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Description
     This man, the one who says he’ll always love me. He’s halfway around the world, and everything reminds me of him. The way the leaves fall off the trees so slowly, drifting from side to side until they rest upon the ground. The time we pretended we were in slow motion, chasing the autumn leaves in descent. He cheated that day. He made a hard left and took me down, laughing. It didn’t hurt, but he kissed my forehead and told me he was sorry anyway. Then we laid in the leaves and watched the clouds and forgot that we were supposed to be raking.
     The way the brisk air chokes me as I gulp it in, shocking my lungs until they thaw in time for another chilly burst. The time we raced down the sledding hill and I tripped, tripping him in the process. We both fell, rolling down the hill and landing at the bottom with a crash. We laughed and laughed and laughed until our chests hurt more from the laughing than the racing. That was the same year he fell off his sled and vowed never to go sledding again. He never did.
     The way my fingers are frozen, making them feel small and heavy at the same time. When he would hold both my hands, and I was amazed by how my fingers disappeared in the sea of his. How securely he held my hands, and how I trusted him. If only I knew that those same hands would shatter my heart into an infinite number of tiny little pieces. I would’ve ripped my hands away and ran as fast as I could. But how can you blame the naïve?
     The way the wind blows, cutting at everything in its way. It attacks my eyes, making them water so much that I can’t see whether I blink the tears away or I don’t. It brings me back to the day he left, his suitcases packed and in his car, me standing on the front step, eye to eye with him. The night air cut at my eyes the same way, but I was crying anyway. My abandoned soul felt colder than the wind could’ve ever made me. He tried to hug me. He said that He’ll Come Back for Me, that He Will Always Love Me. Part of me believed him then.
     My teary eyes now fidget, not resting on one single thing for too long before going back to the cell phone freezing to my skin. He said he was going to call me. He is 20 minutes too late already. As if I wasn’t already angry, this man has the gall to be late. I entertain the idea of just forgetting it and going back into the warmth for a while. If I did and he eventually called I wouldn’t be able to hear a word he said. All of a sudden, a buzzing cut through the howling wind. I’m so startled that I accidentally toss the phone into a pile of soggy leaves. I grasp at the little thing, pulling it into me like it was a child.
     “Hello?”
     “Hey Kiddo.” That voice. The velvety voice that has crooned to me since I was a baby. It begins to melt the ice building up in my chest. Then I remember that I’m angry at this man.
     “You were supposed to call me twenty minutes ago. You know that I get no reception in that house and I’m fucking freezing out here.” My tone does not betray the fact that I am not only furious, I’m hurt. What was he doing when he was supposed to be talking to his only daughter?
     “Watch that language, young lady.”
     “Stuff it. I’m angry at you.” I cross my arms instinctively, defiantly, although he is not with me to see the gesture.
     “It’s only twenty minutes, honey.” His laid back tone makes me angrier. Sad tears are beginning to come.
     “I only get to talk to you once a week, Dad. Twenty minutes are a big deal.” These are our conversations. He is late every week, and he knows this. And he knows that I know this, but it happens anyway. So we argue about it. Then he says he is Sorry, Kiddo, and I forgive him. How could you blame the naïve? Then he asks me How School Is Going, and I say It‘s Fine. Then I ask him How Work Is Going, and he says Well. Then he tells me about the weather down under and I get jealous and angry and he laughs. We both know our lines, we’ve done this a million times and we know how it is supposed to end.
     Sometimes, I really wish we wouldn’t stick to the script. So it goes.
     “Hey Kiddo, I don’t have long but I want to tell you something pretty great.” I smile to myself as he says this. Australia really is the best place for him. He can be a laid-back surfer and businessman at the same time.
     “Lay it on me.”
     “I’m coming to visit!”
     I literally drop the phone in shock. I once again scramble to pick it up. My clumsy frozen fingers wouldn’t grasp it in time for me to hear the beginning of his next sentence.
     “WHAT?”
     “What, what?” he laughs. He is mocking me, I swear. My chest freezes up again as I cautiously stand.
     “What do you mean What, what? I haven’t seen you since you got in your stupid little car and drove away. That’s three years. And now, ‘I’m coming to visit!’ Like you’re my grandpa coming up from Texas or something! Have you even talked to my mom about this?! She’s got a new husband you know! And there is no room for you here! And...WHAT?!” I’ve run out of adequate words. I let the silence fall like the leaves. Maybe he’s remembering the leaves like I am. Maybe he’s remembering how he and my mother fought and fought until one of them kicked the dog by accident and gave it a limp. Maybe he’s remembering the day that dog died and I called him and had to go before I could even tell him. Maybe he’ll come back and expect the dog to limp out to him like before.
     “Well…I..” A hand covers his receiver and I can hear him say “Yeah, okay, Bill. I‘ll be right there.” Or maybe he just has to go.
     “Bye, Bad.”
     “Oh…well, bye Kiddo. I love you.”
     “Yeah, Dad.” I snap the phone shut and sigh. I silently watch another leaf in its dive towards the earth. That man. That man is halfway around the world and everything reminds me of him.

Description
     This man, the one who says he’ll always love me. He’s halfway around the world, and everything reminds me of him. The way the leaves fall off the trees so slowly, drifting from side to side until they rest upon the ground. The time we pretended we were in slow motion, chasing the autumn leaves in descent. He cheated that day. He made a hard left and took me down, laughing. It didn’t hurt, but he kissed my forehead and told me he was sorry anyway. Then we laid in the leaves and watched the clouds and forgot that we were supposed to be raking.
     The way the brisk air chokes me as I gulp it in, shocking my lungs until they thaw in time for another chilly burst. The time we raced down the sledding hill and I tripped, tripping him in the process. We both fell, rolling down the hill and landing at the bottom with a crash. We laughed and laughed and laughed until our chests hurt more from the laughing than the racing. That was the same year he fell off his sled and vowed never to go sledding again. He never did.
     The way my fingers are frozen, making them feel small and heavy at the same time. When he would hold both my hands, and I was amazed by how my fingers disappeared in the sea of his. How securely he held my hands, and how I trusted him. If only I knew that those same hands would shatter my heart into an infinite number of tiny little pieces. I would’ve ripped my hands away and ran as fast as I could. But how can you blame the naïve?
     The way the wind blows, cutting at everything in its way. It attacks my eyes, making them water so much that I can’t see whether I blink the tears away or I don’t. It brings me back to the day he left, his suitcases packed and in his car, me standing on the front step, eye to eye with him. The night air cut at my eyes the same way, but I was crying anyway. My abandoned soul felt colder than the wind could’ve ever made me. He tried to hug me. He said that He’ll Come Back for Me, that He Will Always Love Me. Part of me believed him then.
     My teary eyes now fidget, not resting on one single thing for too long before going back to the cell phone freezing to my skin. He said he was going to call me. He is 20 minutes too late already. As if I wasn’t already angry, this man has the gall to be late. I entertain the idea of just forgetting it and going back into the warmth for a while. If I did and he eventually called I wouldn’t be able to hear a word he said. All of a sudden, a buzzing cut through the howling wind. I’m so startled that I accidentally toss the phone into a pile of soggy leaves. I grasp at the little thing, pulling it into me like it was a child.
     “Hello?”
     “Hey Kiddo.” That voice. The velvety voice that has crooned to me since I was a baby. It begins to melt the ice building up in my chest. Then I remember that I’m angry at this man.
     “You were supposed to call me twenty minutes ago. You know that I get no reception in that house and I’m fucking freezing out here.” My tone does not betray the fact that I am not only furious, I’m hurt. What was he doing when he was supposed to be talking to his only daughter?
     “Watch that language, young lady.”
     “Stuff it. I’m angry at you.” I cross my arms instinctively, defiantly, although he is not with me to see the gesture.
     “It’s only twenty minutes, honey.” His laid back tone makes me angrier. Sad tears are beginning to come.
     “I only get to talk to you once a week, Dad. Twenty minutes are a big deal.” These are our conversations. He is late every week, and he knows this. And he knows that I know this, but it happens anyway. So we argue about it. Then he says he is Sorry, Kiddo, and I forgive him. How could you blame the naïve? Then he asks me How School Is Going, and I say It‘s Fine. Then I ask him How Work Is Going, and he says Well. Then he tells me about the weather down under and I get jealous and angry and he laughs. We both know our lines, we’ve done this a million times and we know how it is supposed to end.
     Sometimes, I really wish we wouldn’t stick to the script. So it goes.
     “Hey Kiddo, I don’t have long but I want to tell you something pretty great.” I smile to myself as he says this. Australia really is the best place for him. He can be a laid-back surfer and businessman at the same time.
     “Lay it on me.”
     “I’m coming to visit!”
     I literally drop the phone in shock. I once again scramble to pick it up. My clumsy frozen fingers wouldn’t grasp it in time for me to hear the beginning of his next sentence.
     “WHAT?”
     “What, what?” he laughs. He is mocking me, I swear. My chest freezes up again as I cautiously stand.
     “What do you mean What, what? I haven’t seen you since you got in your stupid little car and drove away. That’s three years. And now, ‘I’m coming to visit!’ Like you’re my grandpa coming up from Texas or something! Have you even talked to my mom about this?! She’s got a new husband you know! And there is no room for you here! And...WHAT?!” I’ve run out of adequate words. I let the silence fall like the leaves. Maybe he’s remembering the leaves like I am. Maybe he’s remembering how he and my mother fought and fought until one of them kicked the dog by accident and gave it a limp. Maybe he’s remembering the day that dog died and I called him and had to go before I could even tell him. Maybe he’ll come back and expect the dog to limp out to him like before.
     “Well…I..” A hand covers his receiver and I can hear him say “Yeah, okay, Bill. I‘ll be right there.” Or maybe he just has to go.
     “Bye, Bad.”
     “Oh…well, bye Kiddo. I love you.”
     “Yeah, Dad.” I snap the phone shut and sigh. I silently watch another leaf in its dive towards the earth. That man. That man is halfway around the world and everything reminds me of him.