Miah's Nose is Broken (Oat Milk and Bread's version)

Miah's Nose is Broken

Miah's nose is broken. It doesn't matter how many poems I write or how many songs Jame sings, Miah's nose is still broken.

    Our best friend Andrew Scott,  lives with his grandmother, one village over, we were the only people who called him Scotty. He invited us to his backyard to play on his new trampoline. One stupid bet, and the crack of Miah's face hitting the steel bar, led to a long snake of blood slithering down his face.

    Nobody called for help.

    Maddie grabbed a clean cloth and ice to help with the swelling and the blood flowing from Miah's face. When he was clean, we walked back to my house, which was 5 miles east of Scotty's.

I can remember that day over and over again. I had journaled it that night by the campfire, and as Miah read over my shoulder, he made sure I included every detail.

Two summers later, Miah's nose healed, crooked, and it became my new muse. I wrote poems about the odd shape, and how sunglasses never sat right on his face. Jame read my journal, and turned my poems into songs. I had written:

Miah's nose is crooked. It wasn't born like that. Two summers ago, Scotty dared him to do a flip off the trampoline, it broke and never healed right. So now, Miah's nose is crooked. But he still turns it up at Maddie when she challenges him to a foot-race, and pinches it when he's stressed, glasses can't sit right on his face.

Miah's nose is crooked. Even now when the four of us sit around the bonfire. Scotty plays our favorite songs on my brother's guitar and Maddie laughs too loud. The light from the flames and the twinkling of the stars show, two summers later, Miah's nose is still crooked.

    Six summers later, I'm sitting next to my older brother in a hot car. His bags are stuffed in the trunk, and we're preparing for a long ride. Joey was finally leaving for college, and I don't know what I'll do without him.

    Beforehand, I spent weeks crying away my nights, knowing one day he'll be gone. Now that day is here, but I don't cry. It doesn't matter if it's a broken nose, a brother leaving for college, or traces of an old friend. I needed to be strong.

    After Joey left, I moved into his room. All of my things were packed into boxes, and each box needed to be sorted. There were endless bags of clothes, toys, and books that were prepared to be donated, and even after I thought I was finished, there was one box left.

    A small, black jewelry box sat in the back of my closet. I didn't even need to open it, I knew what was inside, I couldn't bring myself to even touch the box.

The jewelry box was the living reminder of the promises I made to my childhood friends. I cut them from my life once I moved to Connecticut, six summers later, the guilt still eats me alive.

    When I opened the small lid of the box, the shard of teacup sat in its place. I looked a bit closer and saw something I'd never noticed before, a note.

    "To a careless man's careful daughter," It opened with a lyric from my favorite song, "Grandma took me for a drive today, I can see you and Miah playing jacks in the school's field. I wanted to give you the other half of the teacup. Waterloo, Scotty."

    I could feel each word that was written in Scotty's childish handwriting dig through my heart. I knew I missed him, even if I never admitted it out loud.

    My hand flew to my mouth to stop the sob that tried to leave, it doesn't matter if it's a broken nose, a brother leaving for college, or traces of an old friend. I needed to be strong.