Tuesday 200 — #86

When he opened the door, he couldn't recall how he knew her. What was her name again? Rachel Teaserman? Teeman? Oh yeah, Elly's kindergarten teacher.

When she walked through the door, she didn't know what to say. She made strange small talk. Memories from the first time they'd met.

A parent-teacher conference. He shared custody back then. They came from the same hometown. Her dad was a Cubs fan too. He raised parakeets. It wasn't Elly's fault the bird escaped from the cage. Elly was always so helpful. Tidying up the classroom. Making sure the birds were fed. Flitting around the room like a hummingbird. Elly shared her teacher's "quirk" — being terrified to ride in the back.

Back seats were for cages.

Elly wanted to see where they were going. She swore she rode shotgun with her mom. The bird flew out of the window. Elly reached after it. Tweet, screech, crunch. It happened so fast.

When he closed the door, Rachel begged his forgiveness.

Elly would've been sixteen tomorrow. Old enough for a driver's license.

Rachel hasn't driven since. A decade later, she's still begging. Every day he locks her in the cage. Maybe he'll forgive her tomorrow.

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