomed in further I was shocked to see Brent’s face, because I had sworn to never look at it again.
Gender:
Points: 6915
Reviews: 115