Hearts Left Behind Read Online Free Page B

headed
to my room.
    Like every day of my new life, I had been thinking of
Ethan.  But it was always in the company of others and I needed to be
alone.  I also needed to be drunk.
    Like every day of my new life, I cried.  I
imagined for the ten-thousandth time how lonely and frightened he must have
been.  How alone and forsaken he must have felt in those final moments
before giving himself up to death.
    Like every day of my new life, I prayed.  They
were bitter and angry words spit out through tears and snot and gasping
breaths.  I tried to stick with the Lord’s prayer ,
but vodka makes me angry and angry was my natural state these days, so it was
angry on angry.  I condemned God and then prayed for his
forgiveness.  I cursed Him and then I thanked Him for all my
blessings.  Mos t
of all, though, I questioned Him.   Just
questioned Him.   You could convince me that Ethan dying was not God
punishing, but you could not convince me that this wasn’t God allowing. 
And truth be told, I hated Him for it.
    For the second night of my new life, I slept
alone.  Slept, that is, until I awoke gasping for air at three in the
morning.  My choking dream had returned.  Head throbbing, chest
heaving, I sprang upright in bed and sucked in as much air as my lungs could
hold.  The literally breath-taking
nightmare was as intense as it had ever been, maybe more so.  The muscles
in my throat were tight and they ached.  They hurt so much that my neck
was sensitive to the touch.
    I flipped on the nightstand light, pulled the covers
back off my legs and looked at my angel-son, skin-painted on the inside of my
left leg just above the ankle.  I folded my leg in toward me and gently
rubbed a thumb across his cherub face.  Breathing easier now, I spoke his
name out loud just to hear myself say it.  So that my
ears might know the sound of the name.   So that
my tongue might know the feel of the name.   So
that this world might not forget the name.
    “Ethan,” I repeated.
    I grabbed a pen
and notebook from the nightstand drawer and wrote.
     
    Dancing butterfly
    Delicate and free
    Carry this prayer to
    The highest tree
    A prayer of love
    T hat my son
might know
    His Father above and
    His father below
     
    Blackbird’s brother
    Heart on wing
    Carry this prayer to
    The King of Kings
    Lift to the clouds these
    Words of love
    From the father below to
    The Son above
     
    Lord of Lords and
    King of Kings
    Accept this prayer of
    Cloud and wings
    And send a sign so that
    I might know
    That the son above loves
    The father below.
     
    I put the notebook back in the drawer and looked back
down at the angel tattoo on my leg.
    “Ethan,” I said again. “Daddy loves you forever.”
    The feather from the park was on the nightstand. 
I picked it up, closed my hand around it tightly, and turned out the light.
    Yeah, that’s me .  The father below.
     
    My first thought upon waking up the next morning was
that this bed had been a lot more comfortable when I was ten.  My second
thought was that I had not called home the night before. 
    Tory answered on the first ring and we talked for a
couple minutes about a hundred different things.
    “Daddy, guess what?”
    “What?”
    “Hillary got a new dog.”
    “Oh, did she?  I thought she already had a dog.”
    “She did have a dog.  Now she has two dogs. 
We don’t have any dogs because dogs wipe their butts on the carpet and not
toilet paper and you don’t like that, Daddy.  And, Daddy, guess what?”
    “What?”
    “Smoking is bad for you.  I’m glad you’re living
a tobacco-free life, Daddy.”
    “You’re right, Sweetie, smoking is bad for you.”
    “And, Daddy, guess what?”
    “Sweetie, can I talk to Mommy?”
    “Okay.  Love you, Daddy.  Bye.”
    “Love you, too, Sweetie.”
    She handed the phone to her mother.
    “Hello.”  Neither warm nor cool.
    “Hi, Tam.”
    “Hi.”
    “How are you doing?  Miss me yet?”
    “I was missing you before you left.”
    “I can