Shut down the reactor for the moment. Go back, before the flash of heat and light, before the alarms and panicked feet hitting the ground running, to the morning coffee. Splenda and non-dairy creamer, setting his cup down on the break room table as the guys shared their morning gossip. Back even earlier, to the morning drive, tall pines waving in the dim morning light, whispering that today would be the last day. Go back further still. Sleepy head, she wakes before him and puts on her cartoons. He makes them breakfast and they sit together, eating and watching.
Now, go forward. She wants eggs but they only have Pop Tarts. Pouting, she picks the icing off her pastry. It’s time to get dressed, time to pack the lunches, time to get her to daycare. It all goes so fast. Stay home, you may be tempted to say. Go far away. But that’s not what happens.
She runs off to see her friends as soon as they pull into daycare, not closing the car door after her. He gets out and pauses as she runs away, back towards him, running towards a horizon he could never reach, one that makes him squint as the sunlight bursts over the hill. The teacher waves, happy to see her pet pupil. Driving away, he looks back in the rearview mirror, sees her playing with a boy her age, slows down, wanting to look for just a bit longer. He wonders who the boy is. He wonders if his daughter will ever leave this town. He hopes that she does.
Ly Faulk (they/she) is a queer artist and an all-around weirdo. Their work has appeared in Ghost City Press, Prose Online, Jake the Magazine, and many others. Learn more at https://lynnceefaulkcom.wordpress.com/
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