by Jim Bessey

Created on: May 11, 2008

Dark room, flickering candles, hard floor under my knees. Im shaking, sobbing. "God, take me instead. Rip the heart right out of my chest. Please, God" Darkness surrounds me, and I see every moment of these past fifteen years.

* * *

Gray dawn light, on green wet grass, and Daddy's smiling that goofy "we're goin' fishin' boy" smile, whistling something familiar from the radio. I've got my brand new pole and shiny tackle box, my very first one. I look way up at him, take his hand as we head for Daddy's rusty red truck. And then that little brat from next door comes strollin' through the gate, carrying her own pole like she's invited. I'm furious, don't want her to come with us, and Daddy knows it.

"Son, we can't just leave her standing here all ready to go, now, can we?"

I can think of fifteen kids I'd rather have come fishing with us, and not one of them is a girl.

"You just wait, Johnny, one day you'll see things different, you'll see." Daddy tells me, still smiling. He waves to the brat, and holds the door for her to climb up to the front seat.

* * *

My head is pounding, my vision blurry, still on my knees there in that awful dark room. I'm all alone, just me and God, and I'm ready. My voice is barely a whisper, my throat so tight I can barely breathe. "God, I never asked you for any favors. I'm ready to go now. Take me instead, I'm begging you." Darkness fills my mind again, then a vivid memory of another day

* * *

Hot Friday night, Fourth of July weekend, the two of us lost in our own little world. We're in the shadows near the theatre. Her body fits mine perfectly, and the taste of her breath in my mouth is sweeter than any dessert could be. We're eighteen years old and haven't a care in the world for anything but each other. We don't even care who sees us kissing right here on Main Street.

She whispers, "I love you, Johnny MacDemmick," and my heart soars higher than the top of that big old oak in the square across the street.

The next minutes are a blur of confusion. Her lips are gone in an instant, and she screams. I can't see his face, but I can see that ugly, black gun barrel pressed against her soft belly. His voice sounds like truck tires crunching through the underbrush.

"You do just what I tell ya to and she might not get hurt, Junior." I can't move or breath. She's crying now, and my heart breaks to hear her sobs.

I'm pulling money out my pockets, change and bills - anything I can find. Grampa's watch, my car keys. I'm crying too, but don't realize it til later.

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