Dimples slay me.
Regardless of race, age, creed, color or sexual orientation, dimples have always slayed me.
They were the first thing I noticed about Tori. The second was the fact that we were sitting at a picnic table talking to this sixteen year-old girl who had a hundred year-old soul.
Her blue-green eyes were steady as she recalled the story of how she ended up in Wewoka, Oklahoma. About the happiest day of her life. And about horrific acts of violence and abuse she had experienced in her short lifetime.
Carefree adolescents swirled around us – biking, skating, and joking with each other while she talked. And when we were finished, I wanted to hit someone and make them pay for the pain and trauma they had caused her. Instead, we took a few pictures and went on our way.
But in the car to the next town, I think Rachel and I were a little more quiet than usual.