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I returned from school that afternoon with an

emptiness that made my chest feel hollow. One foot followed the other mechanically, the soles of my shoes barely leaving the road. A group of grade school children ran past. Their laughter had the tinkling sound of china, crisp and musical in the clear, sharp air. Children, I realized, don't really have to contend with deep sadness. They are wooed out of it with the presentation of a toy or a promise. But being mature means realizing life is filled with dark days, too. Tragedy had sent me headlong into reality. All the things I had seen before now looked different, even nature.

The snow had melted. The white oaks, with their powerful broad branches, the beech trees and poplar trees, all had leaves turning a rich shade of green. I was vaguely aware of the birds flitting from branch to branch around me. Above me, the lazy, milk-white clouds seemed pasted against the soft blue sky, but they looked like nothing more than blobs of white. Their shapes no longer resembled camels or whales. My imagination was imprisoned in some dark closet.

Usually, the first warm kiss of sunshine filled me with excitement. Things that normally made me depressed or unhappy looked small and insignificant against the promise of budding flowers or the laughter of young children rippling through the air.

But all the spring glory in the world wouldn't bring my daddy back. I missed his voice and his laughter more every passing day. Mama Arlene was wrong: time wasn't healing the wound. It made the emptiness wider, longer, deeper.

As I plodded along, I carried my school books in the dark blue cloth bag Daddy had bought me long ago. I had two tests to study for and lots of

homework, so the bag was full and heavy. Alice had remained after school for Current Events Club. There was also a rehearsal for the school talent show, and I was supposed to play my fiddle in it. I had

volunteered months ago, but since Daddy's death, I hadn't picked up my fiddle once. I no longer had the desire or the confidence.

Everyone else seemed to have something to do, friends to be with, activities to join. Once or twice I tried to muster some enthusiasm about something I had done before Daddy's death, but an important part of me had died with Daddy. I knew my friends at school, even Alice, were losing patience with me. After a while, they stopped pleading, begging, and encouraging me to do things with them, and I began to feel like a shadow of myself. Even my teachers had begun to treat me like a window pane, gazing through me at someone else, hardly calling on me in class, whether I raised my hand or not.

My smiles were few and far between. I couldn't recall the sound of my own laughter. Even before she had lost her job, Mommy had been complaining about my moods. Now, it was a constant grievance.

"If I can let go, you can," she lectured. Then she declared, "Maybe, he's happier where he is. At least he doesn't have to fight getting old. You won't remember him as anything but young. And where he is, he doesn't have to worry about money."

I told her that was a horrible thing to say, but she just laughed. "Suit yourself. If you want to walk around with a sad-sack face all the time, do it. You won't have any friends and you certainly won't attract any handsome boys."

"I don't care!" I shouted back. Boys and parties, long conversations on the telephone, scribbling some boy's name in my notebook--none of that mattered to me anymore. Why couldn't Mommy realize that?

I didn't want to have an argument with her today, but since she had lost her job at Francine's and not found another yet, I expected she would be home when I arrived. She said I was so depressing to be around, I made her lose her appetite. It always sounded like just another excuse to go off with Archie Marlin. Today would be no different. I braced myself for another lecture.

But when I opened the trailer's front door, I wasn't greeted with her criticisms. Instead, I saw suitcases spread open on the floor. Mommy rushed about, folding clothes and dropping them into the luggage.

"Good!" she said when she saw me. "You're home early. I was afraid the one time I wanted you here, you'd find something silly to do."

"What are you doing, Mommy? Why are you packing these suitcases?"

"We're leaving," she said smiling. "Now, these two suitcases are yours," she instructed, pointing to the smaller ones near the sofa. "I'm sorry that's all you can take, but that's all that we'll have room for in the car right now. Pick out your most important things and pack them."

My mouth dropped open. "Leaving? Where are we going? I don't understand."

"I don't have a lot of time to explain, Melody." She put her hands together and looked up at the ceiling as if giving thanks. "The opportunity has come and we're taking it," she declared. "Hurry! Get your best things packed, and remember, we don't have room for anything else right now."

"I don't understand." I stood in the doorway and shook my head.

"What's to understand? We're leaving," she cried. "Finally leaving Mineral Acres! Be thankful. Be gloriously thankful, sweetheart," she pleaded.

"But why are we leaving?"

She held out her arms, turning her eyes from her right hand to her left, as if the answer were right before us. "Why?" She laughed thinly. "Why would I want to leave this Godforsaken place, this town of busybodies, of people who have no imagination, no dreams? Why would I want to leave a two-by-four trailer in a retirement park filled with people inches away from their own graves? Why?" She laughed again, then lost her smile.

"You're supposed to be a smart student. You get all those hundreds on your school tests and you ask why?"

"But Mommy, where will we go?"

"Any place else," she said. She stared at me for a moment and then her eyes grew small. "We're going to explore, look for a nice place to live where I can have an opportunity to do something more with my life and not be smothered and stifled. Now that your father is dead, we have no reason to continue living in a coal mining town, do we?"

She smiled again, but something about that smile seemed false.

"We've always lived in Mineral Acres." I said weakly.

"Because your father was working in the mines! Really, Melody. Besides," she went on, "I've spent more money than we have in the bank trying to cheer myself up after your father's death. The life insurance is gone and you know what our bills are, how close we are to not paying them every month. You're always warning me. I can't even pay for this trailer without a job and I'm not going to beg for my job back at Francine's. There just aren't any other jobs here for me. I'm not going to become a waitress. Look at me!" she said throwing wide her arms. "Do I look like I can make a living for us in this town? I can't type and if I could, I would hate to be caged in some mine company office. We have no choice. I have to get to where there are opportunities before it's too late!"