Love Shot X Shot of Love

Death X is Dead

It's not the same girl I enjoy all day, singing and dancing like no one's watching. This is the girl I saw the day she approached me at five feet. Dried fresh tears on her bright cheeks, swollen lips and nose looked cracked and dry.

"What's wrong?"I stammered.

"My father is injured."He swiped his arm aggressively on his running nose. "Like really bad.”

"ill? Like how?"We headed to my bed, and after brushing my Bratz dolls non-stop, we sat down, leaning against the wall next to the bed I met. I, with my legs stretched forward, he curled up, resting his cheeks against one knee.

"Mom didn't tell me when we had lunch. But I think he came home because something happened, and. he-he said it was not good.”.

"What's going on?"I asked, describing for the most part Mr. Ahmad, wondering what could possibly hurt someone so great.

Sucking in deep breaths like he was trying to muster up the courage to think about his father, he went on, "he won't tell me. He said that sometimes bad things happen. But, she said that she probably won't look good when she first returns. And I need to be careful with him.”

"Oh."Is there everything I say.

Mac's eyes darkened later, like he had thoughts so deep that he bothered him so much. "Zara .. I heard my mother talking on the phone before I came here. Mother said that she almost died.”

His last words came out as breathing. His eyes widened, as if something was leaping out and scared him, before the rope of his emotions settled.

Tears seemed endless as he flooded his face with miserable leaks. We sat down, we hugged, we talked again. Sympathy I sat down and heard him pour his hurt heart out over the man he liked more than anything.

It took two hours before his mother came looking for him.

Next week seems to raise Mac. Pleasure and sadness mixed around his emotions, leaving him in limbo.

I spent most of the day at her house, distracting her as best as a young girl could. Not much really helps though.

The day finally came for his father to return. I tried to fight my curiosity, but it eventually disappeared, and made my way out to where I was. There was still a chill in the air from late July, so I bundled up in a big hoodie and rolled my knees in it while I waited.

Just a few houses downstairs, Mac mimics my position on the sidewalk itself. His waves to me were excited, but I could imagine him agitated, both nervous and joyous. I think his mother was sitting on the porch, tapping on her fixed phone accessories.

The sound of the engine moving over the highway, the closer it gets to a higher March hike until it stands so high that it compensates for its tip toes.

I can tell both she saw her father. His body jumped in place, and he resisted the urge to jump into his hands. But he knows better. Better than handling a male sports stick. That's all I've seen, not close enough to really tell the extent of the injury.

She welcomes her family as best she can, awkward hugs and kisses shared, before going inside, Mac has grabbed the duffle bag, which may weigh just as much as she does. He lifted a bag that was too big inside, missing from my sight.

Xxxxxxxx

“What’s wrong?” Stutter.

“My dad’s hurt.” She swipes her arm aggressive across her running nose. “Like really bad.”

“Hurt? Like how?” We make our way towards my bed, and after brushing my Bratz dolls off uncaringly, we sit, leaning our backs against the wall the side of my bed meetings. Me, with my legs stretched forward, her curled up, resting her cheek against one knee.

“Mom didn’t tell me while we were at lunch. But I guess he’s coming home because something happened, and. she-she said it’s not good.”.

“What happened?” I ask, picturing the bulk of Mr. Ahmad, wondering what could possibly hurt someone so big.

Sucking in a deep breath like she’s trying to muster the courage to think about her dad, she goes on, “She wouldn’t tell me. She said that sometimes bad things happen. But, she said that he’s probably not going to look good when he first comes back. And that I need to be careful with him.”

“Oh.” Is all I say.

Mac’s eyes turn darker then, like she’s having a thought so deep that it disturbs her greatly. “Zara.. I heard my mom talking on the phone before I came here. Mom said that he almost died.”

Her final words come out as a hushed breath. Her eyes widen, as though something jumped out and scared her, before her emotional cord snaps.

The tears seemed endless as she flooded her face with the miserable leaking. We sat, we hugged, we talked some more. Sympathetically I sat and listened to her pour her teaching heart out over the man she loves more than anything.

It took two hours before her mom even came looking for her.

The next week sees to steer Mac up. Excitement and sorrow mixed around her emotions, leaving her in a state of limbo.

I spent most days at her house, distracting her the best a young girl could. Not much really helped.

The day finally came for her dad to return. I tried fighting my curiosity, but ultimately lost, and made my way out to my spot. There was still a chill in the air from the end of july, so I bundled in an oversized hoodie and curled my knees in it while I waited.

Just a few houses down, Mac mimicked my position on her own sidewalk. Her wave to me is enthusiastic, but I can imagine she’s jittery, both nerves and delight. I think her mom sits on the porch, tapping away at her permanent accessory of a phone.

The sound of an engine travels up the road, the closet it gets the higher Mac raises until she’s standing so tall she balances on her tip toes.

I can tell the second she sees her dad. Her body jumps in place, and she’s fighting the urge to leap into his arms. But she knows better. Better than to tackle the man sporting. That’s all I see, not close enough to really tell the extent of his injuries.

He greets his family as best he can, awward hugs and kisses shared, before making their way inside, Mac having grabbed his duffle bag, which presumably weighs just as much as her. She lifts the too big bag inside, captured from my view.