“Hey John,

 Its been a while and thanks for calling me back.  So I know its kind of weird that I’m writing after so many years.  I hope your doing well.  I’m surviving.  Well, you probably heard about mom and dad.  Dad is over at my place…I’m really surprised he can even look at me after what I did.  That’s the other reason I’m writing you, to apologize…”

“Ma’ma?”

“Oh yes!  Sorry.” Margret quickly scanned the medication for a Mr.Komanski and returned to her letter.

 

“I should have done more, you know, about what happened and all…”

 It had been raining heavily that day but at that time only mist clouded the night.  Mazurka trotted ahead beside Sylph as she skipped along the street.  She looked back with huge eyes calling Margret to hurry and catch her.  “Catch me, Mar!  Catch me!”  Her white dress flowed behind made her float along the pavement.  “Slow down, Sylph.”  The young girl continued to swirl and skip through the mist, her voice eerily filling the night air.  “Catch me!  Hurry.”  The trees along the road shadowed the young girl as she danced between the roots.  “Mar!”  Her hazel eyes glinted and grin widened under the stars.  The moon lit her every graceful movement.  She glided sweetly between the tall trunks sang loudly for all the night to hear.  “I love you, Mar.  Now come catch me!”  And Her song began to fade and she slipped more and more behind the black columns and trunks.  “Come on out, Sylph.  No time for games.  Your father wants us back soon.”  Margret strained her eyes through the mist.  “Sylph, come on.  I love you, too.”  Margret waited but both Mazurka’s and Sylph’s footsteps were gone.  “Sylph.”  She waited.  And she waited.  The trees grew to touch the stars. The moon dimmed to make complete darkness. And she waited some more.  “Sylph!”  An owl screeched and Margret's heart began to pound.  “Sylph, I am not playing!”  Time stopped. Margret searched for some flicker movement in the complete darkness.  A hazel eye or white fabric.  A young innocent grin.  Margret began to feel the sweet and her heart pulsed in her ears.  The silence screamed louder and louder as the seconds passed and no sign of her niece. “Mazurka!  Sylph!”  Margret’s body ached and she desperately searched the darkness.  Years later Mazurka’s barking came.  Margret crashed through the woods keeping her ears open only to Mazurka’s deep voice.  She sprinted and pushed the trees as Mazurka’s volume increased.  She scrambled through weeds and mist to find the dog howling beside the small girl.  The little fragile person lying quietly on the forest floor.  “Sylph, Sylph, Sylph…”  Margret’s heart left her body.  She took the girls head, her hair glinted silver under the moonlight, and placed it on her lap.  She rocked her back and forth her arms.  The blood was hot and socked through Margret's cloths.  It covered Sylphs young face, and hair, and white dress.  It covered the grass and trees and moon and stars.  Margret moaned and looked into the girl’s hazel eyes, now still, and her white teeth, now not in a grin.  Mazurka continued to howl and howl and howl.  Margret only felt pain.  Only pain.  And when the sun rose John found Margret holding her, rocking back and forth.  Back and forth.  By then the blood was black and stained.  And Margret returned to the house covered in dried blood and her mother could not look at her.  Her father could not look at her.  Sylph could not look at her.  After the funeral she ran far away from John and her family. 

“I shouldn’t have run away.”  Margret through the paper quickly into the trash.  There was no way to apologize. She thought of John.  His horror.  His pain.  His Sylph with the same eyes.  It had been four years.  Four long years.  She thought of her father.  He was the only one to call her after Sylph’s death.  The only one that looked her in the eyes.  The only one that didn’t treat her differently.  He was the only one that continued to yell at her not turn the other way.  The only one to expect improvement from her and not condemn her.  He drove her crazy but he made no adjustments for her.     

 

“Hi, ma’ma?” A customer said.  Margret jumped back to reality.

“Yes?”

“I need to pick up something for a Kara Taylor.”

“Ok, ya.”  Margret noticed the small child staring at her.  About the age of Sylph.  Margret grabbed the inhaler for Kara.

“Thanks.”

 

Margret walked home late that night.  The air was filled with smoke but she was too tired to see what was burning.  She saw Mr.Wesly on her way up to her floor.  She entered the apartment to her father’s complaints about a Ronald and the heater and Mazurka’s thankful kisses.  Her father stopped for a while and stared at the girl.  She was unusually quiet and a lot less angry.

“What’s wrong with you?  Why don’t you fix your shity heater?” 

“I am!  I’ll do it when I can.”  But her father let the issue go and returned to the T.V. in silence.  Margret began to look at the broken machine in peace.