You, who are always where I leave you. Your’e firm and plush A fabric that beckons me To please, do not rush
You know just how to hold me To support, to coddle, to brush My body is so tired Sometimes, you make my skin flush
When I invite another You never tell us to shush Alone, we can be rowdy Your squeak is impossible to hush
November 16th
He didn’t let me ride in the ambulance, said there wasn’t enough room.
They took her away, unaware they let a wolf sit by her side.
I am alone.
November 18th
It was black out when he stumbled through the doorway; his air was acidic with a hint of cinnamon.
I squeezed my body behind the hamper in our laundry room, the shelf above my head, pressed down on me. My head hurts.
I didn’t sleep that night.
November 23rd
She still wasn’t back yet. I hug her pink, knit sweatshirt—the one I use as a pillow. The faint scent of apples and honey, still clinging to the fibers.
I miss her.
November 30th
My stomach pinches at the sides and my ribs faintly stick out from under my shirt.
I went to the fridge at a time I should not have.
The wolf is still awake.
December 1st
My body is a splintered mess. My body parts that hid beneath my clothes groan without me moving them.
I am on the ground, wishing I could adjust myself to lay on my back. The hardwood floor was unyielding, making my shoulder sting.
My stomach growls.
December 7th - Morning
The wolf calls to me.
I don’t trust his words. But he says “She’s well enough now. We can go see her.”
I still don’t trust him, but her pink sweatshirt smells damp and musty.
Apples and honey are worth it, I say to myself.
My body creaks like an old sofa, I stand for the first time without crying.
December 7th - Afternoon
The woman in the bed was pale. I didn’t recognize her until I noticed the red glasses on the bed’s side table.
My mother looked older.
I’m glad she didn’t have her glasses on. I fear she might notice my limp, the bruises.
I make it to her side.
She placed her hand on my cheek and jawline. I told myself not to wince, even though her touch was fire on my skin.
Her thumb brushes a tear from my eye, I think she thought all my tears were for her; I wish they were.
I struggle to get the pink sweatshirt out of the plastic bag I have with me, and lay it over her lap.
The wolf towered behind me, eyes, unblinking.
Apples and honey, I told myself.
Mom, please get better soon.
I use a wheelchair now.
My limbs and neck and back can move, I am still able to move them.
I just can’t feel them.
The sun was out and the leaves rustled in the trees; I can still hear. I imagine the cool, silk light touch of the wind, the warm kiss from the Sun’s rays.
I made it a few feet from the hospital exit, my hands, unable to grip the wheels like how they are intended to be used. I tried to push myself forward, but my fingers only flopped and my palm slapped the top of the wheel bar, a sad attempt to push myself along.
I felt nothing.
The sky was gray today. Or at least, that’s how it looked to me. My eyes seemed to have a sort of film over them, much like the filter on a phone, one that turned everything to grayscale.
I was living in a black and white movie, but without the band conveniently hiding off set, playing upbeat music to cheer me on; I was drifting.
The sidewalk was pale white and the wheelchair wobbled over what I assumed were divots and rubble on the path. There was no vibration. No touch. Nothing looked the same. Nothing felt the same. Nothing was how I remembered it.
I closed my eyes, comforted by the solid blackness my eyelids produced; a cozy respite. At least this was the same.
Then I jerked, my eyes flung open and my head bobbed forward. I wondered if I had hit a bump and stopped rolling.
No one or no thing was in front of me.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder, unable to see him before his voice gave him away, “And where do you think you’re going, Pipsqueak?”
I hoped my smile looked as good as it used to. I turned as far around as I could, anticipating seeing that messy head of spiky blonde hair. But, his skin looked pale as snow and his hair was faded. He looked almost sick and flat in this new tone, compared to the tan skin and bright hair I was used to seeing. But his arms were solid and strong, tilting me back into a wheelie. Even in grayscale, he was still as dashing as ever.
He wore his usual weekend shirt, the one with the skull on the front. It, at least, matched one of the only colors I could see: black, like the back of my eyelids.
I spoke soft, this angle, messing with my head. “I was discharged early, so I thought I’d get a head start since I’m not used to…” I looked down at the chair on wheels I’d been forced to sit in. I could have walked, but after one too many falls, the addition of a falling hazard bracelet to my arm—and on my chart, I was given this trusty stead to help in my recovery. They had warned me the seat was uncomfortable; I’d have to take their word for it.
“You were supposed to wait for me.” My friend said in his scratchy voice, pouting his lip in his usual fashion. He wasn’t yelling but I could sense the irritation, and maybe, deep down, a hint of concern.
I tried to raise my hand up, touch his cheek in a sort of apology. But I fumbled, my hand only made it to his nose. I bumped him and swiftly recoiled. “Sorry!” I cried.
His chortle told me all I needed to know: he didn’t care that I’d bopped him in the nose. But for some reason, his eyes didn’t quite meet my own—that was something new. Perhaps it was sympathy in his eyes.
As quickly as the emotion came, it faded, replaced by his more familiar attitude. “C’mon. We got places to be.” A pulsating tinge bloomed in my chest. It was so small, no more than a tiny quiver. It almost felt warm.
I’d felt this before. It had been more intense before my accident, but I could recognize it even with all this numbness.
He dropped me from the wheelie and pushed off with his foot. Away we went, down the grayscale path. That tiny ember, still present in my chest. I clung to it, and slowly, everything seemed to brighten.
The sunlight stung my eyes, promising that today’s weather wouldn’t be marred by the presence of clouds. A child whooped from somewhere outside, confirming to me that today was the kind of day that begged everyone to leave their homes, go outside and soak up the warmth.
But I was cold inside.
The outside sounds of laughter faded away, replaced by the ticking of the clock; he’d wake up soon.
I rose from the couch, the items in the pits of my arms, weighed down my shoulders. I lifted myself higher, forcing my back to crank upright.
My first steps were more like clumsy shuffles, as I steered myself around the living room furniture. There wasn’t enough time to take the blue stools with me, or enough space on the bus for them. I tried not to think about the seat cushions, the black and white, ranchers’ plaid fabric, I had worked so hard to sew by hand. My fingers tingled at the memory of needle pricks I gave to myself as he had patiently taught me the craft.
I was leaving.
The thought made the back of my throat sting. A wad, beginning to grow. I couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t force it down.
In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the different sized frames strune about the room. The wad in my throat grew to the size of what felt like an egg, making me choke back moisture from my eyes. There was the time we went to my niece’s birthday party; our eyes were even smiling from all the fun that day. Or the one we took while carving pumpkins for Halloween. I could feel the squishing, squash guts between my fingers, the cider bubbles in my stomach.
I tore my eyes away from all those memories, not before a tear rolled down my cheek, dropping to the floor of our apartment.
It had always been me and him. We had always been the perfect couple. Two people, made for each other.
But that’s all we were, two people. Nothing more. No third or fourth.
I sobbed at the realization we’d come to, on the night of our fifth-year anniversary: he never wanted kids.
More tears fell, their pitiful droplets, dabbled my toes, the exposed skin from my open toed shoes.
I would never be a mother. I forced myself to let that thought come full focus. I would never be a mother if I stayed with him.
I opened the front door, unable to feel the Sun’s rays on my skin.
It didn’t smell; the body of the dead squirrel.
The creature was flat and stiff, cast to the edge of the sidewalk. I waited next to it, hoping I wouldn’t have to stand there too much longer.
Its eye had been pecked out, bright red tissue remained inside the socket. Even though it no longer had an eye—no longer was alive—it seemed to watch me. Unable to blink its gaping hole shut.
A shiver wriggled it’s way down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I scanned the space around me. To the right, college students ambled their way to their classes, their idle chatter soothing my nerves like a pat on the back from a close friend. Nothing out of the ordinary. To the left, maple leaves rustled in the wind, some fell off, carried by the breeze to the near by cemetery.
The sweet scent of maple clung in the air and I breathed it in. A deep breath of it, and a fawn-like color blossomed in my mind; the same color as her hair. She would be out soon, I told myself. The glass doors would swing open and there she would be, no doubt smiling. I rocked on my heels at the idea.
I clutched her ID card tighter; my ticket to a second chance to see her again. Not planned, of course, but a much appreciated happy accident. I didn’t mind bringing it to her, even at this time of day.
I raised her ID to where my heart galloped in my chest—I hadn’t been able to sleep, anyway. Everything was so fresh, as if I were doing everyday things for the first time, all thanks to our unforgettable night together.
The edges of my lips tingled and my cheeks began to heat. Maybe, just maybe, our lips would touch again.
And then the chatter around me stopped, the world went nauseatingly silent. The wind stopped and the sweet air disappeared.
My heart dropped from my chest, into a void, trying to escape from something. I had the sudden urge to urinate but managed to cling to a sliver of composure.
A scream rang in my ear, but I couldn’t pinpoint where it came from. The sound was gutural. It continued to bellow from an unknown place around me and I found myself standing on the balls of my feet, mouth open, breathing heavier.
The sound was inhuman as it gurgled and howled, as if the thing creating it was trying to vomit and scream at the same time.
I didn’t question my response, didn’t second guess the prickling feeling at the base of my neck. I think it was instinct, instinct telling me that the thing creating that noise wanted to kill. And if it found me…
I darted from the sidewalk, stumbling over the stiff as a board, dead squirrel, as I tried to separate myself from the monster making that noise. I caught myself, making it only a few strides to the nearest caution sign.
I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder. This time, I didn’t stop my bladder from releasing. The warmth down my legs turned icy in the Autumn breeze and I froze.
Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide, that’s how I knew the woman was screaming. My ears heard no noise. They’d tuned out everything but the sound of my heart thrumming in the hollow of my chest. It was still there. It hadn’t disappeared into some unknown place, leaving my vulnerable, mortal husk of a body behind. But it no longer galloped from first love jitters—No, this was my own pure, mortal instinct pleading—and failing me.
I was useless, incapable of saving her or myself. All I could do was watch the neck of that young woman be shredded, the skin, ripped away in long strings, the same way a person pulls the cheese off a pizza.
My stomach churned, rolling up my throat. The creature dribbled yellow liquid from what looked like pus filled boils on its skin and lacerations on its stomach. It tossed her aside, it’s jaw hanging on only one hinge, and I knew I was next.
The snow bit into my bare shoulders like a thousand tiny mouths trying to devour me-I guess even Mother Nature was mad at my being here, being on her Earth.
The sky was a swath of navy blue and pure, white sparkling stars. They looked like nothing more than specs from this angle.
I was barely able to raise my hand, to try and reach those specs again. I jolted, stinging jabs raced up my spine, slamming into my skull, behind my eyes. Those same specks looked fuzzy now, nothing more than blotches of pale gray. Blurring. Fading.
Don’t go.
I opened my mouth to cry out, but no words came. I only coughed, spitting up a coppery tasting liquid that I seemed to chock on. My stomach rolled and I was grateful that I was lying down.
The stars danced before me. I squinted my eyes to try and stop them. But failed. Whizzing by, I thought I saw a shimmering needle in the sky. It appeared and disappeared in an instant. I knew exactly who that was; one of my brethren.
They still soared, strong and free and healthy. Alive where they should be, among the never ending heavens.
I’m here, I wanted to tell them. Something cold trailed down my cheek.
I would never again taste the powdered tang of star’s dust. Never again have the rays of the Sun spread tickling kisses on my skin—because I was dropped. And without wings to raise me up again, to carry me high into the City of Clouds, I will forever remain shackled to a place I don’t belong.