Love Before Graduation

Sunlight filtered through the curtains and fell on the floor. Slow, like a new morning was arriving. But the room was heavy with silence, sharp and suffocating.

Papa was sitting there, holding his old revolver. Slowly, carefully cleaning it. There was that soldier's sternness in his movements, like he had learned something about life that we couldn't understand.

I came in, one shoe half on, hair all tangled, bag hanging loosely. "Papa, I'm taking the scooter today."

He didn't even look up.

"No."

Just one word, cold like a chunk of ice dropped on my heart.

"Why?"

He slowly turned the barrel of his revolver. "You'll have another accident. Then I'll have to read the accident report again during tea time."

I burned up inside. "I'm responsible!"