FOR A WHILE LONGER I existed only in the shadows, still cowering from the pain and from the voices that haunted me. Vaguely, I’d been aware of the touch of people’s fingers . . . in my hair, on my cheek, my arms and my hands. Mostly none of it made a difference to me. Often it irritated me; although, I don’t know why. Some were better, even softer than the others. I could feel things through them. Things I was only beginning to recall.
Like the warm love of a mom and a dad. The deep concern of a favorite aunt or a brother. The loving encouragement of a close friend.
The tender warmth of a kiss . . .
The shadows gave up trying to hold me captive. My brain waved them away and ushered me into the world of the voices and the pain. Frightened, I struggled against it. Fingers tightened their
