I’ve always known you were Master’s favorite, but I can see why. Your strength, your precision, and your delicacy are all beyond compare. I have admired your talent and dominance since the day we took our positions. My palm was bruised with feelings of failure and jealousy, but I realized that you would forever be my protector and I would always be your supporter.  

     I watched as Master trained you every day in class. The way you carried the crayons, pencils, and paint brushes so gentle between your fingers was astonishing to me. You inspired me to try at the craft but when I did, I fumbled with the tools. My letters were made crooked and ran off the lines. Master would show off my work as a joke while your work was admired. I do not know when I grew out of my insecurities, but I do remember when I realized we were partners.  

     It started with piano lessons. Of course, you had to be instructed first for months, and I remember my pride when I was completing the lessons with excellence. It was the first time I ever had my own success as the left hand; however, the harmony I felt when we began to simultaneously work the instrument overtook any feelings of pride. The more Master advanced in her pieces, the more we crossed paths. Our unspoken language was written out across the keyboard. The music we made was the sound of true love.  

     Since then, I became obsessed with your touch and your acknowledgement. My validation no longer came from Master, and being by your side was the only purpose in my life. I felt a rush when we went under the faucet to be cleaned. I loved lathering your fingers, and feeling the unique patterns engraved on your palms. I felt honored to give you service: cutting your nails down, jagged from the conflict of the day. I knew you loved me too though. The way you would carefully push back my cuticles and make sure each coat was even. You did all the work for me after spa days to make sure my polish did not get tainted like yours would. I hoped you could forgive me for never making your painting look nice and within the borders. I tried my best, but you knew that and reassured me with your kindness and gratefulness. Just know I always looked for an opportunity to return the favor. Maybe that’s what called your injury into existence. 

      Master’s fake nail broke and took your nail bed with it. You bled and I cried invisible tears. I was flushed with anger when master’s reaction was so miniscule. How could she ever put you in this position? And she claims to love you! I thought that often when I saw your slim fingertip laced with a bulky bandage. I winced when you cried from the sensitivity of being under water. I gagged when the master showed your vulnerability off to others. I could not dance with you in the rain and form bubbles with you anymore. And I know its selfish to claim your trauma as my own, but truly I felt lost without you ahead of me. However, I knew I could not wallow in my depression forever. I had to play my role as the supporter. 

     I did the face washing and the body scrubbing; although, I fumbled without your help, I was able to complete our daily tasks for Master. I took pride in nursing you and changing your bandages daily. Making sure you were safe from the harsh elements of the world. As you got stronger every day, we connected more.  

     Now that you’re healed things are back to normal. I’m back to being your subordinate and you’re back to being Master’s favorite, but it seems as though Master never healed from the tragedy. She gained a new anxiety towards the thought of possibly ever losing one of her hands. Not just you though. Master took a new appreciation towards me. I guess she finally realized my importance and strength; nevertheless, that did not matter to me. What mattered was that you were always going to be my right hand, and I would be what is left to hold you.