Aurelius and I Read Online Free Page B

talking about, could it? How could Aurelius, who until seven days before had been a total stranger to me, possibly have known about that? I had never told anybody about what had happened. And yet, at the same time, I could think of nothing else to which he could be referring.
    Without either one of us saying a word, I took a step toward the wounded squirrel. Cautiouslyly, with fingers trembling from the fear of being bitten, I reached out and touched the wounded leg.
    “It’s okay,” I whispered soothingly, as much to calm myself as the injured rodent. “It’s all going to be ok.”
    And then I just thought. Hard. I tried to just will the leg to fix itself. For a long time nothing happened. The squirrel began to grow restless and wriggle around. I was becoming angry. At one moment, angry with myself that I was doing something wrong, the next with Aurelius for making me believe that I had the ability to do anything at all. I remember thinking why won’t you just work damn it? Matilda got better, why won’t you?
    It wasn’t going to work though. I was so upset I felt as if I would surely punch Aurelius, or just burst into tears, or possibly both. I could feel my emotions building and building inside of me as if I was about to explode. And then it happened.
    Suddenly, all the pent up aggression and frustration seemed to release itself through my fingertips. I felt a strange tingling sensation coming up from my feet, along my spine, and out through my arms and my nostrils became filled with an inexplicable yet undeniable scent of cherry blossom. It was just like I had felt before. Only stronger, much stronger. Until the feeling abruptly disappeared and I felt myself falling to the floor and pulling Aurelius down with me as I grabbed hold of a velvet sleeve to try to help myself balance.
    I sat there on the rug in a state of shock, unable to move for what seemed like hours, but was probably only moments. Everything was still. I felt like I was in a sort of waking coma, one that the world had fallen into it with me. What brought me out of it was movement. And that movement came from the little squirrel with the broken leg. A little squirrel who was now running across the cottage floor and out of the window.
     
     
Chapter 3
     
    Allow me be honest with you, dear reader. Whilst it is true that I was greatly surprised by the miraculous recovery of my furry friend at my own hands, the event was not nearly as shocking to me as it may have been to other people. Indeed, there was a part of me that openly accepted the fact that events occurred on a daily basis which could not be conventionally explained. In order for me to explain myself a little better, I think it’s time I told you about my grandmother.
    Every child should have a grandmother. Unfortunately not all are so lucky. I greatly pity such children. In my experience, grandmothers are a crucial part of childhood. On the one hand, they love you and care for your welfare, always ensuring that no harm comes to you. On the other, they are less concerned about the stuff you really shouldn’t do, but that is unlikely to kill you, such as burping and farting in polite company or drinking too much cherryade. Or at least mine wasn’t.
    Grandmothers have a refreshing honesty about them which is brought on by the wisdom of experience combined with a more relaxed attitude to life that seems to accompany old age. As a result, they are quite happy to tell you things that your parents would really rather you didn’t know about. These most usually consist of embarrassing tales of the time your father wet his pants in front of everyone in the school nativity play, or when your mother went on her first date with her dress tucked into her knickers. Occasionally however, they may consist of more useful practical knowledge about how the world works - knowledge that is usually kept secret from young ears. Such wisdom may include the fact that everybody always leaves it until the last