He was nothing but thorough, and his visit to this particular orphanage had been enlightening, to say the least. He could feel their gazes on him, but he kept his focus on his words. They waited as his pen continued to scratch along the paper. It wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened, and he doubted it’d be the last. “Once or twice a month, and no more.” She smiled beatifically at him, and Linus wondered if she’d been coached on her answers before his arrival. The older the children get, the more they … do things.” She wrung her hands, eyes darting back and forth. “Oh, not often at all,” she said quickly. The master of the orphanage, a squat woman with frizzy hair, stepped forward. “And how often do you-er, you know? Make things float?” He wasn’t there to engage in amateur art criticism. Linus believed the world was better off with the paintings staying in this room, but he kept the thought to himself. The master had showed them off proudly, telling Linus painting was her passion, and that if she hadn’t become the master of this specific orphanage, she’d be traveling with a circus as a lemur trainer or even have opened up a gallery to share her artwork with the world. The walls were lined with terrible paintings of lemurs in various poses. They were in the master’s office, a tidy room with government-issued brown carpet and old furniture. “I see,” Linus said, furiously scribbling on his pad of paper. It went on for a good minute before the blocks slowly lowered to the floor.
Daisy frowned in concentration, the tip of her tongue stuck out between her teeth. The blocks spun in slow, concentric circles. He watched in rapt wonder as an eleven-year-old girl named Daisy levitated blocks of wood high above her head. He swayed with my mother as Judy sang that Someday we’d all be together, if the fates allowed, until then we’d have to muddle through.“Oh dear,” Linus Baker said, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘ You love him’ Joe whispered in my head. His hand were on her hips, hers on his shoulders. They had to know I was there, but they didn’t look my way. My mother was in a robe, her hair pulled back, her face make-up free.
He wore a shirt that was too big for him. I stopped in the entry way to the kitchen…īut it all fell away when I saw my mother dancing with Gavin. I always thought it was the saddest song. Judy Garland was singing a cover of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. ‘I got out of bed and went down stairs, following the Christmas music playing on the radio. Inspired by the scene that warmed my heart & absolutely wrecked me in BROTHERSONG by TJ KLUNE (ch.23)
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