TFS: Burnt Earth

Molly – 35 years ago

“I’m almost ready!” I promise.

I honestly don’t understand the rush. Every year, my parents drag me there. The only real purpose it serves is to soothe their consciences. I don’t remember my first family, not in a way altering everything I’ve become. I remember being sad when they died, but the sadness was short-lived, replaced with amazing memories overshadowing my fickle, five-year-old feelings. I was too young when the accident happened for the loss to affect me in a permanent way.

“Seriously, Molly,” Mom complains. “How can it take you two hours to get ready?”

She stands in the doorway, watching me sculpt the face I want the world to see. “Perfection takes time,” I muse.

“You’d be just as pretty without all that stuff,” she persists.

“I’d be average,” I counter. “We don’t do average in this house.”

She laughs. “Only the best for our special girl.”

My parents are exceptional. They’re everything any child could ever hope for. In a way, I’m more blessed in having been adopted. They knew what a gift it was to have me, so they never forgot it. I was chosen, and I feel the love of that choice every day of my life. It leaves little room for anything else.

“I hope Jack knows the prize he’s winning in you,” Dad announces as we head outside.

I smile proudly. “He reminds me every day.”

“That Jack. Always on point.” Dad clicks his tongue.

Dad’s right. Jack’s always on point. With everything. Always. His dependability is his most redeeming quality in the eyes of my parents. I have no complaints. Absolutely zero. While I watched my friends endure heartache and loss, I never had to worry about that with Jack. It’s like the universe plucked him out specifically for me. He was my first and only love, and in twenty-four hours, I’ll become Mrs. Jack Matthews. I’ll live in the house he bought for us, one block away from my parents. Just far enough to be out of direct sight, but close enough I don’t feel I’m giving anything up.

I’m happy. I’m more than happy. I’m blessed. I’m the epitome of optimism.

The drive to the cemetery takes about ten minutes. They wait in the car, while I make my yearly appearance a day early. I selected the ceremony day purposely, in accordance with the accident anniversary. I want to take my only negative memory and permanently mark it with something positive—my wedding.

“Hello everyone,” I greet them cheerfully. “I realize I’m a day early, but I’ll be pretty busy tomorrow getting married, so I won’t have time visit you.”

I stand staring at the gravestone, three names staring back at me: Lucy, Kyle and Connor Doran. I’ve no disillusions they’ll talk back or they can even hear me. In truth, the whole exercise is more for my parents than me. They want to make sure I know I was loved just as much by someone else. They didn’t want me to feel they were keeping me sheltered from my past. In turn, I’ll always be content to look forward. Before me are endless possibilities. All of them are good.

I’m missing nothing. I have a father to walk me down the aisle, a mother to look to as a role model, and someone to walk through life with. I have fistfuls of forever friends, who I grew up with in our quiet, crime-free neighborhood. My family is enormous, always receptive and ready to take on new members. My life is glorious. If anything, the very brief, rough start was fitting too. It ensured I wouldn’t take anything for granted, and I haven’t. I never will.

I was a tame teenager. The most trouble I ever got into was in lighting Mrs. Matthews metal trash can on fire in middle school, which is how I met Jack. He put the fire out, and in doing so ignited an entirely new one in my heart. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

When Jack asked me to marry him, I gleefully agreed. We decided my future will be spent being a wife and mother. It’s a fairytale job I know will be ideal for me. We’ll have two children, a dog and cat, and live in our two-storey house, complete with the white picket fence Jack’s already installed. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Jack Matthews.

I lay fresh roses on the grave, smiling down at my past. “I know this would make you happy. I know, because it makes me happy.”

As I turn to leave, I notice a boy watching me. I can’t see him clearly, but I can tell he’s frowning. While he’s sad, that isn’t a feeling I’m familiar with. I’ve never truly known sadness, only the childish, temporary hollow of loss. I offer him a bright smile, waving at him on my way out. He doesn’t smile or wave back, which is a foreign response to me. Everyone I know is friendly and incredibly social. It surprises me another way exists. For me, this is existence. It’s my forever. I love my life.

I spend the rest of the day in elated preparation. It isn’t that things aren’t ready. Everything’s ready. I’m simply excited. By the end of the day, I want nothing more than to go to bed and wake up to the best day of my life—my wedding day. In fact, I go to bed early, just so it’ll come sooner.

As my parents tuck me in for the last time in their house, I hug them in appreciation for everything they’ve given me. If I have to pick one goal for my future, it’s to be the kind of wife and mother that’ll make them proud of me. They’re extraordinary examples of everything I hope to become.

“I love you,” I whisper, as they kiss me on my gleaming cheeks.

“And, we love you, our special girl,” they chime in unison.

With my down comforter enveloping me, I go to sleep in the blissful warmth of my surroundings. No one, anywhere, could ever be as happy as I am in this moment.

It’s my last happy moment.