Where the tears go

I have a pretend dimple.

I cannot see it, unless I squint.

I roll my tongue around my mouth, touching it against my cheek, trying to find it.

But the inside is smooth; it does not make way for anything. It does not bulge. It does not dip.

People, I wonder, people with real dimples. Do they have to say, hey, don’t touch my cheek, the skin is sensitive, the skin is thin, because, you see, it goes in, it dips, so beautifully! That you must not touch it, or it will stretch, and disappear.

I have a friend, she has dimples, real ones. They part her cheeks like the red sea. I wonder, sometimes, do her tears go around them when she cries? Do they follow the creases or do they disappear in the hollow of her face as the holes swallow the drops as if they were never there?

I have never put my finger in her face. Why have I never put my finger in her face? To feel her dip? To measure the crease? To feel how far it goes before it touches teeth?

I wonder what dimples are for; what they are made of.

Why have I never touched her face?

I promise to find out, the next time I see her. I wonder if I can make her cry too, so that I can find out where the tears go.