In the last few days of summer, the days before he moved out east, they sat on a blanket in their field. The spheres ground ponderously against one another, singing out as a glass philharmonic while the stars slowly emerged from beneath their camouflage. An outstretched palm halted dandelion seeds, taking flight to escape the wind. She was counting blades of grass intently, as only a child could. He was watching the sunset, trying to blind himself as only an adult would. The tear was a melting, orange jewel, and even as it disappeared into the confidence of his cheek it was doomed to be reforged and pushed through the other eye, like the boulder in hell. He thought of the letter he had left in her dresser drawer, beneath the pretty blue skirt he and Karen had picked out right after they knew, before they even started painting the nursery, while they were shopping for stick-on glow stars and bright Disney decals. He sighed as the final ray dipped behind the mountains. He knew it was time. Time to drive Annie home, time to tuck her in, time to put the last suitcase in his trunk. Time to drive away from hurt, from fights, from a childhood dream disaster. Time to drive away from the sun, through the valley of elongating shadow, chasing his dreams by staying asleep. For now, there was time only to hold her hand, to kiss her forehead one last time.
“Daddy? I squisheded this worm. Does that mean I’m a bad person?”