For Atelierjoh

Elle learned to ignore the whispers of adults—even her friends—behind her back. Out of concern or pity, they'd call her an orphan or "poor little thing," but she was neither of these. Though she'd never tell them, she was never alone.

And she was sure of it.

There were things that happened that she could not explain.
A blanket pulled over her while she napped.
Words she struggled to read whispered in her ear.
Someone pushing her on a swing in the park. Higher and higher.
A handful of spice that she knew she didn't use tossed into a pot of soup.
The sensation of someone rubbing her back on the occasion when she let herself cry.
A handwritten recipe she found tucked inside of a cookbook, that she swore wasn't there the day before.

What solidified it for her was how Rollo began howling at empty space.
She decided to talk to that space.
It listened to her.
It never said much, but it listened.

The few times it did speak, she heard his voice, giving her the encouragement and advice that she needed at the moment.
Don't worry.
I'm here.
That boy is not worth your time.
Open your stance.
Yes, make it Elle-style.
I'm still here.
I won't leave you.
I promise.
Always.

And, sometimes, on the nights she would struggle to find sleep, he would hum that simple, perfect melody through the wind. She hummed along and, if the tears came, he wiped them from her cheeks before she could taste them.

But she never told the others that he was there.
Because it was their secret.

.