Comforting
Ooookay so, for lack of any other inspiration, I have regressed to middle school again...sort of. Well, in choosing my narrator anyway -- he hasn't been the protagonist of any of my stories in a long time, heh. Anyway, really random but hey, it's something. ^_^;;
* * * * * * * *
She needs me.
I heard them talking, earlier, heard the voices through the old walls. I couldn't catch everything but they were on the phone with her, and then whispering to each other in worried voices. I heard her name. And doctor. Medicine. Hospital. They don't know I'm listening; they forget about me. But I heard.
Now it's quiet, the faded pink curtain just beginning to glow with new sunlight. I know the world is round; I know because I've seen the globe downstairs. I know this same sunlight is fading from where she is right now, she's that far. That far, but I also know she's scared. I know that without a doubt, I feel it. Long ago she fixed me at seven years old and so seven years old I stay, as she's passed by fourteen, twenty-one...long ago, when she gave me math quizzes I could never quite figure out, and laughed as she explained the answers for the fifth time. Well I still can't add. There's a lot about the world I don't know. But I understand things that no one with all those neurons firing off like crazy inside their head confusing them could ever figure out. I know how she feels when there's no one to take care of her, take control, tell her it's okay, everything will be okay. When she loses all those years of experiencing the world and lets herself be suffocated by helplessness. When she just needs to be a child again.
Hospital. That time, too, I heard the low voices outside the dormitory before I really understood what was happening. Heard the sirens approaching, then silence, then the sirens fading into the distance. Finally I realized it was her name they were all whispering, the clumps of girls who drifted in and out of the room changing clothes, gathering their music binders. And then I could feel her, in the ambulance, crying out, wheeled into a hospital for the first time since she was born. I saw in the memories of the other girls that leg in a shape no leg should be, felt them shudder at the image. She needed me then. But I could do nothing but lie there, hidden inside the sleeping bag out of her guilty shame for having me with her, when she was almost twice my age. So young. And I could do nothing.
Until suddenly, the sleeping bag pulled back, and a rough hand grabbed me. I knew this man -- I knew how she saw him, at least. A new teacher, newcomer to her school, her community, her home. A man who didn't know his place, didn't properly understand that he would never belong here the way she did. He gripped me firmly around the neck as he carried me outside, to a car, flung me on the seat next to him. I watched the unfamiliar Delaware twilight flash by out the window as we drove quickly away from the camp. Towards her.
The resentment that flickered beneath the tears in her eyes when the teacher walked in didn't last long enough for anyone but me to catch. When she saw me she whimpered, with no pretense of shame, and reached out her hands. I felt her silent apology as she held me -- to him, to me. And then I felt nothing but pure, undiluted gratitude.
She needs me now too, but I've seen the globe: she's halfway across the world. No one can carry me to her this time. So I'll stay here in her room, listening, waiting -- I have no choice. But I hope someone reminds her, the way that teacher did so long ago, that it's okay to feel helpless, sometimes. It's okay just to need to be comforted.
There's a lot about the world I don't know. But this is something I know for certain:
It's okay.
She needs me.
I heard them talking, earlier, heard the voices through the old walls. I couldn't catch everything but they were on the phone with her, and then whispering to each other in worried voices. I heard her name. And doctor. Medicine. Hospital. They don't know I'm listening; they forget about me. But I heard.
Now it's quiet, the faded pink curtain just beginning to glow with new sunlight. I know the world is round; I know because I've seen the globe downstairs. I know this same sunlight is fading from where she is right now, she's that far. That far, but I also know she's scared. I know that without a doubt, I feel it. Long ago she fixed me at seven years old and so seven years old I stay, as she's passed by fourteen, twenty-one...long ago, when she gave me math quizzes I could never quite figure out, and laughed as she explained the answers for the fifth time. Well I still can't add. There's a lot about the world I don't know. But I understand things that no one with all those neurons firing off like crazy inside their head confusing them could ever figure out. I know how she feels when there's no one to take care of her, take control, tell her it's okay, everything will be okay. When she loses all those years of experiencing the world and lets herself be suffocated by helplessness. When she just needs to be a child again.
Hospital. That time, too, I heard the low voices outside the dormitory before I really understood what was happening. Heard the sirens approaching, then silence, then the sirens fading into the distance. Finally I realized it was her name they were all whispering, the clumps of girls who drifted in and out of the room changing clothes, gathering their music binders. And then I could feel her, in the ambulance, crying out, wheeled into a hospital for the first time since she was born. I saw in the memories of the other girls that leg in a shape no leg should be, felt them shudder at the image. She needed me then. But I could do nothing but lie there, hidden inside the sleeping bag out of her guilty shame for having me with her, when she was almost twice my age. So young. And I could do nothing.
Until suddenly, the sleeping bag pulled back, and a rough hand grabbed me. I knew this man -- I knew how she saw him, at least. A new teacher, newcomer to her school, her community, her home. A man who didn't know his place, didn't properly understand that he would never belong here the way she did. He gripped me firmly around the neck as he carried me outside, to a car, flung me on the seat next to him. I watched the unfamiliar Delaware twilight flash by out the window as we drove quickly away from the camp. Towards her.
The resentment that flickered beneath the tears in her eyes when the teacher walked in didn't last long enough for anyone but me to catch. When she saw me she whimpered, with no pretense of shame, and reached out her hands. I felt her silent apology as she held me -- to him, to me. And then I felt nothing but pure, undiluted gratitude.
She needs me now too, but I've seen the globe: she's halfway across the world. No one can carry me to her this time. So I'll stay here in her room, listening, waiting -- I have no choice. But I hope someone reminds her, the way that teacher did so long ago, that it's okay to feel helpless, sometimes. It's okay just to need to be comforted.
There's a lot about the world I don't know. But this is something I know for certain:
It's okay.
posted by Ashila at 5:45 AM
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