The In-Between Season

Maddie, 7^th grade

A leaf gently floated down to my hand. I watched it fall. It twisted as the wind brushed against it and made it flutter. But slowly, it made its way to my hand. I caught it, then crushed it in my palm. I squeezed my fingers closer together to break every particle of it. Then I loosened my grip. 

                “Bye,” I said, then opened my fist and blew on the broken bits of the dried leaf. It danced away in the wind. And just as soon as it has came, it was gone. I sighed.

                “Bye.” I repeated. It hurt to say it. But it was such a simple word. Why did it pain me? I fell backwards into the grass. The soft dirt of the ground welcomed me. Bye. So easy to say when you don’t mean it. So hard to say when it really was good-bye, really the end. Bye. You have to mean it for it to hurt. And now as I lay on the fall ground, it really did hurt.

                The harsh fall breeze whipped my face. I hate fall. And spring. They’re “in-between” seasons. Not one or the other, but part of both. Spring is not quiet warm enough for summer, because hints of winter are still clinging at its edges. And fall isn’t winter, because summer is still freezing over. Spring and fall are just there. They aren’t really seasons of their own, because they’re both just half winter and half summer. They’re the step in-between. And I hate the step in-between.

                That’s where I am now. The step in-between. I haven’t quite recovered yet, but I’ve made progress. I guess I’m kind of like fall. The hot stickiness of summer hasn’t been removed totally from my system yet, but yet I can feel the cool smooth weather of winter coming. It will all freeze over soon, I knew. And when it did, the hurt would stop.

                The gasping deep in my chest was starting again. I hated the gasping, almost as much as I hated the step in-between. It was because I was thinking about her. About Molly. My old dog.

                It was only a week ago that she had been hit by that car and been taken out of my life forever. And I could still see every second of it too. In the street. The bright sunny day. Her tail wagging, and the open road. We were just walking. Just walking. But just walking wasn’t good enough for the van speeding down the road. The large, red van. It came over the hill with a seconds notice. Maybe less. Much less, it seemed. Molly was in the street. And that was all that was needed for what happened.

                I remember opening my mouth to scream Molly’s name, but nothing came out. If I had been able to make a sound, it probably wouldn’t have been a real word. I don’t think my brain was functioning right. I closed my eyes. But I couldn’t close my ears. And I heard Molly yelp once last pitiful sound, and the thump that the van made against Molly’s body. I turned my body away, my back to the road. My whole body was shaking. And the van didn’t stop. It went on. And on. And on. And I listened as it rolled away, until I couldn’t hear anything anymore. My breath was ragged and loud. I stared at the ground and didn’t turn. I knew what was waiting for me. But I couldn’t face it.

                “M-Molly?” I had said, finally finding my voice. The sound was so hoarse and gruff I wasn’t sure that it was really me saying that. There was no reply.

                I was trembling so fiercely now that I almost fell over. But I didn’t turn around. I would never turn around. I ran strait ahead, my back still to the street. I was running towards my house. It was not far away. I couldn’t hear the heavy gasps escaping my chest I was sprinting so hard. I just had to get away.

                When I finally reached my house, I burst through the door and fell down crying. I was surprised that these tears had not erupted earlier. But they were here now.

                I put my head in my hands and cried until my mother came around the corner and saw me. She picked me up and frantically asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t speak. I just sobbed onto her shoulder. After a few minutes she realized that someone I had just taken for a walk was missing.
She asked me where that certain someone was. And I cried harder. I think she realized what happened then. She got up and called my father on the phone, and the next day we buried Molly in our backyard. And that was that.

                I only got to play with her for three years. She only lived to be three. Three. And it hurt me to think about it. Sometimes I wonder if I had been able to find my voice, and call her name that one last time, she’d still be alive. And then I beat myself up more after I think that. Because that was just another reason that it was my fault for her death.

                I have tried to stop thinking about the past. I have tried to move on and to think of the present. But whenever I close my eyes all I can see is her face. And the van. The speeding van. And whenever I am trying to think of her and our good times, all I see is that van. And when she was hit. But times were moving. You can’t stop that. Time always goes on. And at this point in my life, time was really moving on. I knew I was going to heal. So I let time go.   

I was stilling lying with my back down in the grass. The chilly breeze brushed against my face again. I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. I was completely neutral. I was fall. The in-between season.