Chapter 16: Goodbye, Big Ben

I sat by the river in a daze for a while, then dug a hole and buried Big Ben’s body. I wove another daylily wreath and placed it on Big Ben’s grave.

The soil was cold and heavy, each shovelful like a goodbye I never wanted to say. I pressed his favorite bandana into the grave—he always tried to eat it, never learned. I tucked the flowers around his resting place, fingers numb.

In ten days, it would have been Big Ben’s birthday. A few days ago, Big Ben had blushed and asked if this year’s birthday present could be a wife. At the time, I thought I’d misheard.

Big Ben wiggled his butt and asked again. I smacked his round head.

“Ben, you’re barely out of the stable. Wait till you hit three thousand, then we’ll talk prom dates.”

Big Ben looked at me indignantly: “But all the people who’ve come lately say they married at a dozen years old, and I’m already a thousand!”

I tugged Big Ben’s ear: “They’re human, understand? They’re adults at a dozen years old.”

“You’re a unicorn. For unicorns, even at three thousand, you’re still a kid.”

Then I coaxed him, promising that when he turned three thousand, I’d find him the most beautiful wife. Only then did Big Ben stop being angry.

But Big Ben never got to wait for his wife.

I pressed a hand to the cold earth, voice barely a whisper. “Sorry, Ben. I should’ve given you more than promises.”