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Summary
She is between the third and fourth song. The particular two minutes of a show that belong only to her — no one's eyes on her yet, the stage dark, the crowd in that suspended state of waiting that has its own quality of noise. She knows exactly where Mira is. She does not look. She knows by the architecture of the wing, by the weight of the room, by five years of understanding where Mira stands without needing to confirm it.
Then the sound.
It is brief and specific and she does not know how she knows what it is except that she does, instantly, completely, the way the body sometimes knows things it has not been taught. She turns before she decides to turn.
The wing is wrong.
There is movement where there should not be movement, a figure that does not belong, and then — already, in the time it takes to draw breath — something on the floor. She knows before she sees clearly. She knows from the shape of it, from the way the crew is moving, from the particular stillness at the center of all that motion.
Mira.
OR
Rumi settles onto the hospital couch and refuses to leave.
Series
- Part 2 of I'll always be waiting (for you)