After all, it was a stone; a big piece of rock. It was a tough piece of old something that had hurled through the solar system a million years ago to find itself a dark glistening in the hands of a boy.
The boy was a ten year old freckled, curly red head. A seeker, a thinker, a step in the puddles boy – but only a boy.
The two, the stone and the boy, met on the bridge which spanned two hills over the highway. Mute, the bridge was the sturdy witness to the meeting.
And under the bridge, day after day, streams of vehicles flowed: The greens and reds, the rusted,the shiny new. From morning until night, their motors were afire with the urgent comings and goings of their occupants.
As each rounded the curve of road and went under the bridge, the boy watched and twirled the stone in his nimble fingers. He also watched the sun, the cloudless sky and the smooth motion of the journeying birds. And he watched the ceaseless movement of the cars occupied by people he didn’t know.
One easy pitch, like throwing a baseball across the dry school field as he had done so many times, was all it took. The stone left his fingers and twirled unevenly over the side of the bridge. Physics dictated that the stone picked up an enormous amount of speed along the way. Without looking back, he turned and headed home.
Just then, with no time to spare, the woman ignored the speed limit and dashed up the black, seamless ribbon. As she negotiated the curve and neared the bridge, the falling stone struck her windshield, broke it and was stopped short by her forehead.
The proverbial fates had conspired that day. The rock, the boy, the woman and the car all intersected at the same time and place.
Finally home, the boy played his video games, ate the snack left on the kitchen counter and waited.
After all, it was a stone; a big piece of rock. It was a tough piece of old something that had hurled through the solar system a million years ago to find itself a dark glistening in the hands of a boy.
And the boy would forever question why its trajectory should end with his no longer having a mother.
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Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin
Photograph by Jeremy Sharp
