missed realizations

and there it was, a ripple so unexpectedly placed onto her path

a yellow tint of the sun

that echoed the sound of his name

- ana_luna

Later that day.

I stand in the doorway, leaning my side against the frame, arms crossed loosely as I watch her for a minute while she’s writing something down in a spiral, used-up notebook, eyebrows frowning in concentration. Body becoming still as she gets lost in her own world. I almost feel bad for disturbing the visual aspect of it. Almost.

Hey you. What are you doing there?

She’s so lost in thought, that she doesn’t even jump from the unexpected audience. Though from the other side she’s probably also used to doctors and nurses constantly coming over and checking up on her, asking the same questions every day. Poking, prodding, lustrating her as if she were some science experiment. Finally, my voice reaches her and she looks up at me with a slightly lifted eyebrow; a bit amused and cranky from what I could tell.

Place it in the file: none of your business and put a stamp on it for faster delivery.

I smile at her and cock my head to the side, a lot of thoughts and feelings going through my mind. The obviousness of some things that I ignored before leaving me in wonder. I don’t respond to her remark like I usually do, and eventually, she notices the outstretching silence.

You okay?

She asks lightly, but her voice gives away a faint tone of worry.

All is well, I promise.

My tone is calm and steady, with no undertones to it, which proves to be such a new situation to her that she puts the notebook to the side and gazes at me suspiciously.

Nor?

I purse my lips, trying not to smile at the nickname that she had given me some time ago. Somehow it made me feel more intriguing and worth being around with. I gaze at her and contemplate how big of a significance a name can have in a person’s life and how often it can affect their behaviors and moods. And then my thoughts trace back to what caught me in the first place, something that dawned on me after my trip to hell and back. Strange, so very strange how I never noticed the full meaning of her name, and that it also belonged to him. The last name, that one day I thought I would also have. Morgan. Mmm, the mind works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? I knew all along, yet somehow I let it drift away from me and slip deep under my muscles and bones. Or maybe that’s why I followed her that day, not to return the book, but drawn by the echo of his presence sewn into those five simple letters.

But not just that, there were other things as well. That strong-headed character and sarcastic demeanor so familiar to mine... and then, I heard how the nurse called her. And it was as if suddenly I was anchored into place, finding a new steady point in my shaky, turbulent life. I gravitated to her in ways I could not explain, in the same way, that I was drawn to Clair Wilson and the energy that I could somehow not resist, no matter how much I tried to fight it. The pull was there, I just didn’t have instructions to let me know why I was there. All I knew was that it felt good to be around them, my chest seeming lighter and the heart under; feeling needed again.

Suddenly, I see her wave her hands in the air, trying to get my attention. I blink and

quickly shake my head.

Yeah, sorry. Got lost somewhere, probably in the middle of the Calvin Klein underwear commercial, playing so deliciously in my head.

She snorts and relaxes, looking at the ceiling in a dramatic way to indicate that she’s waiting for some support from the heavens above to help with my case.

You’re weird, you know. But at least that kind of response I can understand coming from you. For a moment you looked normal there, I have to say, freaked me out a bit.

Don’t worry. Normal is not on my agenda anytime soon.

Good, because it doesn’t suit you.

She gazes at me from the side, like she is calculating what she wants to say to me, weighing each word before speaking and tapping a pen against her phone that lays there next to her.

I need help with something.

Oh?

I lift my eyebrow questioningly.

Yes.

What kind of help? Does it involve a black plastic bag and one of your ex-boyfriends in it? Because if so, I’m letting you know I’m not cheap in that area. It will cost you, being nice to me.

She frowns.

Nothing is worth that.

Hey, that’s your choice. I’m just laying the cards out in the open.

I say and then gaze at her curiously.

Alright, but seriously. What do you need help with?

It’s nothing, just an idea.

An idea.

I repeat, prompting her to go on.

A project actually, sort of.

She looks uncertain for a moment, but then quickly gains back her confidence.

And I need you for it, or your hands actually. And don’t you start throwing your double meaning at me. That’s right, I see you clearer than you think.

Mmm, fine.

I lift my hands and move my fingers lightly.

How can these come of use?

She sighs but nods.

I need paper flowers and objects. It’s a form of an art project I want to get into. For myself. Something to fill the time but also a thing that I’m kind of excited about.

My eyebrows lift slowly again and stay like that for a while, as I process the new information.

Hmm.

I know, it’s nothing special really, just something I’m interested in pursuing. It’s connected to the stuff I write and the right visuals I wanted to add to my words, almost like a modern version of a painting. But you’re probably not interested, anyway. I don’t blame you, who would have the time for such a thing, right?

Morgan.

Let’s face it, my own family ignores me, so I wouldn’t expect you to...

I lift my hands high to shut her up and just nod.

I’ll do it.

She looks a bit dumbstruck for a second and I try not to laugh at that, waiting for her to get her basic brain functions back together.

What? Just like that?

I nod, and her gaze turns slightly annoyed and I just shrug, coming closer to her and then sitting on the edge of the bed.

Why are you agreeing to this?

She crosses her arms and gazes at me defensively.

I just want to do that for you.

But why?

I send her a long look before answering.

Because on the list of people I detest and can’t endure, you take a pretty low spot. And that’s a compliment, trust me.

She takes a deep breath, apparently having more arguments to throw at me, but I stop her and take the notebook that’s lying next to her, tapping on it.

So, what’s actually in it? Poetry, essays on the unfairness of the world, or outlines of a psychology book for therapists, that studies my case? Because if you get rich on it, I want my cut.

I grin and quickly flip it open, gazing at it, my facial expression changing gradually.

Music?

I blink a few times as she snatches the notebook from me, her cheeks getting flushed in just seconds.

Music sheets, compositions, lyrics? Written out symphonies... well, then, you can officially call me astonished.

It’s just something I like to do. It’s called a hobby, Nor. A little something to be passionate about. You should try it sometimes.

I gaze at her for a moment, ignoring her snide comment, because honestly, I didn’t mind much. I knew how the defensive mechanisms worked from experience; they usually started with attacks.

Hmm, I could tell you were crazy about songs and music before, but never thought you were gifted in the area. Do you play?

She seems surprised but answers me automatically.

Yes, piano.

Mmm, synchronicities, more things in common between us. I think to myself but don’t share it with her. No reason to get into that right now.

Alright, then. If you handle the supplies, I will execute the handy work. Let’s get on with this, I have some spare time to tackle before I have to earn the hard dollar later on.

Despite herself, she smiles at me, and in return, I pretend not to notice, and take some color paper from her nightstand, but still feel a small warmth spread against my chest.

_____

It feels empty in the house since I got sick.

Her voice suddenly fills the quiet space around us, and I lift my stare slightly, sensing something extra in her tone, gazing up from a yellow piece of paper that was halfway on its way to becoming a rose - It still puzzled me that I was actually good at something like this. Mmm, I knew that tone and what it meant. Or maybe I just sensed it in between her breaths and in how her voice slightly trembled and hesitated at the last words. It’s silent for a while until I hear myself ask quietly, taking in another realization.

How long has it been?

I question her gently, as she stares at me a bit surprised and taken aback, as if she didn’t think I would hear her somehow, those eyes challenging me as she understands what I’m asking about. Her gates visible shutting down one by one, and her guard moving up.

How long, has what been?

My head shakes slowly and a dejected sigh escapes me.

I know the signs, Morgan. Unfortunately, being very aware and familiar with that particular shade of pain.

What? I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Nor.

Morgan.

You’re confusing me... you should have taken more meds today.

I don’t respond in any way and her whole body seems to tense up like she’s not ready yet to handle the situation. Ah, that lovely moment when your wires snap and reality kicks in; the sensation of your chest being bare to the world. A very unnatural feeling to breathe with after being closed up for such a long time.

I’m serious, do something with yourself.

She blinks faster while her hands grab the sheets and roll into fists, clinging to the material as if fighting for dear life. Those notions, I was also familiar with - I think but don’t say anything just touch one of her hands, reminding her that I am here for her, in whatever way she needs. She exhales slowly and I nod, shifting my position, taking off the shoes and letting them fall down with a low thud, and then crossing my legs on the bed. She lifts an eyebrow despite herself and watches me shrug casually.

I don’t want the hospital staff to throw me out the window again. Just because I’ve got a thick skin, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m unbreakable falling from the fourth story, you know?

I’m fragile.

She shakes her head and gives me a crooked smile.

How old are you, again?

Old enough to know better, but not old enough to do a damn thing about it.

My eyes follow her thoughtfully as I put my elbow on my knee and lean my cheek on my hand, waiting without saying a word. Sometimes silence coaxed out fears better than any fires and smoke ever could. She looks down and plays with her fingers for a while, and after a moment finally braves herself to look at me again.

Seven months.

Slowly, I nod and then think about everything I feel from her and how little she has actually let slip through, my tone warm and calm as I speak.

Family?

She nods, helplessly. Suddenly seeming much younger and brittle. I feel that she won’t be able to start on her own so I prob gently.

A sibling?

I watch her slouch a bit, her body seeming to sink inside like someone just hit her and she didn’t even have enough energy to react, something in her already defeated.

Max.

I feel uncomfortable notions pull on my chest but concentrate on her, giving her a small, encouraging smile. She barely moves as she speaks.

Max, my little brother.

She plays with the fabric of the covers, scratching a fingernail back and forth against the material.

He was in a car accident with my parents when I was at school. My dad didn’t notice a reckless driver speed from the corner as he was arguing with my mom... As always.

The scratching slows down a bit.

The screwed-up weather didn’t help either.

She stares numbly at her fingernails and then bites on her thumb, in a way forgetting that I was even there.

They were always arguing. I hardly ever remember them being happy together or smiling. Well... Max somehow managed to make them smile, he was so natural at it.

Quietly, I let out a breath, worrying to break the moment, but do so anyway, putting my other hand on her knee and rubbing it in little circles.

I never seemed to have the same effect on them. I was the one who was supposed to be smart and bring good grades in. But now, I don’t even do that, finding new ways to disappoint them. Not that anyone of us cares anymore, all we do is pretend.

Morgan.

No, that’s not entirely true. My mom still cares, actually. In a way. She does a lot of things, so she won’t ever have to stop and think about how she feels. My mom is... efficient in surviving in her own way; by taking care of everything else.

She says with traces of feistiness and bitterness, the rebellious side in her, fighting with a lot of emotions. But all of that disappears as fast as it had appeared, her words becoming dull and practiced.

My dad is just nice to me because I’m sick and it would be rude to do otherwise. Well, he tries to be nice, anyway. But let’s face it, he’s the same as ever, just a bit milder on his specific scale of military parenting.

How old was Max?

Almost nine.

She answers automatically but doesn’t really look in my direction.

And what was he like?

Her eyes lift up and she gives me the faintest shadow of a smile, something softening in her body language and sparkling parts of her back to life. It’s very subtle but noticeable.

He was a menace.

She states with warmth, the smile growing gently.

He was all over the place, constantly asking questions. I swear, I had a need to strangle him at least three times a day. He could drive even a saint insane, trust me.

Oh, I trust you.

I gaze at her with softness.

And what did he like to do?

Well... Uhm, draw the cosmos and everything space-related. He had a telescope and watched the sky at night, his nose almost glued to the window as if being on the verge of discovering something incredible, and refusing to go to sleep just in case he might miss it. Whatever that “it” was.

You miss him.

It’s not even a question.

Ten points for stating the obvious, Nor.

Her remark drips with heavy sarcasm on the surface, but I can tell that her heart is silently throbbing under her ribs. So, I decide to share a part of me with her, sensing it might help.

Someone very close to me was killed because he made more bad choices in his life than his list of favors could stand for.

She blinks a few times and then sends me a shy look, sliding her fingers closer and intertwining them with mine.

Yes, that’s why I sensed you had similar bruises as mine... mmm, my time stamp is 12 months, but it feels like an eternity. I’m having a hard time still believing he was real. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe nothing really is.

She rubs a thumb against my skin, and I gaze at her, a bit lost in thought.

Do you know what I mean? The world just seems so empty in the places that he used to be. The absence of him is everywhere that I look. That’s probably why I avoid looking these days. I just shuffle from one day to another, hoping that at least the... sickness won’t strike too bad and will show some mercy.

You seem to be...

She frowns.

What? More absurd than usual, more sophisticated in my subtle gracefulness and beauty?

She shoves me lightly with her side and lifts her eyes to the ceiling.

Don’t try those sarcastic tricks on me, you might be much, much older than me, but I know how to see past those. So stop.

I shrug but keep my hand in hers, enjoying the light comfort that the closeness brings.

I will do my best, even if it goes against my nature.

Good. Now, what I was working on saying before you interrupted me in such an attractive way.

She gazes at me curiously as if she’s delicately peeling me away, layer by thin layer. I try not to cringe from such full-on exposure as if all of my organs were on display.

You seem more open. Still unsteady but with more control somehow.

My eyes hold hers for a moment and then I nod, taking in her words and loosening up slowly.

You’re very observant, for your age.

Perhaps.

She smiles a bit and handles me, her phone, pointing to the screen.

Listen to it, it should fit the situation and the current mood.

I take one of the earbuds and gaze at her, the music filling my head. I close my eyes and know that she’s following my reactions, just like the last time. I let the melody and lyrics take me far away, and sway to all the feelings that swish against me like greedy waves.

hold on, hold on

hold onto me

cause I’m a little unsteady

a little unsteady

For a moment I drift away, the song embracing me and stirring things inside of me. And even though, some of the feelings are painful, I don’t let them take me under but swim on the surface instead this time.

It’s kind of perfect, thank you.

I say but then wince suddenly, hoping she didn’t notice as a different thing takes over me, the room becoming slightly blurry, and the lamp over my head ridiculously bright. I hear it buzz louder as if it was right next to me. Mmm, this hasn’t happened in a while. My body jumps slightly from small currents under the skin, muscles protesting from the unwanted torture, spine quickly stiffening painfully from the appearing tension.

Nor?

My lungs start to move with some difficulty, something heavy pushing against my skull, a steady pressure that had no intention of going away. I feel nauseous and swallow, trying to calm it down.

Mmm mmm.

I groan under my breath and flinch as I feel a strange notion as if a cold liquid moving through my veins. So many mixed and strange sensations to handle at once. It’s too much.

Nora.

Her voice seems so faint as if an invisible barrier was growing between us. It felt different this time somehow; more like it was expanding and growing, changing its basic structure and becoming something angrier, more hungry, unstoppable. I breathe through my teeth and hold my stomach, trying to hold back the tension and nausea that was increasing.

No, no. It’s fine, I promise.

You don’t look fine, nothing about you looks fine.

Well, aren’t you nice.

I whisper with slight irritation.

Do you want me to go and look for...

No, no. He has done his dues for today; he’s got work to handle.

But...

I inhale and feel the tension slowly subsiding, leaving a dull ache in my head, and a strain in my suddenly tired muscles. Mmm, another trip to hell and back then. I look up at her and manage to smile a bit.

It’s okay, really. Just... illnesses have a habit of not being gentle. Wouldn’t you say?

She nods slowly.

Yeah, I know the feeling. But are you sure?

Yes, I’m sure. Morgan, listen. I will be fine but I think I need some rest. We can continue this tomorrow.

No rush.

She says quietly. Slowly, I put on my shoes back on, trying not to show how much effort that takes, and then get up, feeling my head spin. I blink a few times, touching my forehead and waiting for the vision to clear up. Odd, very odd. I think but then put the thought away, for now, feeling the tension and other symptoms gradually fading away. I start to walk to the door but then turn around with hesitation, something in her tone of voice from before catching up and moving through my hazy state. I look at her closely and finally see it. That familiar stare that I knew sometimes reflected in my own eyes. I knew what it said. Another person I care about is going to leave me. I come closer to her and slip my arms around her, pulling her into a gentle hug, sensing her muscles tensing at first but then relaxing, as she lets her hands touch my back. She’s still hesitant but I feel how she needs the affection, how all that she has been through made her further away from everyone and everything. Another thing that I could relate to, all too easily.

Morgan, I’m not going anywhere. Not now, anyway. You will have plenty of time to get sick of me and open the window behind you wide, for me to fall out of. Just make sure there will be no witnesses. You’re way too smart for jail.

She laughs out into my shoulder and holds me tighter.

And no worries. Your project will be finished. You got my word. Now let me leave before I choose your bed to rest in instead of my own.

She nods and slips out of my hold quickly and sits down, getting back to her notebook. Yes, we both had a limited affection span. Slowly, I had out of the hospital and stumble to the bus station, happy that I still had some time before my night shift. Though, instead of going home and wasting precious time, I go straight to the bar and decide to take a nap at our little “backstage”, which was basically a small cluttered room, with an old leather couch and a lot of documents and everything that didn’t find room in the front. I tell Carl to wake me up - or kick if he chooses to - in four hours for my shift. I didn’t worry much about anyone waking me up, in the state of tiredness I was in, there was no fear of me coming back to life before the time was right.

_____

Song used in the chapter: X Ambassadors - Unsteady

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0lw3qylVfY&ab_channel=XAmbassadorsVEVO

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

Previous chapters :

36. https://theprose.com/post/404686/between-holding-on-and-letting-go

37. https://theprose.com/post/408009/after-the-trip

38. https://theprose.com/post/415882/stretching-out-the-horizon

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