The heat is unbearable as I sit in the grass. To escape the harshest rays of the sun I've taken to sitting under this particular tree. This weeping willow, sturdy and tall, has been my backrest for the better part of the day.

The temperature has gone down some since midday, but the humidity remains unabated. I dab my forehead with my handkerchief and watch my son play.

At this age, they are tireless. He and his two friends have been playing all day despite the terrible heat. I suppose that they are still young enough that it does not bother them so much as it does someone my age. As the sun has gotten lower, they have worked their way out of the water, but remain close to it, on the damp part of the lake's sandy shore. They linger there, and have for nearly an hour, building castles and digging trenches in the heavy, wet sand. Because there is no rising or falling tide to contend with, their creations remain untouched by the water, and are at the mercy only of a sudden shower, or human hands.

It is, as they say, another beautiful day in the Poconos. We've lucked out with clear blue skies and no threat of thunderstorms today. We come here every year, and it has been a tradition for several years now, nearly ten. It is a reprieve, really--a breath of fresh air; a much needed break from the stress of daily life. Here there are no conference calls, no performance evaluations, no calls in the middle of the night to go God-knows-where, no alarms set for six a.m. Here the pace is slower, more relaxed, and we can actually enjoy life. Our only business each day is to enjoy the weather, rest and explore.

William looks up, something having caught his interest, and I remember how much I love his smile. He has the same unreserved, goofy grin that I see his father wear. His smiles, fortunately, do not seem to be as rare as Mulder's. He has much less to worry about than his father, and I hope he never endures half of what Mulder had to. I want him to always have many more reasons to smile than frown. I wish him an uncomplicated life, and one full of happiness. I have done and will do my best to give him that life.

Glancing at my watch, I am surprised that I can hardly see the face; it has grown so dark outside. It's time to head back, I think as I pull myself to my feet, working the kinks out of my stiff limbs. I turn toward the lake, watching William, thinking he needs just a few more minutes. I glance at my watch again.

"Billy!" the woman's voice startles me as she speaks to my son. I never called him Billy. Billy is my brother; Bill, my father; my son is William, Will. "Time to go home, honey," she yells over the din of the emerging night creatures--the crickets and frogs who make their racket long into the night.

"Aw, c'mon Mom! Just five more minutes, please?!" he shouts back, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. Mulder's lip.

'Of course,' I want to tell him. 'Of course you can have five more minutes, sweetheart.' But I remind myself that it is not my decision. The woman shakes her head and stands her ground with him. I am reminded as I watch her that she does this because she is his mother.

I gave up my right to allow five more minutes eight years ago when I gave up my son.

With one last glance at my baby boy, who is no longer a baby, nor is he mine, I turn and head back in the direction of my car. I find it easily, parked beneath a streetlamp that is ensconced in a swirl of moths and other insects attracted to its light, and unlock the door, slipping easily into the driver's seat. I remain for a moment, keys in hand, lights off, lost in thought. Mulder knows that I do this. He pretends not to, but I know that the only reason he indulges me on this vacation every year is because he knows that it is my closure. He pretends to believe me when I tell him that I am shopping or sightseeing for the day, but he knows. With a resigned sigh, I start the engine and turn on the lights, and head toward the cabin.

Mulder opens the door before my hand touches the knob, and envelops me in a hug.

"What does he look like?" he asks.

"He's beautiful," I reply, fighting the tears that threaten to take over if I let them. "He has your smile."


*Challenge Elements*

*Study the given picture. This is a snapshot of your opening scene. Write an opening scene based on the picture.
* Have a character say something to at least one of the kids in the picture. (tell a story, ask a question, offer a piece of advice, whatever)
* Have a character be reminded by the kids playing of a memory, wish, or dream.