Wrapped In Rain

by Charles Martin

Miss Ella’s lips were moving, her head was nodding just slightly, and her eyes were narrowed, closed, and surrounded in deep wrinkles. Then and now, that’s the way I remember her. A lady on her knees.

“Tucker, that hurting spot is your people place.” My eyebrows lifted. “My what?” “Your people place.” “What’s it do?” “It’s like your own built-in treasure box.”

“No, no money. It holds people. People you love and those that love you. It feels good when it’s full and hurts when it’s empty. Right now it’s getting bigger. Kind of like the growing pains you sometimes feel in your shins and ankles.” She put her hand over my belly button and said, “It’s sort of packed in there behind your belly button.”

“How’d it get there?” “God put it there.” “Does everybody have one?” “Yes.” “Even you?” “Even me,” she whispered. I looked at her stomach. “Can I see?” “Oh, you can’t see it. It’s invisible.”

“Just ’cause somebody dies doesn’t mean they leave you.” She gently turned my chin toward hers and said, “Tucker, love doesn’t die like people.”