Departure

Timothy Knight

1513 College Ave NEApt 1

Grand Rapids, MI 49505616-821-1016

tknight75@gmail.comAge:39

About a week after she died, I saw the small craft in the sky. I watched as it hovered 100 feet

above the cornfield, floating like a dark and fetid cowpie in the sky.

“Best find a camera," I said aloud to the corn.

I walked into the house and searched for the old cardboard box where she had kept the

Polaroid, sitting on top of a bed of yellowing photos. I lifted the camera and revealed a photograph of

her. She smiled up at me. I tried to remember taking the picture, but could not. A few years prior, the

doctor told me my brain was deteriorating. I don't remember what he said was wrong with me because

not long after that, my wife became sick with cancer. I had to keep my mind under control as she grew

worse each day.

She looked so happy in that photo. Her smile so complete. Even her eyes seemed to smile on

their own.

I smiled back at the photo.

I miss you.

I put her picture back in the box and wound the camera to make sure it had some film.

Walking out on the porch, the sun struck my eyes as if I'd been indoors for hours instead of just

a few minutes. I blinked a few times for them to adjust and then scanned the sky for the craft. Nothing. I

held my hand over my eyes to shade out the sun and tried again.

Dammit, I wish you were here. Always did have better eyes than me.

I grumbled and turned to go back into the house. Then I saw it. Just the top of it though, sticking

up over the highest stalks in the field.

I felt a bit of triumph but then deflated without anyone around to share my triumph. Without

her to share my triumph.

The stalks stirred suddenly. Something had come out of that ship and was walking in my field.

The corn parted and I pulled my camera out to get a photo before I ran. But I didn't run.

Looking through the lens I saw her, smiling with her eyes still.

“You’re beautiful,” I said with a whisper, lowering the camera. Her eyes sparkled more. She

didn't look sick any longer. Not immobile, not confined, not wasting away before my eyes.

“I miss you," she said.

“I miss you more than you could know."

“Oh, I know," she giggled.

I felt the tears dropping on my hands before I realized I was crying.

“That’s why I want you to come with me."

“Where?"

"Does it matter?"

“No, not really."

"Then let's go. Together."

"But y'aren't real. Are you? I mean you can't be. None of this can be real."

"It's better than real, Thomas." She smiled again with her photograph eyes.

I placed the camera on the ground and shuffled toward her. I took her hand and together we

walked into the cornfield. Like stepping into a picture.