by M. N. Miller

Created on: June 10, 2008

Finally, she was done. The girl popped up and ran out of the door a split second later with her mom's hands still poised in the air where her daughters head used to be just seconds before, calling after her to not go too far as dinner would be ready soon.

Chuckling to herself at the impetuousness of the young, she stood up, stretched her back and made to start fixing the rest of the dinner. They needed something sweet she decided. It wasn't too long ago that she was that little girl frolicking in the outdoors. Twenty years seemed more like 40 if you looked at her compromised frame, pushed and pulled in so many directions giving her shadow silhouette a bent and angular look to it. Still, the smile on her face could not be prodded into any other shape. Corners of the mouth still turned up on their own, giving her face an ever-present look of happiness. Only her family gave her cause to smile brightly, showing all her white teeth, lighting up her face completely. Her husband would remark that she looked like a kid again, the kid he knew and grew up with, playing by the riverbed, unafraid to look for frogs and hold them up in her hands when she found them.

They were childhood confidants, inseparable until they were old enough to work for the family in the big house on the hill. They were brought to the farm as children, both on the same auction block in the same town, but from different far-off places. She remembered being frightened standing up there looking out over all the people. Even as a child, not quite sure of what was happening, their unfriendly faces and off-hand attitudes at the buying and selling of young flesh made her sick to her stomach. The young boy next to her fascinated her. He stood so tall and didn't shrink from their penetrating gazes. He seemed to have the spirit of a man already inside his boyish body. His strength emanated from him, it was palpable and she imagined it clinging to her like the scent of an aromatic flower so that it gave her the air of being less afraid too.

They ended up being bought by the same man and first said their greetings to each other on the back of his wagon as they traveled the many miles back to the homestead of their new owner. It wasn't with words that they greeted each other. He was still trying to maintain his faade of not being afraid as he sat next to her on the edge of the wagon, their legs dangling, their backs leaning against bags of flour and sugar - the other purchases of that day. But she noticed a twitch in his face and a slight movement of his hands. The only tremble he afforded himself. It was slight, it lasted only a brief moment. But her intent gaze caught it all the same.

She slowly reached out her hand and grasped his. Without looking at her, he hesitated only briefly before clasping his hand around hers. That bond forged that day proved stronger than the shackles on their wrists. Forged out of need and a desire for hope instead of metal and fire, the connection felt by both made it possible to move on towards whatever life they were headed with their heads up and the faintest inkling of hope in their hearts. They didn't need to face things alone. Being strong didn't mean being independent. They would be strong together.

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