"Then I fell, and nearly twisted my ankle runnin' all the way down the road," his voice cracked, a lighthearted emotion, before bursting into laughter.
Her giggle was light, and followed his. Undemanding, and cautious.
Then her almond-shaped eyes widened once more.
She focused in on his forearm, peculiarly squinting ever so subtly. In her soft voice, she asked him, "and what does this one stand for?"
His eyes caught her glance, and he tilted his head, already knowing the story she wanted to hear. "The branch?"
Her hand reached awkwardly to touch it, a light running of the fingertip, scanning the inked artwork, as though it were a tangible shrub before her eyes.
His eyes skimmed past the coniferous tattoo on his left forearm. Then he faced the room again.
"So, before I was adopted, I used to live in this house, on a street called Juniper Drive. It's the first place I ever lived. And I've flashbacks of when my sisters and I would play, you know? Inside, and outside," he chuckled