Wearing My Smile | ✔

Saturday, March 4th, 2000

I didn't notice anything was wrong until this one day in autumn when we were ten. You hadn't been to school for a few days, but you'd called me that Saturday morning to go for cycling with you, which was something we did a lot of times, so it wasn't out of ordinary or anything.

I waited for you on the steps of my front porch, until you came out riding slowly. You smiled a little when you reached me, but I didn't notice that it was shaky, nor did I notice that you were somewhat jittery.

“Where have you been, Sam?” There was a faint blue around your upper arm and shoulder. “What's wrong? Did you fall? There's a bruise on your arm.”

You quickly pulled your sleeves over your arms. “I fell.”

“Did you put ice on them? Dad always told me to do it when I had bruises. What happened?”

“I already did. Let's go?”

We went around the town for a couple of hours. When we were back on my yard, you glanced at your dark house fleetingly, there was fear there that my children brain didn't understand, but you looked back at me and asked, “See you on Monday, Roo?”

I nodded and I watched you limp a little to your garage. I didn't notice you'd never gotten to tell me what had happened to you in those last few days other than that you'd fallen until after I was inside my house.

Years after that, you almost always had a couple of days absence every month. I worried, but you wouldn't tell me more than you'd fallen, so I stopped asking about it. I felt there was more to it, to the way you limped and winced and flinched to slightest of touch, but you wouldn't tell me. Some days you came to my place, your hands were trembling too much to go cycling so I put mine on your shoulder gently and said, “Let's just play console games today, okay?”

I felt your sob more than I saw it when you wrapped your little arms around me.

Oh, Sam, how you had suffered.