Sweet Soul

This time when she took in a breath, it wasn’t filled with pain. “I don’t really know. I’ve just always been fascinated with words—how they sound, their structure, their meanings,” she cut herself off, then said, “how they can be used for good… and used for bad.”

I frowned, wondering what she meant when she flipped onto her stomach and laid her hands on my chest. I ran my fingers through her hair, completely infatuated with everything she was saying.

“Bad?” I questioned, when Elsie immediately paled. “What?” I asked, my hand stopping mid-stroke on her hair.

Elsie shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You sure?” I pushed, but she smiled and nodded.

Inhaling, she said, “I suppose I became fascinated with words because I lived without them or sound until I was eight.”

“Eight?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I inherited my deafness from my mom—who was deaf in both ears.” She pointed to her right ear. “I had low hearing in this ear. When I was eight, we found out about a new surgical technique that could restore the hearing in my right ear.” Her eyes dropped. “My mom had no money. Somehow she managed to scrape enough together to pay for my surgery—I don’t know how. Though I can guess.”

I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed it, a blush coating her cheeks. “When I woke from the surgery, I had been fitted with a hearing aid. I could hear, not a huge lot better, but it sounded like thunder compared to what little I had before. I remember being confused at the sounds all around me. At people speaking to me.” She ran her fingers over my lips. “I would hear them, and match the sounds up with the movement of their lips. My mom didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. When she tried, sometimes her pronunciation was too difficult to understand. So I had to learn for myself. I had to listen and learn. I learned and became obsessed with words.” She shrugged. “I guess it never went away.”

“And the poetry?”

Elsie’s eyes grew shiny and she pointed to the ceiling. “I made up that little rhyme about those plastic stars. It ignited something within me… something that kept me going even when I wasn’t sure I could.”

I didn’t say anything else, and Elsie laid her cheek on my chest. “When my mom died, I thought I’d never write poetry, again. I never thought I’d look at the stars, again.”

My chest ached with sympathy, when she rasped, “But the words came regardless and I just had to write them down.” She turned her head to me, a tear falling down her cheek. “I tried to stop them, but the thought of how my mom loved to read my poems… when she was thinking clear... I had to write them down. There was no choice. They would fill my head until I had to purge them on the page.”

“What were they about?” I asked softly.

“Lots of things, but… mainly her. How my life was without her, what I’d do if I could only see her one more time.”

A lump clogged my throat and images of my own mamma came to mind. I could feel Elsie’s pain, because I felt it too. Silence took over, then I asked, “Can I hear some?”

Elsie stilled.

I shifted and assured, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that,” she pushed. “I just… nobody’s heard it since my mom. I’ve never spoken them aloud.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered and saw Elsie relax.

I closed my eyes, feeling drained and tired, when I heard, “I wrote this after my mom died. When I was in care, in a group home, and I had nobody to talk to.”

My eyes snapped open as a million questions flooded my mind. Care? Group home? But all that fell away when she began reciting her poem.

“Heaven’s Door,” she announced. Her eyes were unfocused as the gutting words poured out:

“I’d search the world for Heaven’s Door,

Over mountains and valleys, each sandy shore.

I’d find the stairway, soaring through clouds,

I'd climb each step, without making a sound.

I’d arrive at the door of glimmering gold,

I’d slip through unnoticed, not stirring a soul.

I’d gasp at its beauty, at its rivers and trees,

I’d stray from the paths, I’d hide among leaves.

I’d tiptoe unseen, under sun and sky blue,

I’d search every corner until I found you.

I’d capture a tear, catch a glimpse of your hair,

As you danced and you twirled, without any care.

You’d smile and you’d laugh, like a bird you’d be free,

I’d try not to cry, you’re there without me.

I’d stay my hand from touching your face,

From calling your name, to feel your embrace.

You’d open your mouth and your voice would be pure,

I’d treasure the sound, no more pain you’d endure.

I’d stay ‘til the sunset, when I’d have to leave,

A pain in my heart, my spirit in grief.

I’d blow you a kiss, let it drift to the sky,

I’d whisper ‘I love you’ and bid you goodbye.

I'd pass through the door, I’d descend out of view,

Knowing that one day, some day, I’d again be with you.”

Elsie trailed off, her voice breaking toward the end. While I sat here in silence, stunned silence, my cheeks wet with tears.

Elsie blinked, then blinked again, and squeezed at my hand. She didn’t say anything to me; I didn’t say anything to her, but we sat here, holding each other, both raw at her words.

Minutes passed by, until Elsie switched positions and lay back upon the pillow beside me. Her eyes were shimmering, completely vulnerable. I’d spoken before I’d even had the thought. “Stay,” I hushed out, my hand on her cheek. “Stay with me, here.”

Elsie sucked in a breath and gripped my wrist. “Levi—”

“Please,” I begged, knowing I’d break if she left. “Stay here. With me. Just be my girl.”

“What would I do?” she whispered, her frightened eyes searching mine.

“I’ve already spoken to Lexi. She wants to show you her treatment center. She wants to see if you can help her with something… if you’re ready. Only when you’re ready.”

“Her treatment center?” she questioned. Hope sprung in my heart hearing the interest in her voice. “I don’t understand.”