Page 12 of Sweet Poison

I think that’s what helps her hear better.

A minute or so of silence passes between us when all that can be heard is the waves crashing on the shore in the distance and the loud beat of my heart.

Willow’s lips don’t part to speak, but her greeting is clear. She raises her small hands, her fingers moving in graceful motions that form the shape of the word “hello” in the language she uses to communicate. Her eyes hold mine with a gentle, inviting gaze as she performs the gesture. How do I know this?Well, I might have sneaked into their library and read a book about American Sign Language for beginners.

I don’t know why I did it. I just knew that it felt right.

I wanted to learn her language.

As Willow smiles shyly at me I feel an unknown warmth spread through me. When what seems like a long while of me not responding, her gaze lowers almost as if she was embarrassed. That makes me feel bad. The sad look on her face makes my chest ache and not in a good way. So I lift my hand in return, mimicking her gesture as best as I can, and sign "hello" back as I utter the words as well.

Willow looks up and smiles wide, tilting her head slightly, seeming pleased. She then reaches out and touches my hands lightly, her fingers brushing against mine with a feather-like softness as if asking me to hold her hand.

I don’t want to.

I don’t know how to care for delicate things and this fairy-like girl is as delicate as they come but despite my grumpiness, I feel an inexplicable pull. When the feeling in my chest becomes too much, I give in to her silent demand. With a resigned sigh, I take her hand and she leads me back towards the ring and once there she pauses just at the edge of it, looking back at me with an encouraging smile.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously while her blue eyes are bright with excitement, as if there was something wonderful awaiting us. And even though at first, I was reluctant to entertain her, I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building within me as she holds my hand tight.

Quietly Willow guides me to sit inside the ring, where the toadstools formed a natural, rare circle. She settles beside me, placing her book about fungi carefully on the ground between us. As she places the book down, Willow’s eyes meet mine again. Her round cheeks are bright pink as she stares at mewith an expression that is filled with wonder, as if she is eager to share a piece of her rare world with me.

My stomach flips, and I feel small-like bugs swimming in it. I am nervous. Why is that? She’s just a girl. Maybe it is because every time she smiles my pulse seems to quicken. That hasn’t happened before her.

Trying to settle my racing heart, I glance down at the book between us, then back at Willow, and find myself wanting to know more about her and what makes her smile like she’s doing now. The science book lies open between us. When she wouldn’t say anything, my curiosity got the best of me, and I finally broke the quiet. “Why don’t you use your voice?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intended.

At my question, Willow’s face falls. Her eyes, which had been so bright a second ago, cloud over with a sadness that makes my chest ache. She instinctively raises her hands and covers her eyes as if she was hiding from me.

I frown, disliking how that made me feel.

Seeing her sad eyes stirs something deep inside me. Without thinking, I reach out and gently tap her nose with my finger. “I bet you sound real pretty, fairy,” I whisper, my voice tender. I’m never soft. I don’t know how to be soft because I had no other choice but to always be angry.

Willow’s hands fall to her lap and I’m able to see her pretty blue eyes once again. The sadness in them melts away, replaced by a radiant smile. She taps her chest three times while smiling up at me.

I wonder why she does that.

Does her chest hurt like mine does when she smiles at me?

I don’t know much but one thing I do know and that is that the sight of her beaming at me makes me feel like I can touch the stars. Something I also haven’t felt before.

I like the feeling. I like it a lot.

Then when I realize she isn’t going to share her reason for not using her voice, I decide to drop the question not wanting to risk hurting her feelings again. So, I lean back and watch as she quietly flips through the pages of her book. Her fingers dance lightly across the pages, searching intently until she finally pauses on a particular spread. She points at something, then looks up at me with a dreamy, contented smile.

I lean closer, trying to make sense of what she is showing me. The image on the page is a photograph of a rainforest in Brazil. I recognize it because I’ve seen it before in one of the books scattered throughout our cramped, dim apartment. My father had always cherished those images of his homeland and his youth before coming to America.

He was proud of his roots and so he had countless pictures of beautiful places he had visited when he was young. One of those was the Amazon forest.

As I look at the picture, understanding dawns on me, and I look at Willow. “Yeah, beautiful,” I whisper, my eyes meeting hers.

Her smile widens, and she returns her gaze to the page, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the photograph.

That day I came to terms with two things.

1 Life was fucking unfair to the people good at heart.

2 Willow Emersyn was the only person that could make me feel things I was deathly afraid to feel. She made me see the world through her innocent and sweet eyes and little by little she slowly made me believe life could be great for someone like me. Life could be magical if only I believed.

Now

---