She leans into him, her head pressed into his chest, her body shaking, wracked by sobbing. Tears spill down her cheeks in rivers of mourning, unable to be kept in. Her hands clutch the back of his shirt, hands balled into fists. A deep sorrow curls her frame, seeming endless. Anguish is etched into her faces, her cries long and echoing. A deep void opens beneath her into which she fears she will fall, forever swallowed. Is this what grief is? Is this what it means to love another? Only to lose them? Great hiccups unbalance her, but he holds her still, arms wrapped around her, supporting her. He is gentle, but unwavering. He promises himself he will not let her go. And who else would she turn too? His hand goes to her head as he pulls her closer, fingers moving through her hair, combing it with careful fingers. She whispers her anger in a simple question. _Why? _He doesn’t know. He wishes he did, but he is only human. So he says the only thing he knows to say as they sway softly in place, like the branches of a willow tree, or like partners in a slow dance. ‘_I’m right here’_. And though he doesn’t know the name of her lost one, a single tear escaped his eyes, for the nameless soul. His chin rests atop her head. Together, they grieve.

‘I’m leavinnngggg!’ She calls to the house. The sound of little feet come scurrying down the stairs to the entrance. Her sister rounds the corner while only barley managing to keep her balance, then leaps into a goodbye hug, causing her to take a few steadying steps back. She calls the little bug her gremlin through several forehead and cheek kisses before her faces is pushed away with the laughing protest of ‘Cooties!’

Her fingers find the groves between her sisters cornrows, twisting the rebellious tufts of baby hair around her fingers. It is moments like these she tries to savour.

She asks the daily question, familiar to her tongue. ‘How much do I love you?’

The jellybean gives an ecstatic, child response of ‘the universe times one million!’, arms stretched out to show how big that is, though her reach can span no more than a few feet. ‘And even more’, she whispers through a smile like sunshine lips tickling her sisters ear as she says it.

He opens the book, hands feeling the many pages. A thousand images are displayed before him. So many signs, one for every word! It’s too much. It’s overwhelming. Where does he start? Why did life have to be hard now? Why couldn’t it just be like it was before the accident? His breath comes is small, shallow gasps. His lungs expand and contract rapidly inside his aching chest. His hands instinctively go to his ears. Why couldn’t they be fixed? Doctors should be able to do that. A scream builds in his throat, clawing at his mouth, one he will not be able to hear.

But it is silenced. His mothers hand brushes his, like a gentle breeze in the summer time. His chin lifts to look at her. Her face is warm, like coming home. Her eyes are soft, with little crinkles around the edges. Her fingers are carful as they take his hands in hers. The rest of the world seems to melt away. Suddenly, it is not so scary.

She gestures to take a deep breath, then crosses her arms over her chest, moving them out in a sweeping motion. _Calm_.

He takes a breath like she tells him to, slowly, focusing on the way the sun filters in through the windows, like gold on the air. Focusing on the crispness of the air, like the kind that comes just after a rain storm.

She takes the book from him, flipping through the pages until she finds what she must have been looking for. They form the sign together. Pinky up, and an L, made with the pointer finger and thumb. Then shake! The corners of his mouth lift for the firsts time in what feels like forever.

He holds the box in his lap, looking between it and his aunt and uncle. ‘I… don’t understand,’ he says hesitantly. It’s not even his birthday. Or Christmas. His uncle smiles brightly, urdging him to open it. His hand glides over the surface of the wrapping searching for the edges. How many gifts has he even gotten before? Surely not many. Gifts are not a necessity. They don’t get fit into the already tight budget. Carefully, as though not to damage the contents, he peels back the wrapping, and opens the lid. His face lights, eyes brightening as he stares at what lies within. Court shoes. Really expensive court shoes. After closer examination, the ones he has had on his wish list since grade nine. They look too nice to play in, as if they are meant to be set on a shelf like glass china. But they actually look nice. Like nothing else he has. I’m a closet comprised of hand-me-downs, they will be like a nugget of gold. His chest seizes up. How much did this cost them? How did they afford this?

‘I’ve got ninty in my bank account, and I get my pay check on Monday, so-‘ he starts to say, but then stops when he sees the look in both their eyes. It’s a gift, not an exchange. So instead of arguing, he lets out a breath. ‘Thank you. I’ll wear them at all my games and all my practices. And I’ll take care of them. And clean them. And after they are scuffed through, ripped and beaten I will keep them in a glass case like a trophy,’ he says, wishing he could say more. Thank you doesn’t seem to do it these days.

It’s the little things that make her day. The sticky note he leaves on her computer, encouraging her through the simple words. She tucks each new one into her desk drawer, fingers tracing the freshly inked reminders of love.

Doing dishes while they blast to 80’s rock through their old bass speaker, lip syncing to the music. He does air guitar on the frying pans, and she whips her hair back and forth to imitate lead singer enthusiasm. They duet bohemian rhapsody through gasps of laughter, her chest aching and cheeks sore from smiling.

The sound of his knock on the door, echoing through the empty house. The way she perks up because he’s the only one who ever comes around, and drops whatever she’s doing to greet him at the entrance. The hold each other in a long embrace, saying how they missed the other though it’s only been a few hours.

The little shoulder squeeze, back scratches, and massages, his hands always finding her, comforting her. His fingers glide over her spine, rubbing soothing circles over her back, her eyes drifting closed under the light of their reading lamp.

Arguing about something neither of them will remember later. Fighting, butting heads over it daily. Yelling, hands gesturing wildly, trying to hurt the other, angry and frustrated.

Not talking, barely acknowledging the other, all the resentment still lingering though the fight is burnt out. Missing the other, and the one hundred _I love yous_ that drew them together. Apologizing, trying so hard to make right what was done wrong, even though the wound is still raw. Making up with embraces, forgiving hurts for the sake of love. Repeat.