Yuletide Digression

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Can it be a year ago tomorrow?

Christmas

The bike wheel spins but I go nowhere, alternating between numb and not numb. A girl whose breasts shiver in time with her Stairmaster mercifully ignores me as my mind drifts back through memories.

I remember the rage, halting and preparing to curse the white car in Arabic for crowding but the impact knocks us sideways and I topple. This changes the invective to English as other tongues desert me like fairweather friends. I screech filth going down like a drunk fishwife. Amazed I could lower us down to our side as he opens the belt and kicks free, steel belted radial an inch from his foot, flattening the alloy frame

I remember the horror as I feel my leg come apart inside. I rise and I fall, and rise and fall, and again and again and again, making a noise like Ferrar’s dying Cyrano every damn time. Disbelief and mounting panic fills my mouth like wine. I cannot seem to understand something essential, as if I had woken from a dream and could not think what day it was. Finally, unable to rise again, I am dragged off the pavement like a salmon to market, as if the onlookers finally took pity on me flopping in the street.

I remember his gray eyes staring mute with confusion. Standing like a statue on the curb where the man had set him down, as if he were seeing his world end, like JohnJohn watching the gun carriage. I call him to me as I sit sprawled on the grass, laughing tightly and whispering and hugging, in his denim jacket and Transformers cap, both of us trying to hold onto something we feared was slipping away, forming a new bond, unique and never spoken of to another.

I remember the mocking metallic whine as the ambulance door closed, the terminal snap of the lock, holding on lest I move against the cold metal.

I remember my hysterically growing confidence, and the worm in my soul that knew I was a fool.

I remember the evasive eye of the doctor.

I remember whispers in the hallway.

I remember the endless, solitary waiting for my life to start again.

I do not remember hearing any sound save our voices.

I do not remember seeing any faces save for his.

I do not remember feeling any pain…no pain at all.

The pain would come later.

Christmas Day, 2006.

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2 Comments

  1. This is a deeply powerful, moving piece. *hugs*

  2. It’s always the way. The fog of shock first, the ‘shaking it off’, then the slow stunned realization that your structure has changed, and significantly.

    Then pain. Only then, pain.

    *hugs* if you want them.


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