
A Smile Reflected
BY EMMA HANNAH '24
He hoped the hand splintering across her face didn’t hurt her, but his hands remained motionless in his pockets. She stood alone, there was no one within earshot of her, and yet he still prayed that the pain he felt between his bones, and the arthritis in his hands would not be inherited by his daughter. He feared that the pain would strangle her, that her frail, yet stunningly beautiful frame would not be able to withstand the dullness of every moment he had ever experienced. She was his only moment of wonder in all the chaos of his bored and mundane days.
He approached her -fearfully still- but with more confidence than he had ever had before. Every room was empty except the one that held their lives in its hands- balanced between the fear of the known and unknown. She gazed at him with admiration, and he disappointed himself when solace did not drench the suit he was adorned in. Instead, his shoulders hunched and his brows scrunched in a way only she could emulate. And yet, despite the unease he felt around the unfamiliarity of his daughter, he followed her like a private follows his captain, though his feet dragged, his spine bent, and his eyes couldn’t see that far ahead of him.
This day had been circled for only a few sunsets- since the woman, the one who his daughter almost looked like, took her final breath as he held her- unconsciously- in his arms. He woke to find her cold and unbreathing as the sun unkindly shone through the panes of his window, and onto the walls he had splattered with paint years and years ago. He never asked how his daughter had felt. Her light had never flickered, and the consistency of her blue eyes never faltered, and were never diluted by the saltiness of any tears. And just as he reached over to hold her hand, momentarily forgetting about his fear of spreading his grayness and infecting the vibrancy of her being, his skin was shredded and his head was pounding and his daughter kept smiling.