If I count the ways I love you, we wouldn’t be here very long. If I count the ways you hurt me, our time would stretch into eternity. If I count the times you demeaned me, belittled me, crushed my spirit, we could write a book. If I could add up every missed event, every missed conversation, every missed night, my tears could fill the chasm between us. Indeed, if I could enumerate every heartache, every shattered dream, every broken promise, I would realize we were over before we began.
Every parent’s worst nightmare is losing their child. When it happens on Thanksgiving, the cruelty cuts deeper. This morning, a young boy around five years old from a few streets over was reported missing. The Amber Alert disrupted our mid-afternoon meal and my family, my husband and our three kids, stopped to say a prayer. We were joined by my parents, brother, sister-in-law, sister, brother-in-law, nieces and nephews, and my husband’s parents.
Two minutes later, we heard a knock at the door. To my surprise, the boy was on my doorstep. He looked stunned and I quickly shooed him inside, glancing around outside to see if anything suspicious stood out.
I calmly told my husband to call the police, but inside, I was panicked. The children welcomed the boy, Dominic, with open arms. My parents offered him some food, but he shrunk into himself, bringing his knees to his chest and hiding his face.
Several minutes passed in silence before we heard sirens approaching. We ushering the police and EMTs into the dining room so they could check on Dominic and take our statements.
Dominic muttered something no one could make out, but my son got closer to him. Barely above a whisper, my son repeated what Dominic was trying to say.
“He says there are other kids.”
My blood chilled. This child had clearly seen awful things in the short amount of time he was gone, and I couldn’t understand how he escaped but I was grateful he had.
The police exchanged glances and the EMTs insisted it was time to get him to the hospital. Left without answers, we closed the door as the last first responder left and tried to return to our meal, but it was too late to go back to it now.
We had a new level of gratitude for each other’s presence and safety. Silently, the adults cleared the table while the kids dished generous helpings of pie for everyone.
We turned on a Christmas movie to watch while we had dessert, cuddling closely, and thankful for how the day turned out for Dominic and silently praying for the kids who were still missing.
Panting, drooling, glaring, snarling Once such a sweet little darling I brought him back from the dead The sight of him fills me with dread
I’ve created a monster, a beast I should probably call a priest My sweet deceased hound I cried the day he drowned
I searched low and high Wide was my wild eye For a spell, a charm, an incantation I knew he’d be an abomination
I’ve created a monster, a beast It’s too late for a priest Panting, drooling, glaring, snarling Gone is my sweet little darling
Emma glided through the garden, sun warming her skin, as a gentle breeze lifted fallen petals into a silent dance on the pathway. Blooming roses and peonies competed for center stage. Bees buzzed around, gorging on nectar. Dragonflies played tag along the hedges and butterflies flitted around gracefully, occasionally stopping on a cherry blossom.
A smiled spread across Emma’s face as she pushed the pram containing her new baby girl. Euphoria radiated from Emma as her sweet little one napped peacefully. It was a beautiful day, a day she had dreamed of for years. She inhaled a gulp of fresh air, and exhaled a deep and satisfying sigh. Perfect.
A gentle breeze blows Through the broken window Dust dances in the light The window no longer airtight
Stuck open, never closed Challenging gravity, exposed The frame is faded white Signs of many a plight
Broken glass, silent house Devious mind, unsuspecting spouse A gentle breeze blows Through the broken window
Screams, then emptiness Gut-wrenching deadliness A gentle breeze blows Through the broken window
Mr. Robert James Arthur led an eventful life. As he sat in his worn armchair by the bay window, he looked out at the street below the brownstone. These days, he spent most of his afternoons by this window, a tattered blanket warming his lap, and a book in his hand. He felt antiquated. He missed the days when he had the dexterity to pick a lock or crack a safe. But those days were long behind him.
Noah stood at the kitchen counter, flitting through mail, when a red envelope caught his eye. He dropped everything else and ripped the envelope open. Big, bold letters:
ATTENTION: HARVEST COMPLIANCE INSPECTION WILL TAKE PLACE THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3 BETWEEN 8 A.M. AND 4 P.M.
He broke into a cold sweat as the ground dropped out from under him. That’s only two weeks away, he thought, and he was backed up on orders for his illicit pork and chicken. Normally, he could mask the meat business by using the pigs to clear scraps and the chickens for eggs, but it would be much harder to hide the turkeys he was prepping for Thanksgiving.
The government outlawed the sale of meat a decade ago to curb greenhouse gases from factory farming. He was careful to be discreet - he never kept cows and he was exclusive with his purchaser list. Not once had he been reported up until now. Random inspections happened - to make sure the farmers were on track for the harvesting each fall - but he knew in his gut that an inspection this late in the year meant someone had betrayed him.
That meant it would be too great a risk to distribute the birds early. He had no way of knowing who it was. He also had nowhere to put them that wouldn’t destroy his most profitable time of year.
Noah cupped his head in his hands and sunk into a barstool. He had an impossible decision to make and very little time to plan. There was only one person he could trust to help him - his father. He audibly groaned and pulled out his phone to dial. He wondered if this would end the same way as last time, when the roles had been reversed. He certainly hoped not.
Snap out of it, I tell myself. Focus.
“So I told her she didn’t need to be so…” my wife is talking but I missed the beginning. No idea who she’s talking about but I nod along.
I can still hear the ringing in my ears. No, not ringing. Screaming. I can hear screaming. Blood edges around my vision and I blink hard.
Snap out of it. It’s ringing. No one is screaming. I’m home.
Blood. So much blood. Blood all over my hands. The boy. The little boy. He’s screaming. He’s bloody. I want to help him. I have to get to him. I can’t move. I’m stuck, stretching my arms as my ears ring from the explosion. It must have been a IED. Dust everywhere. My vision is blurry.
Snap out of it. Focus.
“Sam? Did you hear what I said?” My wife stares at me with concern. A shallow level of concern because she can’t possibly understand the depth of what I’ve seen. That’s not an insult. I’m genuinely glad she doesn’t know. No one should know.
“Sam?” She repeats.
Snap out of it. Come on, focus.
“I’m sorry, babe. I think I just need some sleep. I’m tired.” It’s a weak response but it’s the best cover I could think of.
“It’s okay. Let’s go home.” She touches my arm and I jerk back reflexively.
“I’m sorry.” Her face is sullen.
We walk in silence. My ears are ringing. Blood is creeping into the corners of my vision.
Snap out of it. Focus.
Priest, police, please I must confess A moment to seize Before I regress
Someone, somewhere Won’t you come I’ll even swear And won’t stay mum
Come quick, come quick! I might back out This ain’t a trick! Cast away doubt
That girl you found She was my girl That girl you found Saw my rage unfurl
You see? You hear? I’m telling the truth Please come near Someone call a sleuth!
She cried and cried The knife, serrated I smiled wide Never hesitated
Priest, police, please Someone stop me A moment to seize Before I flee
