Isabelle

-------Her View------1

The ring is cold, along with the finger, the skin, the muscle that covers the bone that is cracked in several places. Outside, where my hand is, is cold also. I don’t remember when I got here, or why. My finger, the broken one, doesn’t feel hurt anymore. That pain was long gone, along with the pain exploding in my head. I didn’t fight much, not after the broken finger. When the gun came towards my head, I simply flinched as the bullet pierced my skull, and then the pain was gone. Gone from this earth, just like me.2

I don’t know who shot me, and I don’t know why. I just remember him wanting my ring, the cold one. The ring meant everything to me, but I suppose he wouldn’t understand that. He grabbed my hand, and then saw the ring. I kept it until I died. My thoughts are slow, thinking about when he came up to me. I was riding the pony, the ten-cent one. I thought it was so much fun, because I knew I would never ride a real one. My mother said that she would be back, back in an hour or so, and gave me a million dimes, and left. She walked into the store, and I yelled at her that I didn’t like being so alone. Then I got back on the pony, and rode it. Children tried to make me get off, so they could ride, but I kept my position. “Stay right here, don’t move.” My mother told me to stay here, so I did. 3

And then he came- I don’t remember what his first question was, but I know I got off of the pony. My bottom had become both cold and uncomfortable, sitting on that metal pony for an hour. He asked me for a dime, so I gave him one. All of the lessons my mom gave me didn’t help; I did talk to him, a stranger. 4

He said he had a child at home, a little boy, about my age. This boy also loved to play on this pony. His favorite part, he said, was when his little boy giggled with delight as the fake-pony gallops. He asked me if I wanted to go to his house, and meet his little boy. I shrugged, and remembered what my mom said—Stay here. My mom had spent too much time in the store, and my mind raced. She obviously doesn’t want me, because she leaves me alone way too much. I could make a new friend, a friend who likes metal ponies as much as I do. With the rest of the dimes in my pocket, I walked with the strange man a few blocks, to a little blue house that had three windows in the front, and a front porch that held a bench that swings. The little boy wasn’t home, he said, but I could wait for him to get home from the baby sitters. He would call, and the babysitter would drive him over and we could play, and talk about the metal ponies. I sat on the swing and waited. The ring, which was warm against my skin, glittered in the setting sun. I still waited, the man sitting next to me. I asked him for a glass of water, and he told me to come inside and get it. He’d make some cookies while we waited for his son. 5

I didn’t see any pictures of his son; his house was much different from mine. In my house, there are pictures everywhere of my mom and I. My dad died shortly after I was born, so all I held was one small Polaroid picture that is underneath my pillow. In his house it was covered in plants, of every kind. I wasn’t sure what kind they were, but it smelled fresh in his house, like walking into a rain forest. He walked up to the sink and poured me a glass of water.6

-----------His view-------------------7

After the funeral, I spent a lot of time at home. Being only 25, wifeless, and childless, it made me feel very vulnerable to stupidity. I don’t want to think about the accident, so I plant flowers and cactuses, different vegetation all around my house. The day that I met my wife, I bought her a single rose, and she told me, “I love plants.” After we had Isabelle, I knew that our house would be covered in plants. But we never did that, I’m not sure why. We got busy, I guess. Isabelle loved to run around with little toys, flinging them around in all sorts of matter, knocking objects off of tables. We decided not to put more things-plants- around for her to knock off. I loved her, though, loved her like a dad should love his daughter. She was everything to my wife and I. The day that Isabelle died, I ran to my wife and told her she was alive. Her blood was on me, and I tried to wipe it off, but it just wouldn’t budge. Her life that we created would not budge from my life, not even a year after, when my wife committed suicide, did Isabelle budge from my mind. I still keep the clothes that her blood stained, because I can’t stand to think about her being from my life. My wife told me she didn’t want to live, but after “the accident” [we commonly called it the accident to avoid saying her name] we didn’t get along very much, or at all. Even with all of the suicidal warning signs that I clearly saw, being a physiologist as I am, I ignored them. And that’s when she committed suicide. I could say she didn’t feel pain, or that she was happy when she did pass away, but then I would be lying. Her death caused my wife to slice her wrist in front of me, must have been the worst time for her. First the pain- the severing of her vein and then she saw the blood. 8

After she saw the blood, she freaked. I don’t think she wanted to end her life, mainly because she was pregnant at the time, only nine weeks. She stared at the blood and told me to fix it, and I tried. My clothes, as with Isabelle, were stained. She died an hour after, at the hospital. The physicians said that, with the baby as underdeveloped as it was, it was dead within minutes of her slicing her wrist—the loss of blood caused the baby to die, quickly, from blood loss. Not only did I lose my wife and Isabelle, I also lost my son, who I was to name Josh.9

With both of my clothes, covered in blood, hanging in my closet, I decided to dedicate my life to planting all sorts of exotic plants. The urge for me to have children, a wife, and a life kept my mind at bay. I knew I had to find a child, or a wife. But the thought of a new wife in my life made me upset, because I knew that I would never love someone as much. With two years passed and no child or wife came my way, I decided to spend more time outside- planting a garden and grocery shopping every day. I didn’t buy much, of course. I watched children play on the pony, because Isabelle loved the pony. I began to buy toys, little presents to give my “children” at home. My mind played tricks on me- and I developed schizophrenia, and I talked to my children everyday, and quit my job to spend time with them. 10

I took my trip to the grocery store, and that’s when I saw an argument between a little girl and a mother. The mom, clearly sick of having children, left the girl outside to play on the pony that Isabelle loved so much, and that she clearly loved too. I watched her from a block away, watched her tell the children that she was alone, that she had no mother, no father, and she was abandoned. I didn’t think this was true- of course- the mom had just gone to the store, leaving a little girl behind. My mind raced- I could take her in as my own, as my own little Isabelle, this could erase her death. So after an hour, and watching her mother sneak out of the back door, and leave her at the store, I walked up to her and asked her to join me at my house, and she could play with Josh.11

I learned her name is Haley, like Haley’s comet, she said. She’s five years old, and hadn’t started school yet. She told me her dad died when she was born, and that the only object that he left her was this ring. It was big on her finger, but she was sworn she’d grow into it. I told her it was a pretty ring, and left it at that.12

I remember her face when she walked into my house for a glass of water, the plants amazed her and she was much gentler than Isabelle would have been, but that never changed my love for her. I poured her a class of water, being careful not to scare her- I knew that she had been taught not to talk to strangers, but we were getting along great. I told her about myself. About Isabelle’s death, and then shortly after, my wife dying, only leaving out that my son died along with them. He would be home soon, I kept repeating.13

-------Her View-------14

I knew that he didn’t actually have a son; there were no pictures of him, anywhere. But that didn’t stop me. His affection was the best thing to happen to me. When my dad died, my mom started ignoring me, and neglecting me. I didn’t mind that I was here, with a stranger. I was enjoying myself. He fed me cookies while we “waited”. I didn’t mind that he lied, because I knew that he was dead inside, and I was finally giving him some relief from that. I asked him if we could play some board games, and he agreed then started smiling bigger than anything I’ve seen before. We played monopoly, which I had never played before. He taught me how to count the money, and what it meant to buy a house. He told me that Isabelle loved this game, even if she was too young to play it. He taught her, too. When the sun fell and my mom still did not send out the police to me, I agreed that she must have abandoned me. It didn’t bother me as much as it should have. I asked him if we could wait until his son came home, and he nodded. That’s when I knew I really wanted this man, a stranger to adopt me. I learned his name is Bernard. I told him I had never known a Bernard, but that it was nice to finally meet one. He told me he’d love for me to stay, and smiled. He showed me a beautiful girl’s room, nicely done with pink carpet and pink walls, and a comfortable bed in the middle; I felt like I was home.15

I spent the next week there, with him, and he finally confessed that his son had died, with his wife during her accident. He didn’t tell me how she died; just that it was a big accident. His eyes filled with tears every time he talked about it, so I left the whole thing alone. I was perfectly fine knowing nothing, as long as he showed the love and affection he had been showing throughout the last week. He asked me about my mom, and I simply told him that she had changed, after my father died. She barely ever talked to me. The day he came up to me while riding my horse, I knew she had neglected me. I wasn’t sure how to deal with it, but I knew she had, and I knew that she was not happy.16

The day he asked me if he could adopt me, all I could do was smile and laugh. I had been taken care of so well in the past two weeks that I had begun to think I was a princess. He got my hair trimmed and curled. I looked like a princess, complete with a necklace, beautiful curly hair, and dresses of all kinds. My mom didn’t resist when he called her, telling her that he had taken me in. She didn’t even call the police when she came back to the store, four days later, looking for me, and didn’t find me. I suppose she thought I would sit on that damn horse forever.17

---------His View-------------18

I called her mom today, and asked if I could adopt little Haley. She was angry at first, yelling at me about how I took her baby away, but I knew she was acting, her voice didn’t shudder with sadness, or even show any heart breaking throbs. She simply yelled, then, at the end, she gave up and said “JUST TAKE HER.”, in which I gladly did. I talked to Haley a few days later, telling her that I wanted to adopt her, and that she would be able to go to school soon. She wouldn’t stop smiling, and I presented her with a gift of her acceptance; a beautiful gold necklace, a round heart at the end, which touched her neck gracefully. Haley was everything I could have asked for, a new Isabelle, but never to replace.19

I told her stories about Isabelle, of the midnight snacks that we had together. I use to wake her up from a sound sleep, and ask her if she wanted a fudge sundae, or Oreos. She always enjoyed the nights we spent together, giggling, eating chocolate, and me reading her a bedtime story, even though it was way past her bedtime. I told her about the times that I took her out to the park, near the grocery store, and I swung her on the swings, her kicking her shoes off mid-air, and almost hitting a dog. We laughed a lot, back then. Her accident, which I never have told Haley about, was one that I try to block out of my mind. The day of her accident, I got off of work and she was at home, with her mother. I came home and rushed in, picking her small, fragile body into the air and squeezing her tightly. I told her about the new swings at the park- and that we will have a picnic, in the park, that night. My wife disagreed, but I took her anyway. At ten, I snuck Isabelle out into the darkness, carrying her on my back. We giggled the entire way to the park, her shoes kicking happily by my hip bones. Once we reached the park, she ran so quickly to the swings and jumped on one, the closest to the street. I ran up to her and pushed her back gently, her giggling furiously with the cold wind hitting her rosy cheeks. Her green eyes, barely visible in the nighttime, glistened with life.20

The last spoken word to her that I said was, “I love you, Isabelle.” And she simply responded, “I will see you soon, right Daddy?” That night I cried more than I have every cried in my entire life. The car that zoomed by, we didn’t see. The man stepping out of the car, we didn’t see. We didn’t see the man walking over or the bat in his hand. The first hit, to my head, I didn’t feel. When I woke up, Isabelle was lying in my hands, and I looked at her bloody, bruised face. She was crying and asking ‘why’. That’s when I responded that I loved her, and that was the last thing I ever said to her.21

I suppose that I had my wish; when she died, I was able to tell her that I loved her. I still love her. That night, the man killed my daughter. He was convicted, of course. They found the bat, bent, in the yard next to the park. Along with his DNA. I will never take a little girl with me to the park at night, nor will I let any child away for me. Maybe Haley is my second chance, my chance to prove that I can take care of a child, and, maybe Isabelle is watching me from Heaven and telling me to take care of Haley.22

-----------Her view------------23

I’m seven now. I completed first grade, and its summer time. The wonderful sun floods over the beautiful dresses that have been covering my back, my body, for the past two years. My mother died last week, and I didn’t even feel anything. She had disappeared from my mind, and when I got the call from the hospital, I simply responded okay. We attended the funeral, together. I wore a beautiful black dress. She had been shot, they weren’t sure why. They assured me they’d figure out who did this to her, but I knew. My father died from a gunshot, and they never figured anything out. There was a man, of course. I think they wanted revenge; my dad worked in the FBI and was very famous for killing a man who killed thirty people.24

Even so, Bernard said that we had to be careful, because murders like this, in my family, meant I was next. We went on with our lives, and even when I was seven, I was aware of the smallest things that Bernard did- maybe to remind him of Isabelle, his daughter, or to remind him that life is too great to waste on little problems.25

I remember the first time that Bernard yelled at me. I don’t think he really meant to. We were spending the afternoon planting a new sort of flower that I had picked out at the flower shop, and I had ran to get more soil, from a bag in the back yard, when my elbow knocked off a vase on the dining room table. He screamed at me, then, calmly, he walked over to me and hugged me. We picked up the pieces together, and then went back to planting. That’s what we do most of the time, plant; all sorts of flowers and vegetables, and different erotic plants. When I started second grade, he took me out and bought me a big cactus, imported from California. I keep it in my room, at the edge of my bed. 26

---------His View---------27

Haley’s mother died last week. I felt horrible, because the fact that she spent the first five year with her mom, and now, with two years passed from the day at the grocery store, her mother passes. She didn’t mind, though, at least she didn’t show me. I don’t think that she would lie, or hold any feeling back. She usually tells me when she’s upset. Like the time when she started her period and she walked up to me, saying, “Dad, I’m bleeding.” I freaked, of course, because the fact that she was outside, trimming the bushes, when she came in and repeated that sentence. I thought about her age- and the time, and then I nodded. We went to the store for pads, and then to the ice cream store and I bought her a big cone of ice cream. She told me how it felt- the cramps. And all about what girls at her school talked about. One of her friends told her that her mother spanked her, and told her next time to not be open about it. I told her the opposite.28

When Haley turned 8, she was running in the backyard with her friends and tripped over an empty, soil filled plant bucket. The doctor said that she would be fine; it still didn’t stop me from hugging her as tightly as I could. The cops that protect Haley come by every Friday, to make sure no “suspicious” events have happened.29

To be continued 30