I'm Waiting

Tenth

"Do you mind if I look?"

"It's the same picture as before, but go ahead." He passed the notebook to me, and I held it carefully in my hands, knowing how valuable this was to him.

The drawing looked even better then when I last saw it. The details done perfectly. I felt like I was looking at an actual person and not just an imitation on a paper.

"It's nothing like her." He looked nervous at the fact that I was looking at his handiwork. As if scared of my reaction, or criticism. As if I would ever critic anything of his!

"Well, it's so well done. I'm sure I'd know her if I ever see her."

"You won't." He looked down at the drawing, running his hand along the face, his touch so delicate I felt like I was intruding on something that was too private.

"Why not?" Perhaps he had imagined her, but why would an imaginary person have such an impact on him?

"She's dead."

His eyes when he said those two words! So broken, so...lost. I wanted to reach out and hold him like before, but he hadn't asked me to.

"Who was she?" He looked sideways at me, as if debating his answer. Then he leaned back on the bench, tilting his head so that it rested on my shoulder.

"We used to come to this bench all the time." I waited. Waited for him to decide how much more of himself he wanted to give to me.

His hand rested near mine. I reached out, hesitantly, and took his much smaller hand in mine. He squeezed my hand in return, and I felt my heart flutter beneath my chest.

"She's my mom." His voice broke, and he turned to bury his face in my neck.

I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him as close to me as possible.