Prompted by the below photo, this is kind of an alternate take on my Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction from the other day. This kind of shit’s been on my mind. Maybe because its omnipresence makes it impossible to forget.
The Boy In The Bubble
It was clear in her eyes. She held my fate in her hands. Our future was laid out before me like tracks for a train. Deviation was inconceivable.
I could see our wedding, followed by a honeymoon in Paris. Our careers unfolded in my mind, me as a successful writer and her as a family counselor. We’d take vacations on gondolas in the canals of Italy, explore the ruins of Greece, visit the Taj Mahal, and back to Paris since we hardly left the hotel room on our honeymoon.
I pictured our kids, Luke and Leia, or whatever we decided to name them. She probably wouldn’t go for Yoda. Maybe… Nah. I envisioned changing diapers, first steps, first words, the first day of school all the way to their graduations from college.
Yes, I do look far too young to have a child graduating from college. Somehow, I manage to stay youthful and beautiful through these reveries. Maybe that’s because I was still young when they ended.
Once, I was firmly on a path without the possibility of deviation. Now, I’m lost at sea, splashing around helplessly. My happy little bubble burst when a man decided to go on a shooting spree. My reveries were replaced by a reality of feeding tubes, life support, impossible decisions, and ultimately a tombstone.
Why did she have to die?
According to the news, his manifesto said…