Ellen didn't care that it had been over twenty-five years ago that she had graduated high school. When she saw the pain streak across her daughter's face, she felt her own pain whisper back into her ear: You aren't good enough.
Ellen watched, biting the inside of her cheek, as her Edy was brushed aside by a classmate at the football game. Edy's long blond hair fell around her face like a waterfall, giving her covering from anyone watching. But Ellen didn't even have to see her daughter's deep, navy eyes to know they were filled with tears.
Ellen wanted to go down into the crowd and turn the classmate around by the shoulders and tell her, "Look, Edy Brandt is wonderful. She can play "Green Sleeves" on her flute, she trained our dog to go to the bathroom in our toilet, and she is drop-dead gorgeous. Don't punish her because of me." But she knew that would only fuel the fire.
Instead, she carefully made her way down the bleachers into the crowd and waited casually by the concession stand, knowing her daughter would walk by at any moment. She knew she would snag Edy's arm and escort her quickly to the car, where her daughter would cry. Then she would suggest for the third time this year that Edy allow her to transfer her to a different school in a different state where she could start fresh.
Ellen waited. Edy never came. She fidgeted, waiting for her daughter's arrival. Then she paced a bit. Finally, she walked to the fence, supposedly to watch the football game. She craned her neck down the line to see the kids who had hurt her daughter.
What she saw made her gasp and cover her mouth to keep her from screaming. She held on to the chain link, hoping to find strength in it.
The crowd where her daughter was standing let out a roar that deafened the entire stadium, and made time stand still. The football game was all but forgotten and players stood still, their eyes riveted to the crowd.
Ellen began threading her way through people to get to Edy. She had to push and duck and yell. But she had to get to her daughter. The pain whispered to her again: This is your fault. It propelled Ellen ahead, going faster, pushing harder. She would not let her daughter be her. It would not happen to Edy.
