Beautiful

Beautiful wasn’t a beautiful man, at least not on the outside. That was just the last name the father he had never met left he and his Mother with. He’d always wanted a father. He’d since discovered that he wanted to be a father, to give a child everything that he’d never been given. To give a child everything.

He’d been practicing.

Four years or so ago, four years, three months, and a few days ago he had, in his rough and ugly way drawn the attention of a young lady. That’s what he called her, young lady. She was his opposite in all ways that mattered to most people. Where he was ugly, brutish and slow, she was, light, pretty, and alert with emerald green eyes. He’d never seen an emerald, but he knew what one would look like because of Poppy’s eyes.

Beautiful pushed an exhausted groan into the heels of his meaty hands and with a scruffy rasp, dragged them down his flat face. He had never understood what she had seen in it that had made her smile. She said he didn’t have to, just that it made her hurts go away, and that he made her feel safe. He had never told her that she made his hurts go away as well.

She was going to be a Mother. Better than his. He was going to be a Father. Better than hers. It was all that he had ever wanted.

She had called him at work and told him that they were coming to take her to the hospital. Their baby was on the way. They would be parents soon, some time after he got out of this fucking traffic jam. He cranked open his window and looked around anxiously. Something about the smell reminded him of Poppy, something she’d said a little while ago. Rain on pavement….something. She was so bright and smart. He was so lucky.

He thumped his meaty hands on the steering wheel -nice of the boss to let him use his truck- as he heard the sirens coming. Three alarms. Must have been a big pile-up. People never seemed to understand that driving was dangerous. Fresh pavement in this heat was greasy enough, but add the sudden spring downpour….it was probably slippery on foot out there.

The smell of wet pavement, what was that word? It didn’t really smell like this. This smelled like wet asphalt. But still.

He had never really understood why they had put this new highway through this wetland. It seemed like a waste of time and money to do all of this, especially here. He had always loved this place, so full of birds and empty of people just the way he liked it. Poppy was a bit bird-like. He loved that about her. He also loved birding. Birds were so beautiful, social, and light. Nothing like him.

He had spent hours, hundreds of them, maybe more, watching them, imagining what family would look like if people behaved like birds. He didn’t know their real names, no one he knew did, but Poppy made them up for him. She laughed when she did it.

Some time later the traffic began to move. The pile up was a mess consisting of one pickup, several SUVs and sports cars, a garbage truck, and an ambulance. The smell of the old highway, the one skirting the wetland, steaming, brought Poppy’s word. Petrichor. The smell of wet pavement.

He hoped he could make it to the hospital in time.

In the distance, sirens.