It had been a cool, grey morning, walking to the bus stop, when she asked her Dad why the sun had disappeared?
“It’s just cloudy,” he replied, squeezing her hand, hurrying her along.
“But why?” she was frowning now.
“Ella Jane, we need to keep walking. We must hurry.” he said, breathing hard.
“But why is it cloudy?”
As they turned the corner, she was looking for the moon, too, in the vast sky until she spotted the wildflowers.
“Where’s the moon?” she asked.
“Listen, we’ve got to hurry. You know, you cannot miss the bus!”
But she stopped, because she wanted to pick the purple flower. “Jane, please,” he winced. Then he paused. Sweat was forming on his brow. She heard coughing again, raspy sounds, the heavy breathing, and he stopped.
She didn’t want to push him. Even at a young age, she knew better than to push him. He was feeble, ill, suffering from asthma, and a severe addiction to pain pills. Her mother had slipped too. Her mind was broken so she stayed tucked away in that home with the others.
Overtime, Ella Jane learned to distract herself, finding peace with the sound of the wind through the trees, and all the birds’ cries. There was the sky full of clouds too, those stars. She found comfort in all of it, as she gripped her father’s clammy hand on an ordinary day.
The dainty flower was still in her other hand, and she felt the familiar stinging behind her eyes as she stuffed it inside his t-shirt pocket for luck.
As she neared her stop, she called out, “Goodbye Dad,” a bit too loud, “bye-bye.” Then, she walked toward the massive, yellow bus, the wheels that would steer her away from his sorrow, troubles.
As she made her way to the middle row, she always chose that seat next to the window so she could look up-up and away to the massive sky.