The clinic occupied two rooms above a laundry on Semba Street, which Rue had passed many times without noticing. The intake form asked for name, age, and the reason for the appointment. She wrote: my mother died six weeks ago. Then she crossed that out and wrote: bereavement assessment. Then she crossed that out too and wrote nothing, and handed the form in as it was.
Brin did not comment on the form.
She had Rue sit in a low chair and placed her hands on Rue's forearms, which felt like nothing, not warm, not cold, just present. She said she would describe what she found and that Rue should stop her at any time. Rue said she understood.
"There's a significant presence at the upper back, " Brin said. "Very early, very dense. The trace suggests it began in the first weeks after you were born. It's still there as a kind of texture. Does that make sense?"
Rue said nothing. This seemed to be acceptable.
"The pattern of this particular touch changed considerably over time. It was more frequent in early childhood and became more deliberate later, if that distinction makes sense. Early childhood touch tends to be functional. This one became a different kind of thing."
"What kind?" Rue asked.
"Intentional. Aware of itself." Brin moved her hands slightly. "As if the person knew that touching you was significant, and treated it accordingly."
Rue had been sitting very still. She continued to sit very still.
"The last trace I can identify is approximately seven weeks ago, " Brin said. "The hands. The upper arms."
That would have been the hospital. Rue had held her mother's hands for a long time that last afternoon, talking about nothing important, the same way they had always talked when there was something important they couldn't yet say. Her mother had patted her arms in the way she had always done, the particular pat that meant: you are fine. You will be fine. I believe this. Rue had not known at the time that she was filing it.
"Do you want me to continue?" Brin asked.
"Is there more?"
"There's always more."
Rue looked at her own forearms. The skin looked exactly the same as it had always looked.
"Tell me the rest, " she said.