It was a little different, that particular summer celebration. Mana-ma mentioned Adam. She decided she wanted to say something, so she could. That was the hierarchy; if we were sad and wanted to remember him, we couldn’t publicly without her say-so. We couldn’t change anything in the Hearth, because we didn’t hear the voice of God.

“I know that we do not acknowledge endings often,” she said. “Especially at the beginning of such a warm and prosperous season, but God spoke to me last night. He told me that today, we should have a moment to mourn Adam.”

There were quiet murmurs in the crowd.

“The loss of Adam reminded me of all the other losses we’ve had through the years. God told me that they are never truly gone. He wanted me to remind you all that those we have loved have returned to the Cycle, to bloom elsewhere in the universe. Remember that in times of sadness, and remember the light. Every time you see the glory of God and nature, remember that those we loved are still a part of it.”

We all bowed our heads for a moment and thought of Adam. Taema and I felt better after that. It was better than pretending it never happened, or never really acknowledging it. Maybe Mana-ma finally realized that.

We went outside and we each rested a hand on the sunflowers now thriving in the summer heat, their yellow faces tilted toward the sky. We thought of Adam.

Afterward, though, we could not escape the meadow and another Meditation. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but there were no excuses granted unless we were ill. We queued, and took our bitter medicine. We lay on our sides. I looked into Taema’s eyes. We both already felt the effects of the drugs, our eyes heavy and lidded. Our whole body tingled.

I’m not sure if Mana-ma realized that this was a side effect, but Taema and I were even closer when we took those drugs. I swear I could read her every thought, her every feeling. We all connected, but no one connected more than me and her. It was as if we did become one person. Even Mana-ma noticed.

I sort of wish I could do that again with Taema. It’d be so much easier to explain everything that way, but I’m too afraid of what she would find.

That Meditation was like all the others. Mana-ma’s voice rang out, clear and reverberating. The sun beat down on us. We closed our eyes and held hands, and created worlds with our minds inhabited only by us as our bodies stiffened with pain. This time, though, the pain was less, which made the dream sweeter.