“I reach over and stroke her hair. When I do, a few of the strands fall off in my fingers. I pull my hand back and slowly wrap them around my finger as I walk to my room and pick my purple hair clip up off the floor. I open the clip and place the strands of hair inside and snap it shut. I place the clip under my bedroom pillow and I go back to my mother’s room. I slide into the bed beside her and wrap my arms around her. She finds my hand and we interlock fingers as we talk without saying a single word.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered.“I can’t.” I could barely say it. I could barely breathe. I wanted to look at her for the rest of my life. Reaching a hand up, I ran just the tips of my fingers through her hair. Most of it was down, but just a few strands were pulled up away from her face. It was the perfect hair for the perfect dress, worn by the perfect girl.”

“Both of my hands wove into her hair again and clutched at the soft curls. No matter how I tightened my grip, the strands kept falling from my fingers, a shower of water from the sky.”

“I lifted my hand and pulled the blue paper cap back a little, until a piece of my red fell out, then I reached my hand back inside the case. I slid my finger under some tubes and into her tiny purple hand. And just like that, like she had known it was me all along, she squeezed it.”

“I held my fingers out to the new day. I that virgin light -- bold strands of pink and orange breaking over the rim of the horizon -- I saw hope, and I wrapped my fingers around that light and brought it to my heart.”

“Grace reached over and began stroking her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let her drive me crazy.”