Mrs Eames forced us to kiss and make

up. William pulled a hideous face, like

he’d drunk a tumbler of dirty dishwater.

I thought he was going to retch. I felt

humiliated. Mrs Eames went into the

kitchen, and took down the offending

roster. She scrunched it in her leathery,

veined hand, and it was history. I was

suddenly glad. Now let’s go out, and

celebrate your peace, with a couple of

chocolate milkshakes, Mrs Eames said.

This was welcome. William was palpably

thrilled. His face shone like a beacon.

He bounced out the front door, all of his

terrible psychological wounds

miraculously healed.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

33 thoughts on “Healing”

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