Elsie’s head tilted to the side. I looked up to see her tongue on her lip again. My heart lurched. I didn’t know why, but that action flattened me.
“I have never watched football before, so I didn’t understand much.” I nodded my head, when she slowly added, “But I liked watching you.”
Elsie dropped her head as she wrote that last part. But I couldn’t stop the flood of happiness that filled my body. And I couldn’t help the smile that spread on my lips.
Elsie peeked up at me, and smiled too. Her hand was laying flat to the table. I fought the urge to reach out and hold it. But when Elsie bravely lifted her head fully, and widened her smile, nothing could stop me from taking her hand in mine.
She gasped as I curled my hand around hers, but she didn’t let go. In fact, she flipped her palm and linked our fingers. And we sat there for a moment, silent, simply staring at our hands. I just prayed she ignored the slight shaking of my fingers.
Taking another drink of my coffee to help calm my mind imagining kissing her lips, I noticed Elsie writing something else. When she turned the pad, it read, “There were a lot of people watching in the stadium.”
Placing my mug on the table, I nodded my head. “Yeah. It’s crazy. At first I didn’t think I’d be able to play in front of a big crowd.” I shrugged. “I’m not real good in crowds, or being the center of attention. But I learned to block it out. Learned to stay in the zone and not see the crowd, if that makes sense.”
Elsie wrote again. “You like playing football?”
I huffed a laugh, and replied, “I love it. I’m good at it.” I traced the knot of wood again. “When I play, I can block things out of my head. It’s just me on the field with the ball. I have one goal, to score touchdowns.” Sucking in a breath, I confessed, “It makes me forget, for as long as I’m on that gridiron… well, everything.”
The dull ache that forever sat in my stomach stabbed and I shifted on my seat. Elsie sat still, then she asked the question I dreaded most.
“Where’s your mom?”
My eyes read and re-read that question, and my throat closed up like it always did. A pair of dark eyes flashed through my mind, but I struggled to see the rest. The usual panic that came with that struggle set in. Before I could get to my feet, Elsie squeezed my hand, her touch pouring strength into my heart.
I breathed, I breathed, until I found myself saying, “She’s dead.”
Elsie’s grip hardened so much that it caused me to look at her face. She was stone, her eyes wide and glossy. This time I squeezed her hand. “Elsie?” My voice must have snapped her from whatever was haunting her mind.
Her chest was rising and falling so fast that I pushed her coffee toward her. Elsie picked up her mug and sipped the steaming drink. As she lowered her coffee, I could see her hands were trembling. I opened my mouth to ask why, when she picked up her pen. I waited, desperate to see what she would write, then she pushed the pad toward me.
“My mom died too.”
I stared at those four words, and sadness slammed into me like a freight train. My breathing was shallow, and I slowly raised my eyes to see Elsie’s eyes brimming with tears. I stared at her beautiful face, a face that had seen tragedy—like me. A face that had watched her mamma die—just like me, and Elsie pressed her hand over her heart and clenched her fist. The pained expression on her face showcased her hurt more than any words could convey. I knew it, because I felt it too.
The knuckles on our joined hands were white as we clung to each other. But as hard as this moment was, something light, some feeling as light as air itself, lifted some of the ache in my heart.
She understood.
With few words, and little explanation, I knew Elsie understood me.
I dragged in a ragged breath, and Elsie mirrored my action. Minutes passed, silence again wrapping around us.
When the throbbing of my heart calmed, I asked, “Where are you from, Elsie?”
Elsie’s eyes narrowed on me, but she wrote, “Portland, Oregon.”
“How did you wind up in Seattle?”
I could see he didn’t want to answer, but she wrote, “I had to get away. I managed to get here, and,” she looked away; I squeezed her hand. She drew in a deep breath, and wrote, “I had nowhere else to go.”
I had no idea what to say in response. My mind flashed back to the corner of the alley and her being cold, thin and unwell. Those memories were plaguing me when she added, “I’ve never even seen Seattle, Levi. Apart from cold alleys, I don’t know the city at all.”
Elsie dropped her pen. Her face was tired and sad. I hated seeing her this way, then an idea popped into my head. “Elsie?”
Elsie faced me.
“You feeling better? Better enough to get away from this house for a while?”
Elsie’s forehead lined with confusion, but she slowly nodded her head, sadness being gradually replaced by intrigue.