Page 33 of Just Ten Seconds

“The water. The waves are big, as high as buildings, and they’re crashing down.”

“That’s good. Listen to the sound of those waves crashing down. Feel the sand on your feet. Can you smell the suntan lotion?”

She giggles. “Yes. It smells like summer.”

“That’s definitely a smell. Now, picture something that you love.”

“Ice cream!” she answers quickly.

“Great. What does it taste like?”

“Sweet.” With her eyes still closed, in her little happy place, she licks an imaginary ice cream cone. “Mmm. It’s good.”

“Careful with the cone. You don’t want to break it.”

She motions her body a little as if she’s trying to balance the ice cream in her hand. “I won’t. It’s a waffle cone. I can feel the little squares.”

“This story is about Ariel who wants to be a human more than she can breathe. It’s the only thing she wants in this world. Do you feel how much you love that ice cream?”

“I do.” She has a content smile on her face. “Mommy is having ice cream with me.”

Shit. “Oh?”

“She’s eating Cherry Garcia. It’s her favorite. There’s a little on her chin.”

In my mediocre training as an actress, tapping into suppressed memories of an eight-year-old was not part of the curriculum.

“You can brush it off her chin,” I tell her.

Her hand reaches out to seemingly brush the drop of ice cream off her mother’s face.

“She’s laughing at something,” Amanda says. “We cheers our ice cream.”

“That’s wonderful. Now, it’s time to finish your ice cream.” I try to slowly get her out of the sensory memory.

“She’s pointing to the water. She wants to go in, but I don’t want her to.” The sides of Amanda’s eyes turn down, as does her mouth. “She’s getting up. Mommy, where are you going? She’s walking toward the water. I don’t want her to go.” Her face is glistening with tears. “Mommy, don’t leave!”

I reach forward and hug her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tightly. “Amanda, it’s okay, honey. Shh.” I try to comfort her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have made you do that silly exercise.”

She looks up. Her face has a wide, closed-mouth smile. “It wasn’t silly. I got to see my mom.”

My chest caves in with relief at her reaction. “Oh, sweetie. You’re upset.”

“Only because she left. She died, you know.”

“I know.” I release her and lean back into the cushions.

“When you said to think about something I wanted, that was it. My mom.”

“Well, it’s your natural feeling, and no one should ever make you not feel that emotion. I just don’t want you to be sad though. Use a happy memory. You can use the ice cream cone. When Ariel is telling her father she wants to be a human, you can imagine that yearning feeling you have to taste the ice cream again.”

She seems to think about this option for a moment. Her gaze stays on the picture of her mother. “My mom used to sing this to me at bedtime. She’d lie in my bed and rub my head while she sang.” She takes a deep breath and starts to sing, “I want to be where the people are …”

I find myself sitting up too. A running river of hope travels up my spine as this tiny girl with frizzy hair and a hot-pink cast sings. Not because she is looking at a photo of her mother, a woman who used to sing this very song to her before she went to slumber. No. My heart is pressing up against my skin, feeling more promise in this girl because, when Amanda sings, she is absolutely ethereal.

Amanda is singing like an angel, but it’s more than that. She’s singing with pride and emotion. Her hands are outstretched as if she’s singing to someone. As if she’s singing to her mother.

Every word is said with meaning. Her notes are as accurate as I would want a child’s to be.