Ryan's father had dirt-stained hands, and his eyes crinkled and lit up when he smiled. His father was the strongest man he knew. The ferocity with which his axe splintered wood; the way his jaw clenched in the midst of deep thought -- this was the meaning of strength. Ryan beheld his strength with wide-eyed wonder, a small boy idolizing his father. His father was his hero, his idol. The way it should be.
And then the dark days came, the ones that almost stole his light.
It was defiantly sunny that day in spite of the tragedy that would befall them. It disgusted him, the way the weather shone in the face of adversity. He was mourning that day, shouldn't the whole world too?
He raced home after his daily ritual of sipping down a Coke after school. He'd found a paperclip on the road. Simple pleasures. His dad had a knack for taking ordinary things and making them extraordinary, and paperclips were one such ordinary thing. Ryan couldn't wait to see the treasure his father would create next.
But his father was gone.
He'd left during school, his mother said. Her nose was red, her eyes tear-stained. Ryan couldn't understand.
"Why are you crying, Mama? Daddy will come back."
Silence.
"He's coming back, isn't he?"
The silence rang in his ears.
It wouldn't sink in. Couldn't sink in. He was positive that his dad would come home. Soon. Every day he'd run out to the mailbox, taking up his perch once more. His ears would perk up every time he heard the rattle of wagon wheels or the hiss of an incoming train. The train rumbled by on the tracks right behind his house, and Ryan was convinced that one day, his dad would be on it.
The days turned into weeks.
The weeks turned into months.
The months turned into years.
The gaping hole left in Ryan's heart would never heal.
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