freetown, thats the capital of sierra leone.

i wrote this years ago and finally felt the need to post it.
i entitled it 'long division.' guy patching performed it as a monologue in the fall of 2006.

It was the dead of winter in January of 1995. Christmas trees and decorations had already been taken down and the only ones that remained were haunting remnants that the holiday season and cheer were far gone. At Adrian Burnett Elementary School in Mrs. Widener's 3rd and 4th grade split class, the children worked diligently on their assignments as the morning passed. It was not an extraordinary day in the slightest bit and not one soul in the room expected what was soon coming. A tall, blonde woman came into the room without knocking. She was wearing a calf-length, leather trench coat and her long, straight hair was pulled into a french twist. She quietly motioned for the teacher and spoke to her quietly. Very few of the children in the room knew this woman, let alone her purpose there.

However, as a bony, awkward girl of eight looked up from her long division, she saw her mother standing over her.

"Heather, your mother is going to take you home now," Mrs. Widener said in a calm, collected voice.

No one spoke, not even to say good-bye to Heather. Perhaps they all knew what she did not.

As Heather and her mother walked out of the school building, Heather's mom, Cindy, began to sob.

"What is it mom?" she asked casually.
"Nothing darlin', nothing at all. Just wait until we get home."
"Did someone die? Did papaw die, mom?"

Silence.

The drive to their condominium was unmemorable. Heather racked her mind to think of the possibilities of why her mother was not at work and why she was now out of school. The front door opened into the living room and down the hall into the kitchen stood Dene, Cindy's fiancé. There was no lights on in the condo, just the natural light flowing in from the windows.

Dene and Cindy nodded to each other with careless recognition and then Cindy pulled herself down to one knee onto Heather's eye level.

"Heather, your father committed suicide this morning. He's gone sweetheart."

It's funny what one notices when they are told grieving news. Heather did not scream wildly or cry out for answers.

On the contrary she suddenly remembered she hadn't finished her long division or even put it back in her desk. Her mother embraced her, sobbing all the while. It wasn't her papaw who has died. It was her father. No tears came to her eyes, only the vision of the blank television screen behind her mother.