Preschool

Our Place

Do you remember that night? You grabbed my hand and seated me on the rocking chairs we placed facing the lake behind our house; you told me we needed to talk. Memories flooded my brain; I instantly remembered sitting at that very spot three years prior and on many other occasions since then. I was so small that I used to sit on dad's lap because there were only two chairs and we pointed the different kinds of nature that speckled our backyard. We came out only at dusk and sometimes dawn to watch the sun as it stained the bright sky yellow and pink. I always oohed and aahed at the dazzling show while you and dad whispered and giggled behind my back; later they become hushed arguments.

"Sweety," you said, snapping my attention back to you. It was dusk then, the sun was setting but the colors weren't nearly as bright and vivid as usual. The sky was more a pale shade of red that streaked into the dark blue night that already hung over our backyard, and gray clouds dappled the horizon. The sun was clawing at the last rays of sunlight, setting the effect that it was being dragged under and wanted to stay up. It was winter, and the trees stood bare like broken spires, shielding their eyes from the growing darkness.

"Where's dad?" I asked. Dad had always sat with us before. I never remembered ever sitting there without him, because that was our place. It was the special place where we bonded and became inseparable. There were no problems when we were there.

"I'm afraid there's going to be some changes in our lives," you sighed, resting your warm hand on mine. I refused to meet your gaze, because those words and that deep tone in your voice always meant something bad.

"Is it about dad?" I inquired, but I already knew the answer. We wouldn't have gone to our place without him if something wasn't wrong.

"Yes," you agreed solmenly, rubbing your thumb over my fingers. "Your father and I aren't connecting anymore, and we're filing for a divorce. It's going to be hard for the first couple of months, years maybe. We're going to be splitting our profits, so money will be tight. Your father's going to move down south, down to Tennessee."

I asked you to stop then, because you were going way to fast for me. "Why are you divorcing?" I cut in, because it made no sense. Those days on our chairs seemed so perfect. How had something gone wrong?

"Well, your father and I had disagreements. He wasn't always honest, and I didn't like it. I'd been harsh on him, and he didn't like it. Altogether we weren't working anymore. But just know that it's for the best, and it has nothing to do with you. We both love you very much."

"Then why is dad moving so far away?" I demanded, pulling my hand away. I wasn't angry at you. If you remember I just want you to know that I wasn't angry. I was just sad and confused. To hear that dad was moving and we could never be a family again hurt me, and I didn't know how to act. Tears were pricking at the back of my eyes but I blinked them away because I knew that crying was childish, and I couldn't be a child right then.

"Because he needs his space," you told me, shaking your head slightly. "As I told you, things are going to be tough, and your father's going to be staying near his siblings until he can get back on his feet."

"So I'm never going to see him again?" The tears were returning, and I let one slip down a few inches before I rubbed it away with my jacket sleeve.

"Not necessarily," you countered, your voice soft. "I hate to make you decide, but you can choose who you want to stay with. We both know that the descision will be tough, and just know that neither of us will be hurt by what you decide. Choose what you think is best."

You said it would be hard, but that descision was the worst thing I've ever had to do. I had to choose between parents. That's next to impossible to do. I loved you both, know that. You said you wouldn't be hurt but I could see it in your eyes that you were. I chose to go with dad not because I loved him in any way more than you but because I didn't think I could stand to be anywhere near our chairs without dad around.