innocence

Rain was falling in sheets and inside the car the small girl had made a tent from her favorite coat, the one with the colored patches all sewn together that made her feel magic. Now it was dark and all of the patches were too. She lay underneath the coat, sprawled out on the floor of the vehicle unnaturally. Face down, her head rested on a carpeted bump in the floor. The carpet was wet,damp from the child’s tears and saliva, marks of despair at things having to end once more.
Years later, sitting near the same spot, she looked back at that moment with disdain. Maybe it was humiliation. How could she have been so raw, despairing for a stranger who had managed to buy her smiles with sweets and a few trips to the beach? A few days baking in sunscreen, kicking at sand, marveling at exotic flowers, and suddenly she couldn’t live without him? She winced at her own youth and ignorance.
Those years ago when she had cried desperately and gasped for air, when she had practically choked on tears and memories, and cursed every rain drop which had spat onto the car, erasing the sand, messages written in her baby handwriting, he winced and drove faster. He watched the plane take off with her inside, and the tension he felt flew away with it.
On the phone he assured her, in his most cartoon and sanguine voice, that there was always next year. And next year and next year. And at eleven she returned, and everything was faded.
Now she put her feet up on the dashboard as they drove the sun drenched roads. She watched him mouth the words to songs he almost lived in. She watched as he shot uneasy sideways glances, rubbed his tired eyes.The trip ended at that same old apartment she remembered as a small girl. She unpacked her clothes and he disappeared. When she was done and he emerged, he regarded her with glass eyes, and a half smile. She hated him then. She hated him for that.
She had found the stuff in his glove box, smelled it. He was never without that small box. He stood in the shadows and deeply inhaled his version of sanity. And now its stench was on his clothes and in his eyes. The air was heavy with cologne, salt water, and escape.
She felt trapped.They sat down on the sofa and played a movie the clerk said kids would like. Bright colors and goofy grins danced across the screen. He laughed big and turned to her and she looked back with malice. He headed for the beer.
She would not cry again. She refused. It didn’t matter that she was there now. It was meaningless. She was tired of being fled. She didn’t want to feel hated anymore. She didn't want to be someone's burden.
The next few days she forced little kid laughs. She played her part well, just as he played his. Seeing them, anyone would have thought each of them was the only place they wanted to be. She frowned when she saw herself in the mirror. When the time came for her to go, there were no tears. Father and daughter hugged and parted ways. Now it was she who fled.