The Communicator

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The Communicator

The Communicator

Thoughts of Rhoda

Thoughts+of+Rhoda

She gently sifted a few pebbles and some dirt, with her bare toes, as she stood on the path. Her feet were quite little, as was the rest of her. Barely standing five and a half feet tall, she gazed up at the tallest maple on her property with eyes as green as the leaves.

Her blonde hair reached down towards her lower back, and her muscles were relaxed when a feeling of overpowering awe traveled through her. Her thin pink nightgown restlessly danced on small gusts of wind as minutes, or maybe hours – she couldn’t have said which – passed. The whole time was spent admiring each and every different leaf, and groove in the bark, every texture and symmetry, every aspect of the tree until she was at last just admiring it’s vastness. It was until now though, that she bothered to notice the things around her, specifically the form that stood behind her. She breathed in quickly and spun around, “How did you know I’d left?” She squeaked. “I heard the screen door close behind you. You could have been a little less predictable, when you left your shoes behind, I knew you’d come here.” Said a tall man who stood around six feet with brown hair, and even darker brown eyes. The girl curiously observed him, from his fitted blue shirt to his faded blue jeans that hung easily around his waist. “Predictable? I thought it would throw you off.” She said slyly. “You’ve been doing the same thing since we were thirteen, do you really think it ever threw me off?” He smiled at her and continued. “What is it about this one spot you like so much anyhow? You didn’t have some secret romance that you come back to reminisce, right?”

“No! It’s just…”

“Just, what?” He pried.

“It’s just beautiful here… and well, when I was little,” She paused for a moment with a look of wonderment coming over her, “something so tragic happened right here. Right under this tree.” She finished, as she traced a groove in the bark with her finger.

“Before I moved out here I guess, I never heard of it.” He spoke quietly, almost prodding her to continue. “Yeah, it was when I was about five or six maybe. Another girl lived around here, she was maybe eight or nine… no… she was nine, nine when they found her.” She stood in silence for a moment. “Can we go back to the house?” She asked. “I can finish telling you there.”

“Okay, that’s fine baby.” He took her under his arm and lead the way back up the wooded trail to their house.

They sat in a furnished kitchen. The lighting was anything but florescent; more of a warm glow, and the wooden furniture accented the light granite counter-tops. The kitchen table sat next to the wall, and was surrounded by wooden chairs layered with soft cushions. They sat across from each other and he held her right hand in both of his. “- They found her body next to that tree? How long had she been missing?” He asked in a bewildered voice. “Three weeks, she’d only been dead for a few days though, when… she was found.” She said, looking and sounding more distant than she had through the entire story. He looked at her for a minute before asking, “Who found her?”

“I did.” And it was as if she had turned to stone, she was so rigid. Her expression quickly softened at his touch though. “Rhoda was just so young, and so sweet. That man just took her and then left her in the woods to die.”

“She died in the woods?” He asked.

“Yes. I think that’s why it seems so weird to me. The woods have always seemed safe and familiar, not like… like the dying place of a child.” She looked at him with confused eyes. He could only hold her hand tighter, and comfort her with a kiss on her palm. He knew he couldn’t do more than that. She would only shrug off any further embrace and deny any pity he would offer, so, they sat in silence for a while. He let her sift through her thoughts to find the one she would share, and finally she did. “She had the most beautiful locket. When I was really little I saw her wearing it and tried to snatch it right off of her neck. She didn’t even get mad, she just took it off and gave it to me.” She fiddled with the calluses on her hands and continued, “Her mother had given it to her, and She didn’t know I had it until after they found her body. I had to give it back…. I wonder how scared she was.”

“Who?’

“Rhoda, when he took her. I wonder how many times she screamed for help, I-“

“Amy, stop being so morbid!” He snapped. She looked at her hands and kept silent. “I think we’ve talked about this enough for now. Lets just get some breakfast.” He said and he stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. “Eggs?”  He asked, leaning his body into the cool air. She nodded and mumbled a barely audible, “Yes.”

After breakfast she changed into jeans and loose purple t-shirt, before she left the house again and wandered back to the tree. She opened up the paper-back novel she brought with her and nestled herself into a groove in the trunk. She closed her eyes and forgot about her husband and her life, and only lived for the sent that fled the woods. She touched the dirt, and felt the guilt she had after finding out Rhoda had gone missing. The guilt she held onto after realizing if she hadn’t kept her over so late, she would’ve gone home while it was still light out. The guilt that was re-enforced by a mother who’d lost a child telling her that it was her fault that her baby was gone. An image flashed under her eyelids of that mothers ‘baby’ when she was found. She flinched and a tear fled from her green eyes. She took in a deep breath and wished she hadn’t of shared all of that with her husband.

She held her hand there a long while. But when she opened her eyes she looked back at her book and her thoughts of Rhoda began to disappear.

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Thoughts of Rhoda