The Secret of Ella and Micha

when I was young. However, when I got older, there was a painful realization that it wasn’t normal to go on huge shopping sprees, take off in the middle of the night for a road trip, pretend she could fly…
    But the night on the bridge wasn’t the worst night I’d ever experienced. It was just the last push to my rapid decline toward the loss of control over my life.
    “Ella, where are you?” Micha’s voice snaps me out of my own head. “You were dazing off on me there.”
    We’re parked in front of Grady’s single-wide trailer located in a field, near a junkyard and an abandoned apartment complex. I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out of the car, and flip the seat forward to let Lila out.
    “No thanks.” She shakes her head, cowering back in the seat. “I think I’ll wait in here.”
    “You’re much safer inside.” Micha points to a crumbling shack in the middle of the field. “That’s a crack house over there and trust me, if they see you sitting in here, by yourself, they’re going to come over and harass you.”
    Micha’s messing with her, but I let him be because this place isn’t that safe of a spot.
    Her face pinches and she scrambles out of the car. “Who is this person’s house we’re at? It’s not a drug dealer, is it?”
    “No, it’s just an old friend.” I trade a secret glance with Micha and feelings rush through me like the sun and the wind. Grady was once Micha’s stepfather. His mother and Grady were married for a few years and most of our happy childhood memories consist of him, camping, fishing, working on cars. Between the ages of eight and nine life was solid, not broken to pieces.
    I meet Micha around the front of the car and when he takes my hand, I don’t object. Being here is like traveling through time and it hurts to know that the man who showed me that life can be good is dying.
    Lila tugs the bottom of her dress down self-consciously. “Are you sure I’m okay going in here?”
    “Relax,” I tell her as we reach the rickety front porch. “Grady is a good guy, he just likes living an unmaterialistic lifestyle. He chooses to live in a place like this.”
    She forces a tense smile. “Alright, I’m relaxing.”
    Micha squeezes my hand and then knocks on the door. A few knocks later and we let ourselves in. It’s like I remember, and it makes me smile because it’s comforting. Grady was a big traveler when he was younger and his walls map his destinations; petite nesting dolls from his trip to Russia on a small bookshelf, a painted Bokota mask from Africa hooked to the wall, a large hookah from Nepal sitting on a small fold up table. It overwhelms me and tugs at my memories.
    The trailer is small with a narrow kitchen connected to a boxed in living room and the three of us nearly fill up the space.
    Micha slides his hand up my arm and draws me to him. “Are you going to be okay?”
    I nod, forcing the tears away. Micha kisses my temple and I don’t retreat this time, allowing myself one small moment.
    “It’ll be okay,” Micha says. “And I’m here for you.”
    Time’s up.
    “Where is he?” I take a deep breath, move away from Micha, and smother the old Ella away. He points over my shoulder. I turn around and my heart drops to my stomach. The medium build, tall man, with bright blue eyes and a head full of hair, has shifted into a frail, skeletal figure, with sunken eyes and his head shaved. His plaid jacket drowns his body and the belt around his jeans has holes added to it.
    I hesitate to hug him. “How are you? Are you okay?”
    “I’m always okay. You know that. Not even a little cancer can bring me down.” He smiles and it’s just as bright as it was. Using his cane, he hobbles toward me. I meet him halfway, in front of the tattered leather recliner and give him a gentle hug, afraid I might break him.
    “How have you been, my little Ella May?” He steps back to take a look at me. “You look different.”
    I self-consciously touch my hair. “I changed my looks a little. Thought I could use a change or two.”
    He shakes his head contemplatively. “No, it’s not that. There’s something else. You seem sad.”
    “I’m fine,” I deny and not very well. “I feel great.”
    He offers me a tolerant smile. “You’ve never been a good liar, you know that. I always knew it was you who broke the vase.”
    From behind me, Micha nods concurring. “It’s her eyes. They show way too much. Although she thinks differently.”
    “If you knew