Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance

by Ruth Emmie Lang

“Do you ever miss them? Your parents?” I asked. “Yeah. I do,” he said, his bottom lip quivering slightly. “I know how you feel. I lost my mom.” Weylyn’s expression shifted gears. I could tell, even before he spoke, that he had drained his mind of his own sadness and replaced it with empathy for mine. “I’m really sorry,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re missing the view.” Weylyn sat on the edge of a cliff, facing the sun. I crawled over to join him. Twelve Pines sprawled out beneath our feet, the treetops gilded by late afternoon light. “This is where I come when I’m sad … or happy. It’s where I come to feel is what I mean.”

I looked over at Weylyn, who was still leaning out the window, blinking heavily as rain ran into his eyes. A bitter smile crossed his face, as if he knew I was watching him; as if he were answering the question that was on the tip of my tongue: Did you do this?

I was guilty of agonizing now and then, of letting my uncertainty sabotage my chances at happiness. I mourned for things that hadn’t happened, things that never would. So much of life is marked by birthdays, graduations, weddings, births. I’d had my fair share of birthdays, graduated twice, and married a man I loved. Without children to experience those same things, time seemed to stand still. The selfish years of my teens and twenties were long gone, and now, it didn’t seem like enough to just take care of myself.

“Don’t cry over the same thing twice. Get it all out the first time, even if it’s loud and messy. Then it’s over.”

After nine months, I wanted to marry him, and I found out later that he already had a ring after six.

Thomas smiled despite the otherwise doleful look on his face. “Weylyn’s a special kid. I just wish my wife could have seen it, too.” “He is special,” I said, standing up. “I promise I’ll take good care of him.” I turned to leave, but the reverend held out his hand, signaling me to stop. “Oh, Meg,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “Will you tell Weylyn I’m sorry? I plan to tell him myself, but he’ll probably be too hurt to believe a word I say. Will you tell him again for me? Once the dust settles?” I would tell him. I would also tell him how, as I was leaving, I saw Thomas wipe a stray tear from his cheek.

You don’t really know whether you’ll make a good parent until you are one. I wasn’t perfect.