She was hiding in the shower. It was the only place they wouldn’t find her. She was crouched in a ball like a baby in a womb. Her hands were clasped together before her as though in prayer, but she wasn’t praying. Maybe it was an instinctive position to take. It is something about the way the fingers line up together, like each has a match.
Is it a yin and yang thing? Like a reminder that there is balance in life—sad is the downer that chases happy. No, that isn’t it. It is because when two palms are pressed together it almost feels like another human is there, one that is a comfort. The push of each hand against the other is a good reminder of self-sufficiency. If you want a job done right, you do it yourself.
For an instant she almost wanted to talk to the walls, but what was the point? She could expect nothing from the walls, and that knowledge was at least satisfying. The same can’t be said of talking to human walls.
Tears that come fast feel good when they roll down the cheeks. They are a physical manifestation of internal pain. Having only one slow moving tear that meanders down the face does not quite meet the threshold for legitimate pain. They need to be fast and hard and thunder like rain onto the cold tiles beneath. Their warmth dies off quickly when mixing in with the coldness of that tile, and of that house.
Suddenly she held her breath, but her lungs reverberated in her chest, not having gotten the memo quickly enough. The sound of a jolly toddler had entered the room. She stopped somewhere nearby, tinkering with something. She made cheerful, adorable little sounds that must have been something similar to that of a small and very cute furry animal.
There is something painful in hearing the sounds of something beautiful, happy, and well loved. For a moment it felt a bit to her like looking at a former life. A life that was out of grasp; happiness lost. But it was a stupid thought, because happiness is a choice.
It was a good reminder of reality. It was one of those suck-it-up moments. Life goes on, pattering away on little feet. Mistakes are made in the past, but haunt the present. But that is what the tears are for, she thought. They bring clarity, and usher in change.
The hands were held before her, still poised, but made uneven by a diamond sticking out on one side. The hands were symbols of self-reliance, but also of action.
But she let them fall away, as the rest of her recomposed. Her cheeks were pink in the bathroom mirror, but they would fade, until the next time. Self-reliance and action were just whispers then, fading as she walked away from them.
Life goes on.