Golden
By Grace Fleming de Torres
Forty-two years ago on winter’s night in Castorton, Maine, a mother’s love created a little light of a boy known as Eddie
Rosenthal. His eyes were an autumnal shade of amber gold, like his father’s, and he had the muddy brown curls of his grandmother. All
seemed to be well in that moment of warmth and joy, tucked inside a hospital room where the world outside seemed miles away from the
family within. The light in Eddie Rosenthal’s eyes had flickered to life that night, and his life began the moment his mother had shed her
first tear and kissed his little head. Forty-two years ago, on a winter’s day in Castorton, Maine, his golden days began.
Seven years later, on a hot spring evening, Eddie Rosenthal heard his older sister Andrea yell at him from the bottom of the
stairs to hurry up, because the football game was starting in twenty minutes and she would not be late because of him. He nearly tripped
over the family cat, Oliver, as he rushed down the staircase. As he hopped on one foot, tugging on his shoe, he looked up to see Andrea
shaking her head at him, a playful grin tugging at her lips.
“You okay there? You seem like you were about to fall down the stairs,” she teased, clearly amused by his flailing struggle.
Eddie looked up at her sheepishly, before nodding his head and putting on his other shoe. His excitement was quickly
regained, however, once he remembered why he was in such a hurry. He had been nagging his sister to take him to one of her middle
school’s football games for weeks and today she had finally given in to let to him tag along.
“You ready now Ed?” Andrea asked. Eddie nodded once more and followed her out the front door. As she locked behind her, he
imagined the stadium lights that resided a block away from their front porch. Eddie bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation before
Andrea too his hand in hers and began walking him to Castorton Middle School’s home stadium, where the game was slowly roaring to
life.
As they walked, Eddie attacked here with childishly curious questions, such as “Is Brad really the best quarterback there’s ever
been?”, or, “Do they sell pretzels there?” The crisp, cool wind blew threw his hair, whistling in his ears quietly. The pavement under his
small feet was still damp from the May shower that took place the day before.
When they arrived at the stadium five minutes later, the stands were already filling up to the brim with parents and students
alike, all gathered to watch the game. Eddie found it utterly fascinating, and his seven-year-old mind lit up at the prospect of this being his
routine every Friday night in the next few years. Andrea grasped his hand firmly and tugged him in the direction of the stands where her
friends were sitting. Andrea’s “cool, middle school” friends greeted her but paid Eddie no mind, except for Laurie Sinclair, who smiled at
him and waved lightly. He chose to sit next to
her.
The game had yet to start, but
everyone was already buzzing with excitement.
There was music faintly playing, a slow country
song that Eddie didn't like very much. Andrea
put her hand on his knee as players from the
home team splayed onto the field, everyone
cheering loudly. He wished he could live in that
moment forever, for in that instant his little
mouth couldn't stop smiling.
Seven years later, Eddie Rosenthal
dropped a box on his foot and nearly swore out
loud. He was able to contain it, however, once
he realized that his sister, Andrea, was in the
same room as him. She was carefully folding
clothing and placing it into an identical brown
box labeled, “Andy’s Things” in faded purple
sharpie. Eddie quickly composed himself once
more and picked up the box again, this time gripping it tighter to his chest, and walked
Photography by Christiana Ohannessian
down the hall to their open front door where their father’s truck was parked with an
open trunk. He hopped down the last step of the front porch before walking up to the