those wounded and fighting
“It is always the way of events in this life...
no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place,
than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on,
for the hour of repose is expired.”
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
The grey, filtered light moving through the thick clouds calms me somehow, bringing a refreshing numbness. As the hospital machines hum in the background, a little rustling of paper adding to the mundane sounds even more. All peaceful beyond a slightly different kind of energy growing in the room. Certain vibes that I have been lightly ignoring for the last hour or so.
I’m doing it wrong, and I have followed every instruction on this dense page of yours.
She says, frustrated, probably not used to failing at anything. I, on the other hand, had no trouble with such feelings. I look up from the book that was just laying in my lap as I lazily flicked through its pages, my mind elsewhere, preoccupied with the things that were coming my way. Now, I wasn’t fazed much by her mood but still pretended to give her an all-knowing smirk.
A beginner’s privilege, but you will get a handle of it. Trust me. Besides, I didn’t choose that page. Just stated it looked decent enough, there’s a difference.
A low mutter reaches my ears, and I try not to snicker.
For now, I just wasted a lot of Mickey’s supplies.
My gaze shifts to her bed and the small stacks of crumpled paper. All sorts of rainbow shades littering the covers that she’s sitting on, cross-legged, and with an almost permanent scowl clouding her features.
I’m sure he can use it again in one way or another. He’s eight, imagination still takes him everywhere that cash can’t. I envy that.
Her breathing quickens a bit as she starts to huff, fingers struggling to get the right shape she wanted.
I told you to start with something easier than a crane... or a damn swan.
She huffs even louder.
Your suggestion was two folded triangles put together and calling it a fish.
My shoulders shrug.
And how did that work out?
She sighs and speaks reluctantly, not looking in my direction, her back slouched.
I threw it at you and made your eye tear up for a few minutes.
Exactly, and now you’re on your own.
I smile and look for a fragment of the book that would catch my interest, but then hear something rather unexpected.
Please, Eleonore.
My eyebrows lift, but I don’t say anything, instead take her crumpled paper, tear it carefully in half, and smooth it out gently. Showing her how to create something new from it. Finally, I hand it to her, and she smiles slowly.
That is so not a bird.
No, those are for pros. You will start with this.
Her eyes gaze at a fragile, red paper butterfly spread out in the palm of her hand, air from the vent system slightly shifting its wings, making it seem nearly alive.
It almost feels magical in a way.
Her voice is very soft as she says it, which makes me smile a bit.
Morgan, it’s paper.
She throws a crumblet piece at me from the bed, and I duck quickly.
Now, now. Without my second eye, I won’t be able to teach you anything.
I grin at her but then suddenly frown, putting a hand to my forehead, and closing my eyes for a second. I feel a pulsation under my skull and how it starts to spread to the rest of the body.
What’s wrong?
The question sinks in the now tense air, as I can’t make myself to reply, head starting to pound mercilessly. The migraine comes so unexpectedly that for a moment, I don’t even notice the real reason behind it.
Eleonore... Nora?
Her voice becomes worried, and I shake my head, feeling as it might come off its hinges if I wasn’t careful enough.
It’s alright, nothing new for me. It will pass, I just need...
Hold up, I’ll get him.
I don’t even ask how she knows who to get, but nod faintly, starting to sense the buzzing growing, faded daylight becoming far too much for my eyes. Agitated whispers filling my thoughts, as if eager fingers playing with strained wires of my brain. It was so easy to forget about them since I had Charlie, as he always managed to soothe the pain, to ease the never-ending turmoil. But it was so unwise to forget. Eyelids close tighter as I start to sway on the plastic chair, fists pushing against the heated skin of my forehead. Louder, louder, louder. Such a familiar noise. Oh, how I hated this.
You think you could get away from me? After I slit your throat, your brother will be next.
No, not this again. Mind screams, as my body starts to shake without control. Sick, sick, sick. Just face it. Please, no. I get up and stumble, but then immediately fall back on the chair.
I told you to never cheat on me, baby. But of course, you just had to spread those...
A groan escapes my throat as I try to block the voices, focusing on something pure. Emily’s hand in mine, her soft voice, those little fingers playing with my long hair, making it all tangled up. It works for a moment, but the buzzing starts again. That’s when I hear some rustling noises and look up. It’s him, of course, making his way to me. His expression unreadable as a few pieces of paper fall to the ground moved by the swift gust of air that he caused.
Morgan, could you give us a moment?
Yeah, no problem.
She says, but moves slowly and unwillingly, not wanting to leave me alone, looking very protective. That surprises me.
I’ll be fine. It’s just a migraine.
I smile at her through the constant noise of the jackhammer in my head, and she nods, finally heading out to the hall but leaving the door open just in case.
It’s nothing.
I say to him through my teeth before he can even mutter a question, my jaw almost stiff from the tension.
Don’t even go there. You’re not fooling anyone with that act.
A moan escapes my mouth, muscles tensing even more.
Fine, the pain is literally killing me, okay?! Satisfied NOW?
I snap at him, and he exhales slowly, not bothered by my little outburst, keeping his calm, which makes me even more agitated.
Alright, when did this start?
Mmm... just... now.
I manage to say as he glides his fingers over my pulse and eventually wraps them around my wrist. It’s then when the dream from a few nights ago hits me back without notice. The way I touched Dan and how it soothed him, all of his rushed thoughts and visible tension. I never gave much thought to it when we were together, but... I flinch as a second wave of the pain hits me again as if completely ignoring Charlie’s efforts and closeness. I rip my hand away from him with anger and turn around to the window, hands leaning against the windowsill, arms straight. Trying to breathe slowly as my lungs accelerate without control. Drops of sweat appearing on the skin, muscles trembling and vibrating.
And in all the commotion, my mind wanders away from it all. Stepping to the side and avoiding the chaos in my head. It was as if staring at your past while your body still stayed in the present, and with invisible hands repeatedly stabbing you with sharp, tiny knives. Over and over again. It was confusing, to say the least. Yet still, I was able to tune it out somehow.
The scene from our long-gone past pushing itself on me as the rest of the world remained blurred and insignificant. There was something familiar about his moods, the way his body started to react just weeks before he got killed, and the way my mere touch seemed to make it go away. And then another flashback hits me like a full stab to the stomach, body curling to the inside, and back arching outwards. My recurring nightmare, the one that always seemed to invade my tired thoughts. I see them stand over me, familiar words bouncing around in my head on a constant loop.
Oh look, they come in pairs now, sinning together.
It wasn’t enough that her spouse to be had killed, she had to join in the fun as well.
Another explosion. More pain. I scream out a moan, barely holding it between my teeth. Memories being abruptly pushed out of my mind, replaced by the physical anguish, mind returning to the present.
He stands behind me, hands touching my elbows and sliding down to my wrists, wrapping around them, the warmth of his body radiating all over my back and arms. And a bursting flesh of red. I blink a bit terrified, not knowing where the feeling came from. It was like the most gentle explosion that blocked everything else. It lasts less than 2 seconds, and it’s gone, the agitated voices and the strain coming back. I no longer understood this world.
Relax, please. It will help... just trust me.
My breathing speeds, all of the sensations hitting me everywhere. The pain, the sounds, the flashing lights, his overwhelming closeness that seems to move my blood faster, yet at the same time bringing strange comfort.
What are you doing?
I ask, almost breathless, sounding like a terrified child lost in a nightmare, the monsters under the bed, fighting with the faint light coming from the hallway. Let the warmth win, not the shadows. Something in me whispers, and I cringe involuntarily.
Just trust me.
He repeats, and finally, I give in, letting myself take a deep breath, oxygen slowly filling my lungs, and relieving some of the tension. Then I feel his touch as it spreads through my skin and into my bloodstream. It sinks into my cells. I feel him in my bones. The warmth that he brings is addicting, and I don't even move. I don’t want to. His body seems to mold with mine, and all I feel is calm, so much that I fear that I might slide to the ground in this sudden bliss. But he holds me tightly, while always staying gentle and caring.
It’s then when I hear someone clear their throat.
I wish I had those kinds of doctors.
Morgan mumbles, and I quickly jump away from him, not sure what the hell just happened. I slowly regain some control and grow agitated, finding my voice.
He was helping me, don’t be a smart ass.
Again, I want that kind of help too. I mean, if they have the right looks and aren’t too old... or some disgusting creeps.
I work on my breathing and star at her hard.
Morgan.
She shrugs and then nods.
I was only joking and not expecting what I just saw.
Then you should have not been lurking.
She crosses her arms and sits on the bed, giving me a judgmental stare.
I was being considerate, and not leaving you alone.
I had Charlie here.
Oh, I could see.
Another deep breath.
I had a professional male nurse with me that is aware of my medical history, and knows about the right breathing techniques and muscle therapy to soothe different kinds of pains.
I look at her for a moment in silence, hearing Charlie clear his throat, apparently a bit uncounterable. She looks up at me and narrows her eyes.
Is that an actual thing?
I take my phone and offer it to her.
Look it up.
She gives me a funny look and then shrugs.
Fine, I believe you.
She looks to the window.
I was just worried about you.
Her voice is low, and my mood seems to fade out slowly. I sit on her bed and rest my hand next to hers, fingers touching lightly.
I know, and I’m sorry.
Her shoulders shrug as if she couldn’t care less. But I think we both knew that wasn’t the case here.
It’s just that what I have can be overwhelming and painful. I don’t always control what I say then, and it has nothing to do with my foul mouth.
I nudge her lightly with my arm.
So, want to create something new from this lovely, tortured, and hardly alive paper?
She gazes at me, the corners of her lips lifting slightly.
Fine, just no more fish nonsense. You do actually have not that bad looking eyes and deserve to keep them.
I grin at her and then look up at Charlie, mouthing a thank you to him. He nods and points to his watch, indicating he has work to do. I sigh and think that I just inhabited a new pandora box that I did not want to open up for now, or ever for that matter. I take another piece of paper, avoiding the red color, the images of the soft explosion still sticking to my cells. I shake my head. I had no idea really what that was, as I never felt anything like that before in my life. So, I had nothing to compare it too or anybody to ask. My mind wanders back to that moment without my permission. Mmm, his closeness; it felt so intoxicating and both familiar. But it also made me feel fragile and weak, and I did not like that.
My hands roll into fists, crumpling the paper even more. I just couldn’t do it, not in that way. It was too late, to even consider anything romantic. That part of me had died on that day he did. Nothing more was left to save. My heart was a baren ground, and it was unfair to let anyone in there. They would eventually just be scorched in the sun and wither away. I gaze at Morgan for a moment and smile at her gently, feeling something opposite to what I just said, a contrast building up in me. Something unexpectedly soft. Making any close relations was a risk in my situation, but I could still allow myself to open myself just a bit, letting a helping hand in, and inviting a friend or two.
_______
The next day.
One of the old block estates across town.
Her kitchen counters are long and narrow, the white fronts yellowed by time but still in good shape, shinning and spotless despite their years. Faded orange blinds in the small windows pulled halfway down and filling the room with a golden, warm light. Making it seem cozy and safe, just the way I remembered it. We sit by a small round wooden table, covered with scratches and old stains made over the years. But the same as the counters before, clean and cared for. Money was never a priority in this place, but family and getting through all the hard times in the best way possible.
I sip my dark, over-sugared coffee and stare at the delicate patterns that the sun makes on the surface of the table. The weather seemed full of light and hope, proving to be a complete opposite of how I felt today. I gaze up at Gloria and ask quietly, fingers wrapping tighter around the brown ceramic mug.
Will you be there too?
I have been visiting once every month, I think I will leave that time just to you.
But you should also...
No. It’s my gift to you. You need to be with him alone, and I understand that pretty well. Tom never liked crowds either.
Mum.
I swear, I could hear that man grumble from the heavens above about it. “Gloria, don’t those people have lives? The bills need to get paid, life and death situations or not. Who has the time for funerals”.
My lips purse as I try not to laugh, remembering how Tom, my self proclaimed father in law exactly was, in the little time I got to know him. Gloria’s facial expression challenges me, and I can’t help myself, my mood slowly shifting up from the dark pit it was in.
To the heavens, mum?
She shrugs lightly.
He would find a way there too. I’m telling you, the man had connections everywhere. And if he could convince you to buy a lawnmower when you lived in a concrete box, with the only green thing around being the mold on the walls...
Her head tilts to the side a bit.
He would have no problem to persuade someone to use the upstairs elevator. If you know what
I mean.
She lifts an eyebrow and picks up her coffee, drinking it slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. It’s the exact moment when a chuckle escapes my mouth. I quickly cover it, but it’s too late. I see her smile and nod in approval.
Ah, there she is. I knew you were there somewhere.
She says but then becomes serious again.
I know it’s going to be a difficult moment to go through, and that this has been slowly suffocating you for a while now, but baby, it’s nothing that you could not handle. I’m not much of a believer on most days, but I still have faith that the lord doesn’t give us more than we are able to carry.
And you’re saying that, you of all people? After everything you had to go through and how much you lost?
My hands move in frustration, emotions a bit unstable because of the strain I was going through lately.
Child.
She shakes her head and sighs, invisible weight covering her thin yet firm shoulders. She was much tougher than she looked, and could embarrass a lot of youngsters half her age with the strength and determination that hid in her.
I have been through a lot in my life, struggling with more than others could even imagine. But yet, I survived it. Stumbling, on each new road I was put on, by circumstances, I had no control over.
She puts her hand over mine and moves fingers against my skin. I know that my hands must be freezing, but nothing on her face reflects it.
I assure you, people have been through a lot worse then both of us put together. And their lives kept moving just the same.
That doesn’t help the pain.
My words sound hollow as I stare at the old refrigerator and all the notes on it. Scribbled down phone numbers, faded postcards, and recipes for all sorts of things, and not just cooking. I think she even has instruction for homemade cement and tons of electrical tips if something chooses to malfunction: which happened at least two times a week. But then again, that woman could handle just about anything.
I feel her grab my hand tighter, and my gaze shifts back, eyes meeting hers.
No, it doesn’t. Our lives are messed up, and that’s just how it is. The question is, are you going to fight or just give up?
My lungs gradually expand, and a sigh escapes, though it sounds more like a wounded animal, tired of struggling to keep up with the rest of its kind. I still must look defeated but shake my head a few times.
I’m slowly remembering, what it means to fight. And for now, I’m not yet, done trying.
She smiles at me and shares a look that only those who lost the ones closest to them would understand. Something about that stare always reminded me of a bird perched on a pole in a rusted cage, its chest swelled as it struggled to breathe knowing that his heart was left outside the bars. Facing the pain that could never truly be soothed, just faded gently over time.
I shake my head and smile at her, squeezing her hand.
We all have to face our fears sometime.
It’s just the way life was built, my darling. And we have to live with that.
______
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
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