Beyond Love Lies Deceit by Melissa Toppen Page B

Washington Square Park, I have a seat and watch as students cross through the area on their way to class.
    Some are busy talking on their phones, some huddled in groups laughing and chatting, others have their nose so far in a book they barely look up to make sure they are going in the right direction.
    I try to envision this life; what it must have felt like for Sean, what it might have felt like for me had I been dealt a different hand in life. Would I have been like all these other young adults? Would I have attended college, had friends, boyfriends even?
    The thought seems so foreign to me, probably because I have never truly considered that type of life for myself. I accepted early on that this was not in the cards for me.
    I don’t know how much time passes while I sit here watching the world go by. It seems like only minutes but when I finally decide to check my phone, I see that I have been here for well over an hour. Knowing I need to get a move on, I stand, stretching out my stiff legs.
    Looking around the park one last time, I feel a sense of closeness to Sean that I have not felt in a very long time. Knowing that he was here once, that this was one of his favorite areas on campus, it makes me feel connected to him on a level I can’t quite explain.
    I flag a cab as soon as I reach the main road, asking the middle aged man to take me to the one place I dread going but know I need to see; the place where Sean died. I don’t know exactly where it happened but I know what road it was on and that it was quite a ways outside of the city, so I ask the driver to just drive.
    Miles and miles of road pass by us on our way out of the city; all the while my mind drifts to the night of Sean’s death. These roads, these surroundings, were some of the last things he saw before his life was ripped away from him far too early.
    I relive the moment we found out over and over, like a nightmare I can’t escape. I can still hear my mother’s screams as she collapsed on the floor, my father doing his best to comfort her as the police officer told her over and over again how sorry he was.
    I remember being too young to truly grip the reality of the situation but being old enough to feel the pain of knowing I would never see my brother again. I know I’m not the only person in the world to ever lose a loved one. I know this is a pain that others feel everyday as well. I wish I could manage the pain, the rage, the devastation I feel for what happened to my family but I can’t.
    I guess that makes me weaker than most. Or maybe it means I’m stronger because I recognize the injustice and I seek to make it right. Either way, nothing will bring them back. I know that much. I think a part of me just hopes that somehow this will bring me the closure I am so desperate for.
    Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a small wooden cross sticking up out of the ground just feet from the side of the road. It immediately pulls me from my thoughts and sends my voice echoing through the cab.
    “Stop.”
    “Ma’am?” The driver seems confused considering we are on a bare strip of road without a thing in sight.
    “Stop the car.” I repeat myself, pushing open the back door before he even has a chance to pull the car to a complete halt.
    Without a word I take off in a full sprint, backtracking the road we just traveled to the spot where I saw the cross. It doesn’t take me long to catch sight of it again and I immediately dip off the road into the shallow ditch where it is located.
    My heart is beating a hundred miles a minute when I finally reach it. Whether it’s from the run or the knowledge of what this means, I’m not sure. I drop to the ground directly in front of the handmade cross, tears obstructing my vision as I do.
    I blink rapidly trying to clear my line of sight, my tears flowing heavier when I finally make out what’s written in black marker across the center of the cross; Sean Allen Cole 1989-2008 Fly with the angels