“Shut up. Best I could do on a Sunday.”
“No. Not here,” Bill insisted, still shaking his head. Then he placed his little finger on his cheek, and his face lit up again, delighted. “I know this, had it since you were a baby.” Bill tapped a spot on his cheek to imitate my dimple, and a tunnel opened in my chest allowing anxiety to whistle through.
“I have, yes. It was way more noticeable then, actually. But my family didn’t live here.” I wrinkled my nose. Except for those three or so months that my siblings and I did. But it was pointless to try and explain those details when we'd never left the children's home. Plus, I didn’t want to.
“Your mum,” he poked his finger deep into his cheek. “She had it too. Matching! Matching!” he chuckled again, his eyes shining.
I didn’t remember my mum. At all. But I’d seen enough photos to know we didn’t share my lopsided face dent. Agreeing felt easier.
“Did she? I never noticed.”
I still hadn’t looked back at the envelope on the counter, but I could feel Breeze’s eyes on me from the coffee machine.
“I know! Matching.” Bill repeated, then returned to his coffee.
I silently applauded care workers everywhere.
Turning my attention back to the pages on the counter, I picked up the first one and handed it to Breeze.
“Out loud, if you please.”
Her eyes widened. She took the lined yellow sheet from my hand with only the tips of her fingers.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded, even though my throat squeezed, and I debated treating this scenario with the same care Breeze had with her door that wouldn’t open. But Olivia deserved more than that.
Clearing her throat, she began.
“Am I just a name, another identity?
Among a billion souls of single entity.
Of those who came and those to come,
and those remembered, remembered by some.
The ladle of chance mixing our destiny,
we are the tools of fate can’t you see.
Our lives but a ripple in time’s vast ocean,
our lifespan one of peace or violent commotion.
When the day of release is nigh,
a spiritual tether is cut with a sigh.
A single energy is linked with many,
to final peace, a peace of plenty.”
I swallowed. Silence swelled between us, Olivia’s words lingering in the air like a ghost.
The emotion of the day breached my defences, and I bit back tears. If that poem was anything to go by, the world had lost a genuine creative.
“Deep.” Was all I could manage.
