Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

on a budget, but my mom dressed us so well that people thought we had more money than we did. Even after my accident. That was when her true talent came into play. She was creative when it came to hair and make-up and, when I became a teenager, my mom taught me her skills of illusion.
    Most of my memories of the accident were jumbled. I was such a little girl that I barely remembered much about it, but for years I’d heard the details. I knew more than I remembered but what I did remember was that there was a lot of pain. Of course I couldn’t remember the actual pain, but I remember how it made me scream. While I recovered my mom diverted attention from IV drips, bandages, and pain medication with hairstyles and fashion magazines. In the days after I was discharged from the hospital my mom would page through them as she sat with me in bed, often until I fell asleep from the painkillers. It was just a diversion to pass the time and I liked having my momma nearby. I never dreamed that the distraction of pretty things could be a lifeline.
    Like most children, I was resilient. I healed, but the scarred skin hurt and itched. My mom would apply cream and would gently massage the soreness away. She later told me that every day in the hospital she was planning how special my first shopping trip would be. I honestly don’t know how she did it. I mean, how do you console your child when you are hurting for them? Her way was to spend some girl time with me. Just mom, pretty clothes, and me. I was little and she thought a big girl lunch would right my world to its former, happy axis. I guess it sounded silly, but unless you’ve been in that situation you couldn’t possibly know what you would do. What I do know is that my mom tried to prepare me for what was to come and how I could fight it.
     
    “Sweetie, one day, people may not be nice to you. You mustn’t pay attention to them.” Her momma’s expression was tender. Paige carefully put her little cup of hot chocolate on the saucer. Her nose wrinkled up and her forehead furrowed in confusion.
    “Why would they be mean to me, momma? You always say I’m nice with my friends.” She reached across the table and held Paige’s little fingers in her palm.
    “Baby, they might not see you the same way that daddy, Ricky, and I do. We think you’re a brave girl, and we think you’re beautiful, but some people…they only look at the outside. They shouldn’t, but they do.”
    Paige touched the edges of her bandages, her little fingernails sparkling from the polish her momma applied.
    “Momma? If you kiss the booboo’s, will they go away?” Kyla swallowed the lump in her throat. She only wished she had that power! She moved a tendril of Paige’s silky hair, pushing it behind her shoulder.
    “Baby, if I thought that would work I’d give you a million kisses—no, a billion kisses. Dr. Dylan said it would take time. Then we’ll see how you heal.” Paige reached up and placed her hand on Kyla’s cheek.
    “I want to be pretty like you, momma. Daddy says you’re boo-ti-ful.”
    She noticed tears against her mother’s lashes, and wanted to console her. Laying her head against her mother’s chest, she coiled her little legs around her waist and hugged her.
    “I love you, momma,” she whispered.
     
    It was one of my first memories of being in the hospital. I had revisited it so many times but I wished it hadn’t surfaced now. I was tired. Bad things happened when I was tired. When What usually was a sweet recollection could become a nightmare. Remembrances of helplessness, both mine and mom’s could put me in a bad funk.
    I exhaled the unconscious breath I’d been holding and placed the last outfit in the closet. My shoes were tight and I sat down on the bed to pry them off of my swollen feet. It didn’t matter how high they were or how uncomfortable I felt after wearing them for ten hours, the Vince Camuto’s were one of my favorite pairs. I’m sure some psychologist