SFPNN Special Edition –
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— Thanks to author Michael T. Smith for today's Special Edition
The Tattered Bookmark
By Michael T.
Smith
My newborn daughter, Vanessa, kicked her tiny foot against my stomach
and gave a weak cry. I adjusted her bottle. “There you are, sweetie.” She
latched onto the nipple and stared at me. I was in love with my three-week-old,
little girl.
I looked at her. “
She stared at me. A tear formed in the corner of her right eye and began
to trickle down her cheek. “I know, but this is your first Father’s Day. I
wanted it to be special.”
“It is special.” I replied and reached for her hand. “Look at her!” I
glanced at Vanessa. “This is the best Father’s Day gift.” I turned back to
I opened the envelope and pulled out a note. “Dear, Michael.” it began.
I looked at
I looked at her again, “Thank you, Georgia. I’ll do my best.”
“There’s more.” she smiled.
“What do you mean?”
“In the envelope.”
I picked it up and opened it again. In the bottom was a colorful piece
of cloth. I pulled it out. It was a cloth bookmark with vibrant bands of color.
White fringes dangled from each end. It reminded me of a Mexican serape. I
draped it over my hand and looked at
“Michael.” she said. “It’s just a bookmark. I wanted to get you more.”
“
“I love you.” she said.
I sniffed the air. “Do you smell
something?” I asked.
“What?”
I set the bookmark aside and changed my first diaper.
*********************************
On weekends, I did the
Through the baby monitor, I heard Vanessa
stirring. Her small cry crackled through the speaker. I placed my Father’s Day
gift between the pages of my book.
*********************************
I cradled Vanessa in my arm.
I held her bottle with one hand and my book with the other. Her tiny chin
quivered as she suckled. My gaze bounced from my book to her. The bookmark was
draped over my thigh.
*********************************
Justin was born. Vanessa, now
three, slept in her very first bed. I held my newborn son in my arms. The house
cracked as it contracted in the sub-zero temperatures outside. The bookmark
rested on the back of the sofa. Justin snuggled against my chest.
*********************************
The job I held for fifteen years disappeared. Everyone slept. I sat studying. I
was back in school and stressed. When I finished my studies, I picked up my
book, opened it, and slipped the bookmark into the pages ahead, marking things
to come.
*********************************
I finally found a new job,
but it was in a different city and province. I sat on my bed in a lonely room.
Georgia, Vanessa, and Justin were in
*********************************
Three years later, after another move, I sat on my deck in
Vanessa, now sixteen, joined him, “Dad, they made me second in
clarinet!”
I hugged them both. “Way to go, guys!”
The kids went to their rooms. Steaks sizzled on the grill. I pulled the bookmark from my book, placed it on the patio table, and read. Life was good.
*********************************
“Hun, I’ll get home when I
can.” I said to
I stood on the
Back in my apartment, I settled into bed, picked up my book, and thought
about the day my family could join me and see the view. I pulled my bookmark
from my book and placed it on the covers beside me. It was worn after years of
use. I spoke to it. “We’ve been through a lot. We can get through more.”
I dozed off in my new surroundings. The book rested on my chest, rising
and falling with each breath I took. My bookmark lay beside me. I turned in my
sleep. The bookmark slid to the floor.
*********************************
Eleven months later, I sat in
a chair reading.
Her eyes opened. “Michael?”
“I’m here, Hun.”
“I’m thirsty. Can you get me a drink?”
I placed the worn bookmark between the pages. “What
would you like, Hun? Do you want juice?”
She shook her head. “Is Vanessa home yet?”
“Georgia, Vanessa is in
“Oh! I forgot.” she smiled weakly.
I made her a cup of tea. She sipped it carefully as she stared blankly
at the television. The bookmark rested on my thigh again. “Michael?”
I looked up. “Yes?”
“Is Vanessa home yet?”
“She’s still in
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Her eyes closed. She drifted off to sleep.
I placed my bookmark between the pages, put
my book down and went to bed. Tears filled my eyes. I wished my wife could
climb the stairs to join me.
*********************************
The bookmark stretched across
my stomach, I held my book in front of me, not reading. On the television, a
sitcom blared unwatched. My friends had left. Justin slept in his room.
Vanessa, who came from
I grabbed the bookmark, marked my spot, and carried my book to my empty bed.
“Lord, I don’t want to be alone.” I prayed. “I want love in my life.”
*********************************
The sun warmed my back. Ginny
sat in the chair across the patio table from me. Love was in my life again. I
lifted the bookmark from my lap, marked my page, stared at her, and said,
“Ginny, I love you.”
She looked up, put her book down, and smiled at me. “I love you too.”
“I love you more.” I smiled back. “Now back to our reading.”
We picked up our books and read. The bookmark rested on my lap.
*********************************
Ginny slept beside me on the
sofa. I spread my bookmark across her thigh and stared at it. The white fringes
were long gone. There’s a spot where it must have torn. I don’t remember when,
but I can see the loving stitches that hold it together. The whites are grey.
The bright bands of color are faded. It can’t be washed. I fear it will fall
apart.
I lifted it from Ginny’s thigh and placed it between the pages of my
book. “Ginny?” I shook her shoulder.
“Hmm? she moaned.
I shook her again, “Ginny, time for bed, Hun.”
“Yes?”
“Come on, Hun. Let’s go to bed.” I took her hand in mine. “Come on,
Hun.”
We climbed the stairs. I held her hand with one of mine. In my other, I
carried my book. The tattered bookmark dangled from each end.
I sat up in bed. Ginny slept beside me. I pulled the bookmark from my
book and looked at it again. We’d been through a lot and both showed our age.
Like its tassels, my hair is mostly gone. Its middle is folded in from years of
being pressed together between the pages of countless books. My middle is
folding out from years of good food and not enough exercise.
My bookmark started out marking spots in my books. I’ve come to realize,
it didn’t just mark the pages of my books, it marked
the pages of my life.
— © Michael T. Smith
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Michael T. Smith’s stories, go to
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or
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