Annabelle, Age 5

The girl grasped her mothers hand, their fingers interlocked and twined together. She shuffled  across the street, bewildered by her surroundings. Never had she bore witness to an atmosphere so clouded with sorrow. It scared, no, terrified her.

“Mommy, where are we going?”

Her mother did nothing but stiffen her lip, and continued at her brisk pace.

“Mommy...I wanna go home.”

When no reply came, the girl lowered her head and continued her careful, quiet steps. Using her free hand, she stroked the sleeve of her dress, honored that she had been trusted to wear such finery. She didn’t think much of the color, though. Black was the color that she would wake up screaming only to see. The color that took sharp, harsh bites of her. And yet, today, nearly everything was decorated in black. She would have preferred a softer color. Like the color of her birthday dress just a few days ago. Her birthday... Her grandfather had missed her birthday. He never missed her birthday. She released her mother’s hand, and turned to face her directly, staring up into her eyes.

“Why didn’t Grandpa come to my birthday party?”

This finally gave her pause, and she spun away from Annabelle. Upon touch, she felt her mother quivering. She heard a gulp, and her mother turned once again to face her, an over the top smile plastered onto her lips.

“Grandpa was busy, sweetheart.”

Annabelle was about to ask more, but was guided into a pristine church. She reached for her mother’s hand, and there it was, feebly squeezing hers. Together, they entered the building.
“Why is everyone so sad?” She thought, gazing uncomprehendingly at the scene before her. Everyone seemed to have tears running down their cheeks.

Even her brother, who was always the knight in her fairy tales, always the brave one, was leaning against a corner of the building, his eyes not daring to meet hers.

Murmurs of “I’m so sorry for your loss...” “He was such a great man..” and others echoed through the room. But Annabelle was lost in a sea of knees, and was surrounded by these strange phrases. What was going on? Finally, unable to cope with the misery that so tightly filled the room, she fled to the outside.

The cobble-stones on the pathway were slick with moisture from the passing rain. She took a step onto the path, threw off her shoes, and broke into a run.

With each step, the piercing stones beneath her feet began to transform. They become
steps, and propel her up into the sky. When she closed her eyes, she found herself thinking of her grandfather. Where could he be? She missed him so much. He would always tell her stories at night, stories that twisted and spun around in her mind, stories of dragons, princesses and castles. He could make her believe anything, but always made her feel safe. His warm, lemony scent wrapped around her and enveloped her like an embrace. Suddenly, a cough brought her back to her senses.

There stood her brother. Her steps swiftly reverted to the previous hard stones that had punctured her pale feet. He held up her patent shoes, and placed them gingerly on the ground beside her. While he bent down, she noticed his damp cheeks, his misty eyes. Catching her gaze, he furiously rubbed at them. Annabelle watched in perplexed fascination. Each stroke left a savage red mark on his face. Finally, his hand sank to his side, as he faced her once more.
“C’mon. I’m going to take you to see Grandpa. “They returned to the church, and the first sight astounded her. Her father was crying. She had never seen her father cry before.

“Don’t cry, Daddy.” Reaching up one pudgy finger, she wipes away a stray tear. Another simply slid down to replace it. Here was her father, always so strong, always so powerful. Here was her father, broken.

“C’mon.” Her brother propelled her towards a casket, stopping short just a few feet away.
“Say hi to Grandpa...” He murmured. Handing her a rose perched on a nearby windowsill, he whispered, his voice cracking, “Why don’t you give Grandpa this rose. We’re not going to see him for a long time. It can be your goodbye present. ” She grasped the rose, pressing it close to her chest. Was her grandfather really inside? It couldn’t be too comfortable. But no one ever told Grandpa what to do. If he was in that box, it was his own choosing. She grinned. She stood on tip-toe, her eyes barely peeking over the coffin. Laying the rose atop the cold wooden box, she brushed her lips against the side.

“Goodbye Grandpa. Come back soon.”

“I love you.”