rocks just aren't the same-T.

she was hunched at the waist, sand mounds slowly trickling into her lap, pigtails flapping lightly in the breeze.  she could smell a barbecue in the air, frying hot-dogs salivating her tongue in a wash of hungry emotions.  in one hand, she clutched a broken, crooked twig, the sharpest point sketching triangular shapes--stars--across the ground.  in the other hand, she caressed a rock, worn smooth from continuous rubbing.  onyx, she thought it was.  the keeper of her biggest dreams, her darkest thoughts.

nancy was only seven, but she was wise for her years.  she lectured her classmates about sandwich crusts and carrot sticks and why the janitor down the hall wasn't a friend.  why he was bad, even if she had to make the reasons up.  she knew that counting was something mommy did at the store, and she knew that heartache was something she needed to stay away from.  nancy blamed her daddy, a man she'd only met through photographs taken years ago, for the tears her mommy tried to hide, the frown she always wore.  and nancy hurt inside, but she had learned that mommy's pains were greater.  mommy swore the vodka was killing her slowly, eating her heart...and nancy wondered, constantly, who the vodka was.  she wanted to make it go away, make it leave mommy alone.

she placed her pebble, her worry-stone, into the sand she'd drawn upon and sighed.  nancy never wished on stars or named the constellations; she knew they were too far away to care, and besides, mommy always told her that wishing would get her nothing.  would take her nowhere.  wishing was for babies and people who didn't know better.  but nancy wasn't stupid.  she just liked to dream of heaven when she closed her eyes at night, even if heaven didn't really exist behind the stars.  but mostly, nancy was lonely.

again she sighed, smashing her pebble into the dust and smearing out the sketch-line of her stars.  she was disappointed, but not with the world.  no, she was angry at herself for thinking sandstars could shine like the real thing.  she was angry for thinking anything could change with one bent stick and tight-shut eyes.

"rocks just aren't the same," she whispered softly, standing up.  her dress, a faded purple denim, billowed around her knees as she glanced up at the clouds.  "no one ever wishes on them.  no one ever even notices they're bruised."

and as she walked away, she sent just the slightest glance over her shoulder at the mound hiding her secret stone.  and just this once, she let herself give in.  stars and rocks just weren't the same, though.  stars were always letting people down.