First Heartbreak
Maggie
Twenty Years Ago
It was a Tuesday.
A seemingly random day of the week to walk out on your family, I thought later on.
I wondered if he’d planned it in advance. If when he said goodbye to me that morning before I left for fourth grade, he knew it would be the last time.
Or maybe the need to leave just hit him randomly that day, like the tidal waves I myself had been so prone to experiencing.
For me, they came on suddenly. The need to escape. The feeling like I couldn’t breathe until I removed myself from a situation. The urge to run.
I guess I got that from him.
“Where do you think Dad is?” I asked Liam as we sat stiffly in uncomfortable chairs in the principal’s office.
I picked at the glittery butterfly wing on my backpack nervously. Dad had taken me to pick it out at the store before the school year started.
I hadn’t wanted this one. It looked too kiddish to me. I wanted the sparkly one with the silver sequins.
But Dad said it would get ruined going back and forth to school every day anyway, so really, it just made more sense to get the cheaper option.
It did make sense, and I didn’t want to make Dad upset by protesting. He was so busy with work that it wasn’t often I was able to go out and run errands with him. I didn’t want to ruin our time together by arguing.
“He’s probably stuck in traffic,” Liam said, his hawk-like attention focused on the principal and secretary whispering across the room from us.
“Do you think he’s coming?” I whispered, leaning across the armrest to get close to his ear.
For some reason, I was embarrassed that Dad wasn’t here yet. That we’d been left behind, or forgotten. No one else’s parents forgot to pick them up today.
It gave me a funny feeling.
“Of course,” Liam told me, sounding so mature for his age. “We’re his kids. What’s he going to do? Leave us here?”
The principal looked over at us and Liam stiffened, sitting up straighter in his chair. I was glad he was here with me. Liam always took care of things when Dad wasn’t around. I knew he’d handle this for us, too.
“We’re going to call your mother,” the principal said finally after what felt like an eternity of waiting.
“No,” Liam shook his head. “Dad picks us up on Tuesdays because he gets off early.”
“I understand that, Liam,” the principal said, “but it’s a half hour past dismissal time and we haven’t been able to get in contact with him.”
“He’ll be here,” Liam said defiantly. “He knows we’re waiting for him. I’m sure he’s rushing over right now.”
It made me feel better to hear him say it.
I trusted Liam because Liam never lied. Not to me, or anyone else. He told the truth, even when people didn’t want to hear it.
Some people didn’t like that about him, but I thought it was better to know something than to wonder.
Disregarding him, the principal looked over to the secretary, reaching for a piece of paper she’d dug out of a folder that had been tucked away in a filing cabinet.
He stared at the sheet, dialing numbers on the landline before putting it to his ear.
“Mrs. Brynn?” he asked after what could only have been two rings. “This is Principal Heywood from the elementary school. We have Liam and Margaret here—”
“Maggie,” I frowned, correcting him.
“—and they haven’t been picked up yet. We were just calling to check in and make sure everything’s okay.”
He paused, listening.
“No, no. That’s fine,” he assured her. “We just wanted to call and let you know because we couldn’t get in touch with your husband.”
Another pause. Liam leaned forward in his seat as if he could hear what our mother was saying on the other side of the line.
“Okay, we’ll see you soon.” He hung up, then turned to look at us. “Your mother’s on her way.”
Liam huffed a sigh, shaking his head as if this whole ordeal was completely unnecessary.
I inched impossibly closer to him, taking solace in the fact I wasn’t sitting here by myself waiting.
“Is everything okay?” I looked up at him.
He was barely two years older than me, but he had an air about him of being much older. He was serious, determined. More mature than any eleven-year-old had a right to be—that’s what adults always told him.
“Of course,” he said with complete sincerity. “Just wait. We’re going to see him at dinner. He’ll probably take us out for ice cream or something to make it up to us for being late. Just wait.”
He didn’t come to dinner that night.
But I waited.
I waited for fifteen years.