1. MORTALITY

My eleven-year-old goddaughter cowered next to a rusted dumpster, amongst the dirty runoff and the smell of wet asphalt, at the edge of a small side street.

She backed away from something she had no ability to truly understand. The rough, weathered edge of the dumpster crumbled under her fingers. She put a hand up to her face, the only place for her to hide. The metallic smell of rust filled her nostrils.

Evening poured into the alley quickly. A faint light filtered down through the fire escapes and the clusters of electrical wires strung between buildings. At that moment, all I could think of was Pad Thai.

I was not there to see Jenavieve’s confusion. I did not see her face, unable to process what was happening. I did not see her holding back tears, too confused to decide if they were needed. I did not see her eyes begin to swell when she saw the rage on her father’s face.

The word “unfair” is repulsively inadequate.

Jenavieve was completely unaware of all she was about to lose as her father approached her and the stranger who had cornered her. The stranger stood between my best friend and his daughter, focused on Jenavieve and blind to anyone else in the alley. Blind to the world outside of this little girl’s body. He took off his jacket and took a step closer to Jenavieve. The stranger was almost within arm’s reach when James came up behind him and grabbed the man’s shoulder.

The stranger turned, startled, and drove a knife with a five-inch blade deep into my best friend’s chest.

I have gone over it countless times. The memory has indiscriminately burned and charred my heart to wasted ash, yet everything remains as it is.

We had been walking home that evening and I was alongside Jenavieve and her father. Behind us were Mike, his wife, and their two children. The warm summer breeze carried the rich smell of earth and dry grasses. Jenavieve giggled and took off running ahead to hide and scare us. This was always her game. James and I let out a laugh, then he quickened his pace to follow as Jenavieve raced around the corner a fair distance ahead of us.

Moments later James could only stare at his daughter. Love, pain, and disbelief.

That was when I turned the corner. Just in time to see the knife being pulled out of James’ body. Just in time to see the stranger look at me, turn and run.

Every sense, every feeling, and every logical coherence dissolved into oblivion.

I went straight for James as he collapsed on the cement. The thud of him landing on the floor pushed through me like exposed bone being scraped across metal.

Jenavieve threw herself on top of him. Her arms wrapped around him, her tears poured over him. His blood was everywhere.

The smell of iron was obscene.

I shouted to Mike for help as I dropped down beside James. His tall, thin frame was contorted awkwardly on the floor. His hair was soaked with blood. He looked up at me with intense glowing eyes that scorched the air and took the wind out of me. James turned to his daughter.

“I love you,” he mouthed. He smiled at Jenavieve. All the love and warmth he had in his dying body condensed into a single moment.

And that was how we said goodbye.

 

Available on Kindle and paperback