Chapter 07 · 3 min 48 sec
As Long as You're Okay
A parent's silent vigil — the love that asks for nothing, only safety.
Lyrics· 298 words
inspiration Everybody hides something Behind a smile, behind a face Little storms nobody notices
Silent battles every day We carry them like secrets Locked away where no one sees Pretending that we're stronger
Than we really need to be But tonight, I don't need the answers I don't need to explain As long as you're okay
Maybe I'll be okay too I can carry what I'm carrying If the light still shines on you The world can keep its questions
The sky can keep its rain I don't need everything to be perfect As long as you're okay There's a secret we all keep
The one we never say out loud How sometimes we're just surviving Trying to make our people proud And every heart is holding stories
That words can never quite explain But somehow seeing you smile Makes them easier to contain And tonight, that's enough
That's enough for me As long as you're okay Maybe I'll be okay too I can carry what I'm carrying
If the light still shines on you The world can keep its questions The sky can keep its rain I don't need everything to be perfect
As long as you're okay Maybe love is something simple Maybe love is something small Not fixing every broken piece
Just being there through it all Not having all the answers Not taking all the pain away Just looking at someone you love
And hoping they're okay As long as you're okay Maybe I'll be okay too The road can turn, the years can pass
The seasons can break through The world can keep its questions The sky can keep its rain I don't need everything to be perfect
As long as you're okay There's a secret we all keep And maybe that's okay
*A story about the voice that finds you*
Miguel had three bars of signal.
He was on the school geography trip, somewhere in the hills east of the city, and he had gotten separated from the group. Not dangerously — he could see the path, he knew roughly which direction to go — but separated enough that the afternoon light was changing and his boots were wet and the hill looked different going down than it had going up.
He looked at his phone. Three bars.
He called his mother.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Miguel?"
He hadn't planned what to say. He'd planned to say something calm and measured, to explain the situation clearly and ask for advice. Instead, what came out was: "I'm a bit lost."
"Where are you?" No panic in her voice. Just her voice, clear and steady as a lamp turning on.
He described what he could see. The shape of the hill. The colour of the rock. The way the path curved left before the slope.
"I know that place," she said. "Follow the path left. There's a village about fifteen minutes down. Call me when you can see the rooftops."
"Okay," he said.
"Miguel?"
"Yeah?"
She paused for just a moment. "You're okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."
"Good. Go. I'll be right here."
He put his phone in his pocket and started walking. The path curved left. Fifteen minutes later, he could see rooftops. He called her back.
She stayed on the phone until the teacher came to find him.
Later, on the bus back, Miguel thought about that call. What had his mother actually done? She hadn't come to get him. She hadn't solved anything. She had just picked up on the second ring and been herself — steady and calm and absolutely certain that things were going to be fine — until he was steady and calm and absolutely certain too.
He understood something then about what it meant to be there for someone. Not always in person. Sometimes just as a voice, three bars of signal, choosing to be reached.
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*Sometimes the most powerful thing someone can do is simply answer when you call.*
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