The World is a Beautiful Place

My Falling
by Sheila Krishnan
Yesterday evening, something curious happened: I began my weekly falling,
and two people walked right through the mess I made.
Every week, I would fall right on that street, because I love the sound it
makes against the cobblestones and the quietness that settles because the people
are too afraid to walk through it. I would pull everything I had together, just so
that I could drop it all once a week and laugh at how all the little humans would
scurry for cover while the trees would smile and open their leaves. And it was
always fun, especially when my friend Flash came over – she loves to dance
down and see how close she can get to the bottom without falling all the way. To
this day, she only fell once, and there’s a little bruise near the bench where she
fell.
But yesterday evening, Flash couldn’t make it, and I just went ahead and
started my falling, humming along with the leaves below. But I almost stopped
when I saw that there were two humans taking a quiet stroll through the clatter,
not bothered at all by the cold. Everyone else had bolted for cover, but these two
curious folk seemed quite oblivious.
Nikki Hennessy
My curiosity piqued, I crouched closer, inadvertently falling a little harder. As
I peered at them, one of the people sidled closer to other, and said in a deep voice, “You know, your mother used to love the rain.
Sometimes, she’d sit outside on that tree stump over there, by the bench, and just listen. She used to say that the trees would sing with
pleasure after a week of nothing.”
I remember that one… she was peculiar, like these two – she would always visit once a week and just sit where Flash fell. Her eyes
would be closed and she would sometimes hum along with me. I used to like her, but one day, she never came, and she hasn’t since.
The smaller figure put a short arm around her father. “Do you miss her, Daddy?” They continued walking slowly through the square,
and I lessened my falling to a drizzle.
The man didn’t answer for a moment, but, upon reaching the stump, he stopped and stroked it. After a moment, he said, “I do,
princess. But I try to remember that she went away with a smile on her face. She always told us to keep moving forward, right? And
sometimes it’s easier to do that when we’re near her presence.”
The little girl mulled that over for a moment, before turning luminous eyes towards his reminiscing face. “Do you think she’s here
now, Daddy? I want to see her…I…miss her!” Her small face crumpled into tears, and I began to fall harder to drown out the heartwrenching
sound as well as my own sadness.
Her father hoisted her up, and brushed away the tears gently. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. Listen, Mommy’s watching us right now,
and she’s sitting right here listening to the rain as she used to. But she’s happy because she gets to see her beautiful little girl! But if you
cry, it’ll make her sad. Here, do you want to sit with her?” She nodded her tiny head, and he lifted her onto the stump.
“There, just like old times, right? With you sitting on Mommy’s lap and me telling the two of you stories…” He trailed off, tears
coming to his own eyes.
“Daddy, don’t cry!” She threw her little arms around him, little fists holding tightly to his coat.
He didn’t say anything, but hugged her close and wiped away the tears from his water-soaked face.
And I could do nothing but watch helplessly. I couldn’t even leave to lament elsewhere, because this little family had my heart stuck
in the middle of their wishful hug. It has always been said that it was wrong to get caught in mortal affairs, but I had tied myself to this
family and their loss without ever meaning to, and the knots were unbreakable.
“Come on, love, let’s go home.” He lifted his daughter up, and her arms clamped instinctively around his neck, while her small head
lay against his shoulder. She did not remove her sight from the stump until they had passed the corner, and I pattered out, empty.
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