"Just Charley"

The answer to the question I give about my name.

People naturally assume Charlotte or Charlene, something with lace on it. Nope.

 

It's just Charley. 

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The idea comes from a memory, a conversation I had with my mom that drifts back now like smoke I can't quite grasp.

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My mom, Laura, had a knack for naming us so carefully we'd never turn up  on a gas-station souvioneer . No spinning rack. No tacky vanity plates or keychains. No pretending we are easy to replace. 

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Everytime someone compliments my name, a little warmth flickers like a candle in a cold cathedral. But this candle hardly burns clean. Grief casts its shadow, and for a second, they share the light without knowing what it costs me.