Just One Voice

•Losing Her Again•

~4~

After several moments, Max swiftly tucks his hands into his pockets, taking a few steps backwards. He looks at me funny.

"What?" I furrow my brows curiously.

"What, what?"

"Why were you—ugh. Never mind." I roll my eyes, sparking his amusement.

His gaze travels past me, in search of something.

"What time is it?" He asks, a panicked expression taking the reins over his features.

I clicked the button on my phone, bringing life to the screen, "Five fourty-three,"

"Oh fu—" he pauses at my instant disproving stare, "—dge. Chocolate hazelnut fudge to be exact," He mutters while stooping to sloppily cram all of his belongings back into his backpack.

Upon finishing that task, he quickly stands and slings his bag over his right shoulder—resulting in the camera flying off the piano.

"Sit, wit, knit and every other word that rhymes with the cuss word Brooklynn doesn't allow me to freaking say." Max spurts, making me giggle despite the situation.

He returns to the floor in attempt to hurridly gather the at least half a dozen pieces of what was once an expensive camera.

"I'm so sorry, B, I'll pay you back,"

Maybe it can be fixed?

I smell smoke. Yeah, maybe not.

"No you won't," I groan, gripping his arm and pulling him upwards, "You're fine. Just stop touching it or next thing we know it will explode or something."

"But that thing probably costs more than my life's worth. And it's Thursday. Mom's always home early on—"

"I know." I start pushing him towards the elevator—not that the task would even be physically possible if he were protesting, "Go, Max."

He slowly nods, releasing a sigh as he enters the elevator. Stress partly clouds his eyes but he smiles nonetheless. This boy bounces back from anything and everything in a matter of seconds.

"See ya tomorrow, B!"

The doors click shut before I can even bid my own farewell.

"Bye." I say, suddenly alone again, with no one to hear but myself.

Unless the mangled corpse of the camera I need to clean up counts for something.

•••

After wandering aimlessly around the main room for a few moments, occupied by nothing but my thoughts and pictures of puppies on my Instagram feed, I decide to go find Heather.

I pass through the kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances and one very content, whistling cook.

"Hey, Bernie." I wave to the tall, plump man in front of whatever was boiling on the stovetop.

"Miss Brooklyn!" He breaks into one of his signature hearty laughs, "Dare I say, you are going to particularly enjoy tonight's meal!"

"Always do!" I laugh at his enthusiasm and the strong accent I have grown accustom to. One of my favorite on earth things is watching people do what they love. I adore how excited and passionate they continually seem, even when they are absorbed by the act every day of their lives. Though frustrating at times, upon waking the next morning, it's almost as if every cell in your body is compelled to start again. Whatever that one thing may be for you, its strong. It's the most vigorous addiction I've ever known, an addiction to the satisfaction that's really only found in doing what you were created to do. The satisfaction of knowing that you have a purpose.