The flung wooden toy hit the wall with a prosaic thunk. It fell to the floor and stared, unimpressed, at the weak armed girl responsible. Merissa glared at it with contempt as a woman’s hand brushed her forearm and said, “Horse.”
Though Merissa’d come to trust her, the teen wasn’t comforted and hastily scanned the room for something familiar—returning empty.
“Try another?” The woman beckoned.
Merissa nodded. The next object was a round ball of black and white hexagons. She studied it with furious intensity then announced, “I think I know this.”
But early traces of recognition dwindled. Merissa clawed at the ball, frustrated. She spoke in guttural mumblings hoping random sounds might form the right connection. Failure. She discarded the ball and it rolled up against the carved horse as the woman’s voice said, “Soccerball.”
A glint in the hallway caught Merissa’s eye. She felt an overwhelming urge to chase it and quickly wheeled out, slamming into a worn-faced, burly man in plaid. His bloodshot eyes were being fueled by the coffee now splattered across his chest. Merissa offered the stranger only a tepid, “Sorry.”
Where was it?! There! A little boy. Shorter than her chair, he was blowing into a ring-shaped-thing and from it…a miracle.
Her eyes sparkled. “It’s so beautiful!” The spectrums of color changed shape in a translucent blob that morphed, contracted and expanded. The little boy squealed with joy. Merissa felt saliva pooling and her body coalescing behind something powerful. She could sense a sequence; jigsaw pieces finding their corners and clicking into place. Her eyes welled. What was lost was returning to her.
“Soap bubbles,” she muffled through tears. The boy, oblivious to her, popped it to create another and bounded away.
Merissa felt an aged woman’s relief. She basked in it. But something more was at work. Her eyes traced an internal map and her mouth gaped when the next piece came into place.
She whipped around and burst into tears staring at the plaid-shirted man standing directly behind her, with tears of his own. He wasn’t a stranger. Throwing her arms around him she cried, “Dad”