The father secured a golden braclet around his daugther's ankle. The click of the clasp assured its safe travel; where ever Natalie went, the sound from that belled charm echoed. The click of the clasp echoed in that stagnant room, too. Everything was already said; everything explained the best a seven year old's ears could understand. Natalie left the room with her hand in a stranger's. Her eyes didn't look back to say goodbye. They were busy watching the light reflect off her shiny anklet.
An insatiable longing was chained within the loops of gold. In moments of dispair, Natalie thought the bell let some of her father go. It took years for her to discover her father never left. Each sock fuzz that stuck on her right ankle, was the work of her father. He was there. At softball games, an extra voice added itself to the crowd. Afterwards, the red fabric stuck to the golden chain would make her smile. "Hello," her mind would say to the emptying locker room. "I thought I heard your voice today." She wouldn't remove the material from around her ankle. Instead, it would linger until her father revealed himself again.
Late one fall, Natalie was tired of waiting and went looking for him. She stood in the graveyard where her father hides unsure of her words or actions. The wind picked up. Autumn leaves fell at her feet. Bending down to pick up the brightest one, she saw between the cloth of her jeans and her shoe, a distinctly looped tan line.
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