June First

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Yeah, okay. Mudpie if it’s a boy, and Butterfly if it’s a girl.”

“I’ll be like Mario, and you can be Luigi if you want. She’ll be Princess Peach, and we’ll protect her from all the bad guys in the world.”

“Did you name her Butterfly?” A burst of laughter greets me. Theo’s mother shakes her head as her fingers glide down my arm—a gentle touch, like Mom used to do. “Her name is June.” June. June always feels like a new beginning.

think you broke the law, Officer,” he sneers. “And here I was, trying to break your face.”

She doesn’t know that I made a wish that day, standing in my front lawn, begging the cotton-candy clouds for a baby sister. And then I got one. I got June in exchange for my parents, and in the mind of a small, damaged child, it felt like I had caused their deaths. My wish had come true at a terrible price. It was all my fault.

If my father hadn’t murdered my mother, I would still just be the neighbor boy and she would be the girl next door. Instead, he branded us with a label, forced me into something twisted. He turned the only girl I’ve ever wanted into the only girl I can never have.

I’d seen what the darkness could do. I’d lived inside it, and I’d crawled my way out with teeth, claws, and blood. I knew that darkness wasn’t permanent—just as the sun sets, the sun always rises. And so do we.

“You’re not responsible for the way others react to what you need to do to get better.”

All I can say is follow your heart—knowing that there might be a few casualties along the way. You have to weigh the good and the bad,” she tells me. “No relationship comes without a fight, but it has to be worth fighting for. It has to be worth all the sacrifices you’ll inevitably have to make.”

“Anger is nothing but misplaced passion.” My eyes narrow with thought. “Passion is trouble. Passion only leads to heartache.” “Passion is meaning, and it would be a hell of an empty life without it.”

Passion is meaning. Passion is purpose. And tragedy is simply the risk we take in order to experience it.

“Sometimes that’s the greatest gift we can give someone,” she says. “Time.”

I can accept things for how they are while still struggling to understand them.