When the Dust Settles

She was leaning on the worn-out cherry wood, her wings broken – or maybe just tired – but her halo still hovered above her. Her voice was quiet; soft, and it sang a broken masterpiece.

Tell me, how do you mend a fractured soul,

When the pieces don’t fit to make it whole?

The pain’s an art, but the canvas bleeds,

Painting stories of a love I couldn’t keep,

The sun hit her scattered freckles as she turned, the light brushing across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, bright enough to make her look unreal with those blue contacts and that long, curly blonde hair “girls would die for.”

“When’d you write that one?” I asked the girl, walking up to stand next to her.

“The amusement park yesterday,” she answered, looking off into the trees. “Don’t you remember? I thought you were there.”

“Yeah, I was, but I don’t remember that verse right there.” I leaned forward on the wood railing, getting a good look at her face.

“Right. I wrote that verse last night.” We stood there in near silence as she softly hummed some of the song. Every night, I’d listen to her singing just to fall asleep. She was never trained properly, just raw talent.

“Angie, can I ask you a question?”

She turned to look at me with a soft smile. “Of course, Ash. Always.”

“Why can’t you and Jay be civil again? She’s a good friend.”

Angie scoffed and flicked a curl out of her face, the way she always did when she didn’t want to admit she cared.

“She was a bitch the last time we saw her. I doubt that’s being a good friend.”

“Angie, come on,” I cried softly, nudging her. “You two have been best friends for years. Just make up already!

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers drummed on the railing, restless, like her thoughts were running faster than her mouth could keep up. That was always the first sign something was off – the quiet. Angie didn’t do “quiet” unless something was chewing at her.

“She said some things,” she muttered finally. “Things she shouldn’t’ve.”

“What things?”

She shrugged; eyes fixed on the trees like they were safer to look at than me.

“Doesn’t matter.”

It did matter, though. I could hear it in her voice – that tiny crack she tried to hide under all the fire and jokes. But before I could push it again, she straightened up, plastered on that too-bright smile she used whenever she didn’t want me digging any deeper.

“Anyway,” she said, bumping her hip against mine. “We’re supposed to meet Suzie in ten. You know she’ll throw a fit if we’re late.

I rolled my eyes. “She always throws a fit.”

“Yeah, well,” Angie said, grabbing my wrist and tugging me towards the path, “today she’s got a reason to. Dad promised her funnel cakes since her dad couldn’t take her, remember?”

I let her pull me along, her hand warm around mine. For a second, everything felt easy – just the two of us, sunlight, freckles, and the promise of cheap amusement-park magic waiting down the road.

The dirt path gave way to the gravel courtyard of Bell’s Amusement Park, and the quiet of the Oklahoma woods was instantly swallowed by a wall of sound. The clanking machinery of the rides, the screams of kids flying through the air, and the tinny calliope music from the carousel all buzzed together in a dizzying hum. The air was thick with the smell of scorched sugar, hot grease, and cigarette smoke.

“There they are!” Angie shouted over the noise, pointing and dragging me towards the funnel cake booth near the exhibition buildings.

Dad was standing there, his hands stuffed into his trousers, looking thoroughly exhausted but smiling down at Suzie. Suzie was already covered in powdered sugar, clutching a paper place like it was pure gold.

“You’re late...” Suzie declared dramatically as we walked up, her mouth full of fried dough. “Angie promised she’d ride the Ferris wheel with me first.”

“We got caught up,” I said, offering Dad a quick shrug.

Dad checked his pocket watch – the one that was passed down through generations - and patted my shoulder. “Well, you’re here now. I need to take Suzie over to the pavilion to find her brother, but I don’t want to drag her through the coaster’s lines. Ash, you and Angie stay together. We’ll meet you by the main gate when the streetlamps turn on. Got it?

“Got it, Dad,” Angie said, pulling a few loose dimes out of her pocket to buy a soda.

I watched as Dad and Suzie disappeared into the sea of the summer crowd, their heads bobbing past the game booths. Turning back to Angie, I noticed she was staring over my head, her body entirely rigid. The relaxed, musical girl from the woods was gone. Her jade-colored eyes were locked on a pair of guys standing near the entrance of the mirror maze – guys wearing dark clothes that didn’t match the hot summer weather.

She noticed something I didn’t.

“Ash,” Angie said, her voice dropping into that quiet, dangerous territory. She shoved her change into my hand. “I need you to do me a favor and go pick up some ride tokens for us. I’ll meet you right there in five minutes.”

“Why?” I asked, my defenses instantly spiking. “Who are you looking at?”

“Nobody,” she lied smoothly, giving me a firm, reassuring shove toward the ticket lines. “Just get the token, bright eyes. I’ll be back, I promise.”

I hesitated, but Angie had that stubborn look on her face that meant arguing was useless. I turned and walked toward the long, winding ticket line, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. It took forever. The afternoon heat was pressed down on my neck, and the constant high-pitched noise of the park machinery began to give me a headache.

When I finally stepped away from the booth with the metal tokens heavy in my palm, five minutes had turned into fifteen.

I walked back to the funnel cake booth. No Angie.

I checked the path by the mirror maze. Nothing.

“Angie!” I called out, my voice swallowed by the roar of a roller coaster car rushing down the tracks.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the dirt paths. Panic, cold and sharp, hit my stomach. I started to run, pushing past families and teenagers, scanning the crowd for curly blonde hair or an oversized jacket.

I detoured down a narrow, gravel maintenance path behind the old wooden tracks of the coaster where the crowds thinned out. The noise of the park felt distant here, muffled by the heavy timber beams above.

That’s when I saw it.

Lying in the dirt, right next to a fresh, deep scuff mark from a heavy boot, was a crumpled piece of loose-leaf paper.

My heart hit my ribs. I scrambled forward and snatched it up. It was the song sheet. The masterpiece she had written with Dad during the blizzard. The edges were already smudged with dust.

I looked up at the empty path stretching into the shadows of the fairgrounds. The carousel music in the distance sounded twisted, mocking.

She was gone.