Clandestine Confessions

“Girl look at that body, girl look at that body, I-I-I work out…”
I could hear her singing along to the song playing on the radio.
It was the only source of music we had – our iPods taken away as the headphones were contraband.
She gave a slight smirk, let out a little giggle under her breath to show even she was humoring herself.
It was just her and I sitting at the table coloring in the common room – everyone else visiting with family.
“This is my song…” the sarcasm thick in my voice.
As I sat there with my walker beside me, velour pajama pants on, wearing a shirt three sizes too big, and the pièce de resistance…
The rainbow belt around my waist for the staff to hold onto whenever I walked. To pull me back if I started to fall.
Nothing could have screamed “I’m sexy and I know it” more than that vision.
She looked up at the sound of my voice.
It was the first time I saw genuine happiness in her eyes – hers the most expressive I would ever encounter.
That sight I keep protected in a section of my heart forever reserved for her.
“Oh for sure! The men are destined to go crazy for you!”
“Just wait. It is about to get better.”
–
The “wiggle, wiggle, wiggle” part of the song approached.
And I, with this ounce of life our dialogue released in me, decided to let a piece of authenticity come out of hiding.
I was exhausted living to die.
I needed to feel some semblance of normalcy, see a glimpse of the possibility of a life on the other side.
I strained to stand but was determined to demonstrate my signature dance move for her…
But three seconds in, my legs gave out. I fell hard on my knees on the tile floor.
Right as I landed a nurse just happened to walk by – none of them in view for the last hour.
“J! What are you doing?”
I went silent in panic. The truth would put me back in the wheelchair.
C glanced my way with a quick smile, a glimmer in her eye – “I got you,” I could hear the expression speak.
“She is just picking up the pencil she dropped.” She fixed her gaze onto the one that was sitting on the floor right beside me, directing me to look there too.
“Got it!” I raised my arm in the air grasping the green writing utensil.
“Ask for help next time. Please. You are a fall risk.”
She walked away, and C and I burst into laughter.
“Okay, but I really am stuck down here,” I said with the tears of joy falling from my eyes.
She helped me stand back up – in body and in spirit.
We were inseparable ever since.
Endless texting and Facebook messaging of quotes and lryics and Adam Levine pictures.
Of Dance Mom recaps and videos of Elmo singing “our” song.
Of our ambitions and fears and battles and how we envisioned turning this pain into purpose.
She wanted to write a book on trauma. She wanted to get married. She wanted to be a mom. She wanted to get an anchor tattoo. She wanted to live by the beach. She wanted to buy a home to decorate. She wanted to travel the world.
Her heart wanted what her tomorrows held, but her mind saw no way to get there.
–
After ending the call with her aunt, I sat there paralyzed by the extent of emotions my heart was attempting to process.
Everything went dark – the room, the sky, my mind, my future…
It hurt to be alive…deeply so.
The questions, the regrets, the fear, the grief that gripped me into suffocation.
My last unhindered breath released in a guttural scream standing on my deck in the pouring rain an hour after hanging up the phone.
How was I ever going to do this life without her..?
Our dreams together are what gave me meaning to heal, what motivated me to continue to fight.
Now what..?
–
Life felt like I was in a trance, yet I can recall every minute of those first few days without her with me.
The disorder was prominent – no longer a crutch to keep me steady but the cast to keep me together.
Despite it being one of the culprits that tore my best friend from me, it was the only thing that felt safe.
I was willing to cling to anything for protection while drowning in a tsunami of trauma.
And one of those would come in the form of a person.