Fitting

One may well be too tall, too small, too loud, too silent, too happy, too grim, oh any of a million other things that made one feel they did not quite fit the space made for them. Many people accepted that, but it never stopped being uncomfortable, as tight fits so often are.

The opposite of that is knowing exactly where you should fit and not caring if you fit the bill. So certain, so confident, that life itself has no choice but to let you have your way. It's rare, and not easy, because that kind of confidence can't be taught or bought, it's a little something that clicks inside of you, that you know in your heart and soul and nothing can shake.

Where did Brogan fit? Brogan fit everywhere, chameleon-like, because there was nothing real left in her that could not fit. She was perfect and impersonal, like a mannequin, fitting into so much that no real person could reasonably hope to. Sometimes she fit between people, sometimes they fit around her, and too few of them ever realised how easily she could push herself into a shape she shouldn't be able to, to fit, to be perfect for every occasion.

Pintail fit nowhere, because she never let herself. She moved too fast for any fitting, because it was easier to get away if you did not slot in anywhere. When Brendan had to leave, she was far too angry, because it was never anyone who did any leaving but her. Being left was a queer sort of dread, a dread that built up when she let herself fit the way she had back home. It was best to keep herself uncomfortable, to refuse to be a part, just in case it all fell apart. It still all fell apart, but she pretended it hurt less that way.

Where did Helene fit? Helene was happy, because when her husband was asleep, there was always just the right space for her. His hands fit for her hands, his arms made her space, and even when he was awake and grumbling, there was a space in his smile just for her. Helene had a heart in which many people fit, but he only let himself have a few spaces in his own. She always felt so lucky to know how well she fit.

Nando's brothers knew where they fit; right beside him, a line of tin soldiers constantly being knocked down and coming back up again. And Nando knew he fit right in the middle, because if there was nothing in the centre, everything would fall. He fit behind a barricade and in front of a friend, under a hot sun and over littered shells. And sometimes at night, if he let himself, he remembered a warm form that could still fit, right on is arm and at his side, looking up at the stars.