ROSIE: By Tammy A. Branom
Monday, March 21st, 2011I headed for the park. I do that, this time of year. All the kids are back in school, so it’s just me and the squirrels and the occasional drunk snoring under yesterday’s newspaper. I cut through the old rhododendrons along Thirty-Second and made my way to the pond at the edge of the park. They drained it last year. Too much duck poop or mosquitoes or something. The city looking out for us, I guess. As I came down the path to where there used to be water I saw her–that familiar round face; the long, braided pigtails.
I sucked in a deep breath. “Rosie,” I whispered amid a choked crackle. She turned and smiled at me; that big, broad smile that 3 year olds do showing all their short teeth. Her dimples cratered on either end of her grin. She clung to her dolly and swayed with it in her arms. I squatted down and held out my hand to her. “Rosie.” She giggled and snorted and let out a high-pitched squeal as she danced in a circle, her doll flopping in her arms.
“Rosie, be careful.”
In the blink of an eye, her doll popped free and sailed through the cool morning air. It disappeared into the abyss that was once the pond. Her smile undying, Rosie stopped suddenly, her attention on her doll.
“Rosie.”
She glanced at me, her smile gone, her lips curved down. I jumped to my feet.
“Rosie!”
Rosie poised on the edge of the pond. As I tried to run to her, my legs floundered as if in quicksand. My arms outstretched, I could only mouth her name once more.
Rosie.
I heard a splash.
Yes, I know. There isn’t any water here anymore. The city drained the pond. But Rosie drowned here many years before that.
As her mother, I come here every year on the anniversary of that day. I walk to the edge where the pond once spattered against the shore and stare. I can still see her there–floating face down, her clothes all brown and muddy; her dolly just a few inches from her small hand. I’d tried to save her, you know, but I couldn’t swim.
Oh, Rosie.
I can’t hold my head up any longer. Tears won’t come anymore. I feel a tiny hand slip into mine, and I look down. There she is; there’s my girl.
“Mommy?” She tugs my hand. “Mommy.” My heart aches and I follow her into the pond. I open my arms and embrace my daughter. The cold water penetrates my pores. I shiver for a moment and walk on, holding my Rosie tight against my chest. My nose burns when the icy fluid floods my airway. I can’t go back.
I hear a voice yelling as water gurgles in my ears. “Look! It’s them! It’s Rosie and her mother! I can’t believe I saw them! I can’t believe I just saw the park’s ghosts!”
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©2011 Tammy A. Branom
