Whispered Prayers of a Girl

“What does a Lab mix mean?” He scoops up some soup and puts the spoon to his mouth.

“It means part of her breed is Labrador.”

“What other part is she?”

This kid is just full of questions. I look over at Gwen, who’s taking the cookies off the cookie sheet and setting them on a plate. There’s a small smile playing on her lips as she keeps her head bent. I turn back to Daniel.

“I don’t know what other part she is. She was a stray that showed up here a couple of years ago.”

“Well, then how do you know she’s part Labrador then?”

A snicker sounds behind me.

“Because she has the same features as a Lab does.”

“Oh.” He looks thoughtful for a minute, then says, “I really like her,” before digging back into his food.

Gwen comes to stand beside me and sets down a saucer with cookies on it.

“You both finish up and then you can have some cookies,” she says, then offers me one.

She looks at Kelsey, who still looks indifferent as she eats her food. A normal kid would perk up at the mention of cookies, but not this girl. She gave no indication she even heard her mother.

“Kelsey,” Gwen calls. The girl looks up, nixing my thought that maybe she’s deaf. “Is your dinner okay?”

Kelsey nods, then drops her head back down to her food. I frown, more than a little curious about what’s wrong with her. Normally a person would think she was being bratty or ornery, but the total lack of emotion on the girl’s face says it’s a lot more than that.

I eat two cookies, which taste like sugar heaven, then walk into the living room. I grab the remote off the couch, take a seat, and am just getting ready to channel surf until I find something to watch, when a little body settles on the couch beside me. I look down at Daniel, to see him looking at the scars on my arm.

“Why does your arm and face look like that?”

When he looks up at me, I only see innocent curiosity. This kid won’t run around town fueling gossip and telling everyone my business. Even though everyone in town knows what happened, they still feel the need to run their mouths and speculate about shit they just don’t understand. Daniel only wants to know because he’s a kid and kids are curious, especially about things that aren’t normal. My scars are definitely not normal.

“They’re burn scars.”

His eyes widen, and I wonder if maybe this could be too horrifying for a kid his age, then he asks, “What happened?”

A sharp pain hits my chest, and I turn my head away from him, not wanting him to see the pain I’m sure reflects in my eyes. It takes me a minute to control my reaction.

“I was in a wreck and the car caught fire.” My answer still comes out gruff.

There’s obviously more than that to the story, but that’s not something he needs to hear. The horror of the details is too much for even adults, let alone a young child. Not to mention, I’m not sure I could give them anyway, not without breaking down. Even the thought of what happened nearly cripples me.

He looks down at the scars again. “Do they still hurt?”

“Yes and no,” I answer honestly, then elaborate when he looks at me with confusion. “They don’t actually hurt, but what I lost when I got these scars hurts me in here.” I point to my chest.

He frowns as he takes in my answer. It’s hard to explain such a thing to someone his age, but after a minute, I see recognition dawn in his eyes. This kid is smart.

“My daddy died,” he says, so quietly I barely hear him.

He keeps his head bent and plays with the edge of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I say gruffly, because I don’t know what else to say to him. I feel sorry that he lost a parent at such a young age.

“Can I….” He stops and looks up at me again. The hurt is still evident in his eyes, but it’s not as strong. He’s obviously had time to grieve, but that pain will never fully go away. Biting his lip, he starts again. “Can I touch them?” He points to my arm.

Now this question takes me by surprise. Asking about my scars is one thing, but wanting to see what they feel like is different. It’s not that it bothers me really, it’s just no one has ever touched them before. Not even my mom. Not because she’s repulsed by them, but because it’s just something you don’t do.