A cozy room filled with soft orange light from lamps lit around the small room. Books slept, crammed like sardines, on the deep cherry shelves. Their cracked leather covers complained of being cramped and beaten from years long gone. An over-stuffed leather chair and ottoman caressed a man with thinning grey hair. His dusty jeans with a well-worn look were paired with a flannel shirt that snapped. A newspaper, like a blanket, covered the slumbering man while his glasses hung gently off his ears. The window behind him had long went dark and made no attempt of lighting itself anytime soon. I remembered this place: my favorite spot in my house. All my children had either moved out or married. I was carefree and preparing for retirement. I had just finished the last touches to the small library in the front of the house. I had hoped to retire in five years at sixty-five. I had the rest of the house to finish, but I wanted a place to rest and relax from my daily chores and chaos of remodeling. I knew I had picked a much too comfortable chair. I would do more sleeping than reading in that blasted chair. It had been a lovely year. A granddaughter had been born, thanks to Alexandra getting married six years before. It had been a lovely wedding. All the family was there, even Geoff, who ended up running away. He began to turn his life around: becoming a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was one of the best choices he had ever made, especially since most of his choices seemed to be pretty lousy. I tried not to judge him and just treat him like my son, which proved difficult at times. He was a good kid. I sat and thought of my family and my love for them. I smiled gently: the corners of my lips barely moving, if they moved at all. I turned the page.
A street unfolded: not busy like the ones in New York but almost small enough to be built of cobblestone. Small children walked down the sidewalk, trying not to get into trouble. An older child, perhaps an older sister, walked with them to a small candy shop on the corner. They passed an older man, who was shuffling along. His cane, made of walnut, tapped against the concrete with each step. He stopped at the crosswalk and watched the small group of children walk into the candy shop, except for a small girl, about four. She watched the other children through the window, decorated with candy displays. Her little brown pony tail hung down her back in disappointment. Then I remembered seeing an argument take place, unknown to the older sister. She had been made to stay outside. Being a four-year old, her patience grew thin quickly. She saw a beautifully lit sign across the road that caught her attention. Without checking both ways before she crossed the street, she dashed into the traffic. Car tires screeched to a halt, trying to avoid the little girl. The old man watched in horror as the little girl’s life flashed before her eyes. A teenager—the old man recognized him—not paying attention to the cars in front of him, hit a blue SUV, which hit the red Honda which inched forward just enough to hit the small girl. She fell to the ground. I ran to the girl, her face bloodied from the force. Her miniscule bones had broken and cracked. Her voice rang shrill through the air. Tears streamed down her face as she looked deep into my eyes. Her bright blue eyes, like baseballs, stared into my soul as I held her fragile body in my arms. She was terrified. I looked up and saw the older girl running after us. I told the little girl that she would be alright, but I knew better. I could feel her lungs fighting, trying to get any molecule of air into her lungs. Her heart began to beat erratically and her lungs began to seize. The tears burned as I held them back in my tear ducts: oh, how they burned! I felt the last breath leave her tiny body and went still. I felt like my heart died along with hers and I would never be able to feel whole again. The older sister reached us with a horrified look. Her hands shook as she looked on her younger sister who now lay lifeless in my arms. I held the young girl and rocked her body back and forth like a mother quieting a crying child in a rocking chair. My joints screamed with pain but I had to ignore it. This little girl had been someone’s pearl and now she was gone. I thought of my own children who I could have just as easily lost, with all the careless baby-sitters I had hired. The older sister knelt next to us and began to weep openly. I only noticed my left arm surround her shoulders: I was out of feeling. I did not notice the ambulance arrive or the police. I hardly noticed when they took the little girl out of my arms. All I knew was that life could be so short, it could end at any moment. We just had to do whatever we could with the time that was given to us. Small tears repelled off my cheeks and onto the picture. I took a deep breath and slowly turned the page.
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