Alone on the Apron

            The deity entered the theater carrying an armload of happiness to bestow upon the ticketholders. She made her way down the long corridor that led to backstage and before she could draw open the curtains, a gasp echoed through the open auditorium and she noticed that the spotlight was trained on center stage… She quietly positioned herself at the edge of the front row and watched as the child sat, broken, alone on the apron. The deity’s armload of happiness spilled to the floor as innocence ascended and the lights faded to black.

            Enveloped in the darkness, there was a lack of breath within the deity. Tears splashed over her cheeks as the grave reality of what she’d just witnessed bore into her being like nails on the crucifix. This child; this very pillar of faith had been raped of her purity. The instruments by which she would discover the world had been stolen and her broken figure is all that remained of her beginning. The deity searched within herself, frantically trying to identify a way to travel time. In that moment of breathlessness and troubled heart, she willed her abilities to the child and pleaded instead to remove the weight of such casualty from the child’s responsibility.

            The apron sat abandoned under the dim light of the theater. The deity remained unmoved in the seat she’d taken at the edge. Her mind was clouded with confusion and anger. She demanded explanation from the gods. What purpose could this tragedy possibly serve? What lessons needed to be taught or learned by destroying a child’s canvas. She wrung her washcloth eyelids and straightened her face and set about to right the wrongs of the gods before her.

            The deity leaned forward and gathered the happiness that had vomited to her feet; these small symbols of kindness that she’d meant to gift to theater ticketholders in order to emit a smile. She examined the plush figures with sewn on smiles and beaded eyes. She lifted them to her heart and hugged them tightly, summoning a dying joy within her. Armed with remnants of innocence, the deity set off for the dressing room in search of the broken child. Encased in fluorescent lights and white walls, she stopped before the only closed door in the hallway. Knocking, the door opened and the deity was invited to enter.

            Their eyes met. The deity and the child spoke separate languages, however words were not needed. The deity felt useless with her armload of happiness. What could a plush, pink puppy possibly bring to a child who could not hold it? The child was accompanied by an older gentleman of relation. The deity looked to him for some form of understanding… explanation… grief… acceptance… Was he ok with this? Was the CHILD ok with this? Was her will to live completely gone?

            They deity approached the child. She revealed the armload of happiness and sought forgiveness for not being able to give more. She was taken aback by the reality that while she was offering choice, the child was unable choose. They froze in that moment of give and take. The deity looked to the relation and begged intervention. The relation inquired and the child, with voice, chose the pink puppy. The deity set the plush dog beside her and stepped away. Tears brimmed in the eyes of the older pillars. Once again, the lights faded to black and the child took her place alone, on the apron. A small candle took the place of the spotlight as she laid her head on her pillow and the relation tucked the pink dog beside her to sleep. A remnant of innocence beside a sad truth of ugly war.