Jennifer Hartmann

Lotus

“Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to Earth and crawled beneath my skin.”

Sophia

I bring the teddy bear close to my lips and whisper, “He saw me. He saw me. He saw me.”

“When I was five-years-old, I gave you my heart on your front porch, and you gave me an oatmeal cookie, and I’ve thought about that moment every single day for over two decades. Even when you were gone, you still held my heart.”

“I’m not gone anymore, Syd.” His palms find my face, clasping my cheeks, tears slipping through his fingers.

“I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding onto your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.”

And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name.

“I’m not certain I desire anymore answers. I feel at peace with the memories I’ve recovered,” I explain, licking my lips and tasting the salty tears that gathered there.

“The hole I felt has been filled— she was all I was looking for.”

As I case my surroundings, more fractured visions sweep through me, causing my knees to quiver.

The ivory sink is still there, chipped and tarnished. The floral shower curtain has been replaced by one that is gray and sterile, and the little girl is long gone, but I can almost still hear her laughter echoing in my ears.

I went twenty-two years without a mirror.

 reflection. No concept of my physical appearance. No knowledge of my eye color or bone structure or the curve of my mouth.

I had my name, though. I carved it into the cement wall, so I’d never forget it.

His own hands lift, clasping onto my wrists as I stroke my thumbs along his cheekbones.

I shake my head , adamantly . “You won’t. It’s over, and you survived. Do you trust me?”

Another slow nod. “You’re the only one I trust.”

“Hello,” he greets, an adorable , dimpled grin on his face.

Oliver’s eyebrows lift to his hairline, his cheeks coloring a demure shade of pink. “Pardon?”

Oliver’s foot slams on the brake, and I lurch forward so hard, my forehead almost collides with the dashboard. “Oliver!”

When my breath dislodges from my throat, I glance out the windshield and spot a squirrel scampering up a neighbor’s tree. “It was just a squirrel. Squirrels are suicidal.”

Lotus quotes

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