Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

I nod. “That’s what my mom says about burnt food.”

She looks at me sideways.

“Maybe,” I offer then, smilin’ to myself. “Maybe a girl with no toys found it.”

She keeps her sideways stare on me for another few heartbeats before she eventually lowers her eyes and bobs her head in agreement. Then, we’re both quiet. I steal a glance at her bare legs. They’re tan and still just as long as they were yesterday. And she has the same kind of little jean shorts on today that she had on yesterday too. I silently send up a thankful prayer. I never realized how much I liked little jean shorts.

“Why do you think they call him Winnie-the-Pooh?” she asks, breaking my concentration on her legs. I quickly send my gaze to the water, hopin’ she didn’t notice me starin’.

I think about it for a few seconds before I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I say, honestly.

“There’s not an animal called a pooh, right?” she asks.

I gnaw on my bottom lip. There was a dodo bird, and there’s a blobfish and a booby. I laugh on the inside. That last one always cracks me up. “Naw,” I say instead. “I don’t think there’s a pooh.”

She pushes her lips to one side as if she’s thinking. “It’s hot,” she says after a moment. “Let’s go swimming.”

She stands up suddenly and starts shimmying off her little shorts. I instinctively close my eyes before I see somethin’ she doesn’t want me to see, but then I can’t help but slide one eyelid cautiously open. She takes off her little top next, and I notice she has a swimsuit top on underneath it. I breathe a sigh of relief, but I’m not altogether sure why. And in no time, both eyes pop open, and I can’t seem to tear my stare away from her. Every piece of her is perfection. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You comin’?” she asks, looking back at me.

I snap out of my trance and manage to grunt a yes or somethin’ similar to that right before I force my eyes to the dirt. I don’t want her thinkin’ I’m a creep or like one of those stalkers on those TV crime shows my mom sometimes watches.

I stand up and pull the neck of my shirt up over my head, and then I throw the shirt onto a tree branch. I wore swim trunks under my jeans today, so I unbutton my pants and pull them off too and throw them onto the branch next to my shirt.

She looks back at me once I’ve got everything off and smiles. I really hope that’s a good smile.

I wade into the water after her. She’s already floatin’ on her back and lookin’ up at the blue sky by the time I get waist-deep. I move closer to her, but she just keeps starin’ up at that sky as if she’s memorizing every inch of it. And the whole time, she doesn’t say a word. It takes everything in me to tear my eyes away from her, but I manage to do it just so I can lie back and stare up at the clouds with her.

“Do you ever think about dying?” she asks.

I instantly find my feet again. Sand and little bits of gravel invade my toes as I force my stare in her direction. Nobody ever talks about dyin’ around here — well, except my grandma once upon a time and only in prayers. She always used to say that prayer before I went to sleep — somethin’ about if I should die before I wake . That always used to scare the crap out of me. But no, around here, death is somethin’ you don’t talk about. Hell, people don’t even talk about dyin’ at funerals. And they sure as hell don’t talk about it on a sunny afternoon.

“No,” I say, inspectin’ her face. “I don’t think about it.” She keeps her eyes planted in the sky.

“So you never think about what you’ll miss?”

I look at her one last time before I slowly sink back into the water next to her. “Not really.”

Her stare grazes me, and I just happen to catch her soft smile. It works to ease me a little. “I think I’d miss the sun…and the way the birds sing early in the morning,” she says.

She looks away from me and then back up at the sun and the few white clouds as she talks, but I keep my eyes on her. She might be crazy, but I ain’t never seen a prettier face.

“Brooke,” I say once she’s grown quiet again.

She turns her face toward mine.

“I ain’t never heard nobody talk about dyin’ before.”

Her soft laughter fills the space between us. “I’m not talking about dying, River.” I watch her smile, and then she finds the sky again. “I’m talking about living.”

Living? Boy, I’ve heard girls are hard to figure out, but this one…

“River, you live here all your life?”

After a little pause, I start to nod my head. “Yeah, I have.”

“What’s it like to live somewhere your whole life?”

I think what I can about it. It only takes me a few seconds before I shrug my shoulders. I had never really taken any time to think about it before, and I don’t have anything to compare it to anyway, so I just say what I think. “It’s simple, I guess, and maybe a little boring after a while.”

She looks at me with crumpled eyebrows, so I try to explain it a little better.

“Well, you know everybody, and you can’t get lost if you wanted to, but…”

“Sometimes you want to get lost?” she asks.

I meet her stare, and for the first time, I really get a good look at the color of her eyes. They’re mostly this wild shade of green with specks of gray scattered throughout. It’s as if I’m lookin’ at two pieces of green glass held to the light. I ain’t never known anybody to have eyes like that. There’s something untamed about ‘em — like a feral cat or somethin’.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad sometimes,” I say. “It would be like an adventure, you know — to get lost and try to find your way back?”

She laughs a little, and at the same time nods her head.

I listen to her sweet laughter fade until it’s quiet again.

“Brooke?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like to live somewhere else?”

Her smile quickly returns and goes to edgin’ across her pretty face. “Like getting lost and trying to find your way back.”

I gnaw on her words for a second. Does this girl always speak in riddles?

“It’s an adventure,” she says, “but it gets lonely sometimes.”

“Oh,” I say, sadly, because her last words sound so sad. I want to tell her that if she stays here, I’ll never let her get lonely ever again, but I don’t. I just watch her, until her sad face shifts back to the heavens.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asks.

“I have a sister,” I say.

“Younger or older?

“Younger. Five years younger. She’s eight.”

“And…that would make you…thirteen?”

I nod my head, scared she might think that’s too young or somethin’. I study her, preparing for the worst. Instead, she just smiles.

“I’m thirteen too. I’ll be in eighth grade this year.”

Immediately, I let out a sigh of relief. “Me too.”

Her eyes go to examinin’ me then. It makes me a little nervous.

“What about you? Any brothers or sisters?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Only child.”

I smile a little, even though I’m thinking that’s got to stink. I mean, my little sister is practically good for nothin’, but every once in a while, she’s at least good for a game of Go Fish or Battleship or somethin’.

All of a sudden, Brooke stands, and it stops my train of thought. “I’m glad you came back today.”

My mouth cracks open, and I find my feet. I want to tell her I wouldn’t miss seeing her again even if my grandpa told me I could trade in my work boots for Disney World today. And I ain’t never been to Disney World.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” I hear the words leave my mouth, but I’m not sure it’s really me who said them. And I’m definitely not sure where my sudden burst of courage comes from.