Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

They say in every guys life, theres a girl hell never forget and a summer where it all began. Well, 1999 is that summer, and Brooke Sommerfield is that girl. Im convinced she was an angel. My grandma always used to say that angels come in blinks. Brooke was just like that. She flew into my life and then flew right back out again almost as if she were never there at all. But she was definitely there. And Ive got her invisible memory to remind me of it. But anyway, that was years ago and yesterday when she flew in by way of accident. At thirteen years old on that hot June day, I only had three things on my mind: Cooling off, girlsand girls. So, Id have to say that June 22, 1999, was also the best day of my life.

See, there was a creek that ran through the back of our property when I was growing up. It stretched the entire length and then jutted north and disappeared behind old man Brandts land. I had followed it one day when I was bored. Theres not too much more to do in Detmold, Missouri. They say the town, or whats left of it, is named after some big city in Germany somewhere. Ive never been, but I hear theyve got old castles and big museums over there. And while we dont have old castles or big museums, we do have an old building with weeds growin in it that used to be a post officeand big fields. Weve got lots of big fields.

But anyway, after old man Brandts property, that winding, narrow stream crawled past a turn-of-the-century white farm house owned by a little old lady named Samantha Catcher. She doesnt live there anymore. I guess that house eventually just got too big for her because not too long after Mr. Catcher passed, she moved to a tiny one-bedroom in the next township over. And now, she rents the old farm house out to people who are just passing through our little town. They stay a little while, and then soon enough, theyre on their way again. When I was young, kids would tell stories about why Mrs. Catcher kept the old place. Some said it was because it was haunted by her late husband. Some said she needed the money because Mr. Catcher gambled their life savings away before he died. But I know that Mr. Catcher wasnt a gambler well, beyond being a farmer and I was pretty sure he wasnt a ghost either. See, I was convinced that Mrs. Catcher kept that old place because it made her happy. Id catch her in between renters plantin flowers in front of its porch or hangin a new welcome sign on the front door. Shed always be smilin then. See, Grandma also told me once that memories are invisible to everyone but the beholder. So I just assumed that Mrs. Catcher was looking at all her memories that nobody else could see when I would catch her smilin at that old house.

But all the same, that creek kept crawlin. It kept on goin for miles after Mrs. Catchers place, but I didnt. It was gettin close to supper time by then, and I was gettin awful hungry, so I turned around that day, and I walked back home. But the point here is that I knew that creek like the back of my hand, and I knew everyone who lived anywhere near it too. So thats why June 22, 1999, was different. It started off normal. I baled hay. I got hot. I went to the creek. Believe it or not, I was on my summer vacation right here at home, helpin my grandpa out around the farm. To me, it wasnt much of a vacation, but my parents thought spendin some more time with Grandpa would do him and me some good. So, there I was on a Tuesday evening gettin ready to jump into that creek when I spotted somethinsomethin that would stick with me for a really long time. And that day in the summer of 99, I walked home with the best souvenir I ever got from a summer vacation an invisible memory of a shiny, little thing that would change my life forever.

But again, that was years ago. And now, Im just left here smilin at this old creek just like Mrs. Catcher used to do at that old farm house. My mind just keeps replaying the little time I held Brooke Sommerfield. That beautiful girl is gone now, but I can still hear her in the wind. If I listen real hard, I can hear her laughter over the whip-poor-will, and I can hear her whisperin softly about the sky and its secrets and dreams and being happy. I close my eyes and breathe her in. She smells like daisies and fresh creek water and summer. And all of a sudden, I hear a soft sigh rustlin through the trees, and I force my eyes open just in time to see a flock of geese wings wide, toes spread landing on the water.

Life passes you by when your eyes are closed, I whisper back to the wind. And then I smile wide, and I sit back against the grassy creek bank, and I watch my invisible memories play out just as if she had never left me.

That summer came slow, but it went so fast. Turns out, those endless days were never meant for the two of us. I never seemed to get enough time with her. Maybe it was because she taught me how to live. Maybe it was because she taught me how to love. Or maybe it was just simply because I loved her.

I sit back further into that grass, and I watch those geese float down the creek. All around me, the tree frogs are startin to call, singin back and forth about whatever it is frogs sing back and forth about. And I just sit there, and I think about that beautiful girl.

Ill find my way back to you, Brooke Sommerfield. As sure as the sun is gonna rise in the mornin, Ill find you, I whisper to the wind. I tell it what I wish I could say to her. I tell it what I told her once before in a letter a letter she would never receive until years later. See, thats the funny thing about fate; it works around us, despite us, in spite of us, even. And its near impossible to figure out, until all the pages are in place. But all the same, that doesnt stop me from prayin. Every day, I pray that this wild ride fates got me on ends with her. I pray that you, Brooke Sommerfield, are on my last page. And I pray that page is a happy one. But whether it is or it isnt, either way, I have to know what became of you. I have to know what became of the girl who stole my last perfect summer. And I have to know if she believes in second chances because I do, even if they do come with good-byes.

But until then, Brooke Sommerfield, my summer angel, you and I will be what my grandpa always liked to callunfinished business.

June 22, 1999 Thirteen Years Old

Im hot, and Im tired. Balin hay aint a pretty mans job. And the only thing on my mind besides girls, of course, because theyre always on my mind lately is jumpin into that cool creek water. So as soon as weve got the last bale put up in the loft, I jump down and start makin my way there. I dont even tell Grandpa where Im goin. He already knows where Im headed. Ive been talkin his ear off about jumpin into that creek all day.

I get from my grandpas house to the creeks bank in record time. I stop first and breathe it in. Its a combination of dirt and mud and weeds and trees and clear, tricklin water. And theres nothin like it.