DALLE'S POINT OF VIEW
Today feels funny in my heart. Not the funny when you laugh at cartoons. It's the other funny. The kind that makes your chest feel wiggly and heavy, like you want to cry but you don't know why.
Mommy Odette is in her room again. The door's closed and everything is too quiet. I think she's crying, but I'm not sure. Grown-ups cry in quiet ways. I don't always hear it, but today, I can.
I asked Mama—Mommy's mommy—if I could go see her, but Mama just gave me a pat on the head and said, "Let Mommy rest, baby."
But I didn't want to just sit there. Mommy always hugs me when I cry. She makes warm milk and rubs my back and tells me stories about stars and flying whales. So I tiptoed upstairs, extra quiet, like a ninja spy. I stood by her door and listened.
And there it was.
A soft sound. A broken kind of sound.
Like a tiny animal got lost and didn't know how to get home.