quintessence.

by Buhl, Sarah

  I stepped through the revolving door and on the other side an older woman sat watching it rotate. She waited in a wheelchair with her head resting on her hand. I smiled at her, and she second glanced at me as if I were a mirage before smiling herself. It saddened me that she reacted as she did. She was in a hospital. Aren’t people in a hospital supposed to make others feel better?

  I reached in my bag and ran my hand along the bottom of it until I found what I searched for. I pulled the bracelet from my bag and walked toward the woman.

  I leaned down to her level and smiled. She smiled back at me as I lifted the bracelet up to her. “Will you accept this?” I asked.

  She laughed at me. “Will I accept it? Why would you want to give me that?” she asked.

  “Well, because I like your smile. You should have something like this,” I said, as I handed her the paracord bracelet with a medallion holding a dried flower. “I know it isn’t the most glamorous bracelet, but I made it. I make them a lot. I have a lot of time on my hands.”

  “Well, I accept it…what’s your name?” she asked.

  “My name is Karl, and yours?”

  “Francine,” she said as she put the bracelet on. A middle-aged man stepped from the rotating door and toward her. “That’s my son. Thank you for the bracelet, Karl.”

  “You’re most welcome,” I said with a nod to her son.

  He didn’t smile and I turned to find the stairs.

  I took them to the second floor to find the room.

  Room 2412

  I thought it would be a simple process—finding the room, but the maze of corridors made the journey longer than expected. I passed several people and some would smile back, and some would look right past me as if they were in another place. I imagined they were in another place, deep in their thoughts as to why they were in the hospital. It made me wonder if my smile was more of a burden than a bright spot.

  I stopped at the proper number and read the cautions on the door.

  Fall risk.

  I knocked on the door and heard a throat clear before Jackson spoke.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I stepped into the room and smiled when I saw my friend. I hadn’t seen him in several months. He had been off doing as much as he could while he felt well. He smiled when he saw me.

  My smile broadened.

  “Karl, my man, I wondered when I’d see you. You’re always the faithful visitor when I’m in here. Notice I have some nicer digs than the last time. This place is like a resort for me,” Jackson said with a laugh, cut short by his cough.

  I poured him a cup of water from the pitcher next to his bed. I handed it to him before taking a seat in the chair.

  “How was your trip?” I asked. I know Jackson didn’t want to discuss what brought him to the hospital.

  “Well, I went to the Grand Canyon with Sabrina. That was awesome. We also stayed in Yellowstone for a couple weeks. We went hiking and it was beautiful there. You’d love it man. I know how you feel about the outdoors,” he said as he massaged his thigh. I know he hurt, but he would never say it. He’ll just massage it, rub it, and avoid it.

  “That sounds awesome. I need to get back out again. It’s been too many days since I’ve been to the place,” I said.

  Jackson knew what place I referred to. He’s been there many times. I first took him there after we both got back. I was home for several months before him, and I had made that spot on the land my refuge.

  It has remained my refuge.

  “So what’s that you have there?” he asked as he pointed at the box in my hand.

  “Oh, it’s a box I wanted to show you. It’s a new one I made last week. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate it.” I smiled.

  I passed the box to him and I watched his smile grow as he examined it. “Man, that’s pretty fucking realistic you perv,” he said with a raise of his brow and a laugh. “But yeah, I dig it. She’s beautiful.”

  He handed the box back.

  “No, you can keep it,” I said, pushing the box back to him.

  “As much as I like it, I don’t think Sabrina would want it lying around the house. You know how she feels.” He gave me an annoyed expression, and I knew it was false. He’d do anything Sabrina asked.

  “Suit yourself,” I said, taking the box back.

  There was a knock on the door and then a small, athletic looking woman stepped into the room.

  She nodded in my direction. “Hello,” she said before turning to Jackson. “You have company. I can come back later.”

  “No, that’s okay. Karl, this is Victoria. She’s my physical therapist.”

  “Hi Karl,” she said. “I’m pissed at Jackson. He should’ve been in here more often than he has been. He thinks he doesn’t need this, but he does. When he doesn’t, things like this happen, and you get set back,” she said, with a serious tone filled with fondness toward Jackson. “So we going to do this then?” she asked him.

  “Yes, we are,” he said as he pulled himself into a sitting position in the bed.

  I respected him too much to look away. He lifted his amputated limbs to the side of the bed and rubbed just below the knee on one and above the knee on the other before putting his prosthetics on. The skin was rubbed raw on the left knee, and I knew it was because he hadn’t been taking care of himself. He let himself go in the hopes of forgetting.

  We all did. When you’ve been fighting for so long, it’s sometimes good to just give up and pretend you never fought. There are so many outs each of us has tried but are never successful. You can’t run from this. I’ve managed to for a year now, but it always hung there, waiting to attach itself. We tried to escape into daily life and believe none of it happened. We kidded ourselves. There was no way to forget; all we could do is cope.

  Many times people see Jackson and they want to shake his hand, thanking him for his bravery. But that’s it. They don’t want to know the story of what happened or why it happened. They just want to thank him and be on their way. I get it. I know it isn’t an easy thing to hear or be forced to see.

  But, we are more than our wounds.

  Sometimes I wish my wounds were on the outside. I wish it were out there for the world to see and know—I was there. I fought. I came back. I survived. But, my wounds have nothing to do with fighting and everything to do with myself.

  I need to remember I survived.

  I watched Jackson because his survival needed to be remembered.

  “Mind if I come with?” I asked.

  “Is it okay with you?” Jackson asked Victoria.

  “It’s okay with me. I like to show off,” she smiled. “Oh, but you’ll be showing off more won’t you Jackson—you going to show Karl what a bad ass you are?”

  “I don’t have to show him that, he knows,” Jackson said with a chuckle as he pulled himself to a standing position.

  3

  Maggie

  Fall

  My reflection hadn’t changed.

  Everything appeared the same on the surface.

  My eyes looked sadder, my cheeks were sunken in. I was thinner. My hair looked stringy, but I was still me—despite it all.

  I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I last cut my hair. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I showered. The vacation I was on began with thoughts of relaxation. But soon it pushed me into an in-between state.

  That’s where I have been for the last few months—in between. I was in between in my relationship, my friendships, my thoughts, my emotions, my days. Each of them held this emptiness and this wholeness. I felt things more as I felt them less.

  I slowed down into this in between.

  I numbered my days by the tests I’ve had.

  Blood tests, x-rays, sonograms—even a colonoscopy. What is wrong with me? I stared at my reflection in my floor length mirror, hoping to discover the answer as I attempted to stand on my tiptoes again.

  I couldn’t do it.

  My mind told my feet
and legs what to do. Move the muscles. Move. Stand up. Do it. The louder my thoughts screamed to do it, the easier it would be.

  I was wrong.

  “We will find out more today, sweetie,” my mom said from my doorway. She and my dad had stayed in Hannah’s old room for the last week. They said they didn’t want me to be alone right now.

  I wanted to be alone right now.

  “When are you going to tell Toby?” she asked.

  “Tell Toby what—that I can’t stand on my tiptoes?” I asked with a smirk. My attempt at humor held bitterness.

  “Honey, you can’t get upset with him if you aren’t sharing with him. How can you expect him to understand?”

  “I don’t want him to understand. He’s the last person I want to talk to right now. He’s having fun. I don’t want to ruin that for him. I know he needs to figure his shit out.”

  She scrunched her mouth up and shrugged as she crossed her arms. “I suppose if that’s what the two of you need.”

  “It is. Now, without sounding like a bitch, can I have privacy for a minute? I need to finish getting ready.”

  “Are you going to shower?” she asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  She shook her head before leaving my room.

  I pulled the yoga pants out I had once worn to dance class. They were a reminder of what I couldn’t have anymore. If I couldn’t stand on my tiptoes, there was no way I could dance.

  I grabbed a tank top and threw a hooded sweatshirt on over it and left my room.

  My mom and dad both studied my appearance. My mom smiled a sympathetic smile and my dad stepped near me.

  “You’re my beautiful baby girl,” he said as he pulled me in under his arm and kissed the top of my head. “Let’s do this thing, shall we?”

  I slapped his chest as we both watched my mom put on her jacket. “It’s kind of cold out today sweetie, do you have a coat to wear too?” she asked.

  “This will be fine,” I said, pulling my booted slippers on before grabbing my purse. It wasn’t the most attractive purse I had. I laughed to myself. I used to make sure my purse matched my outfit. I guess the old messenger bag worked for today, so I kept with my tradition. I grabbed my other purse and just turned it over the other bag to dump the contents into it.

  We started down the stairs and the tightness in my calves returned. Every step down was a reminder of where I now lacked—what I struggled with.

  I pulled my stocking cap out from the pocket of my hoodie and lifted my face to the sky with my eyes closed. I breathed in the cool fall air. “It smells like snow,” I said to myself.

  As we rode in silence with my mom’s choice of music in the background, I couldn’t help but replay the last doctor visit.

  “We will take some x-rays of your back to see if there is a reason for the weakness in your legs. I’m uncertain it is a back issue, but that’s what we’re here to find out, right?” the doctor said.

  I nodded to him and changed into the gown after he left the room. An x-ray tech came into the room and had me lie down on the large, table-like platform.

  “This will take a few minutes, but all you have to do is lie there,” she said with a smile.

  I nodded again. I needed to get back to work. I had hoped the whole production wouldn’t have taken this long. But, that dance class, where I had to stand on my tiptoes—and couldn’t—still haunted me and I needed answers. What the hell was going on? I couldn’t be this weak.

  The woman kept carrying large flat objects into the room and placing them in different areas of the table. Each time she did, she smiled at me, tight lipped. She never met my eyes though. I was just another piece of the puzzle that was her job. I was an ingredient to the formula that made her day go by. She would have another ingredient on the table after me.

  She left the room for longer than she had before. The doctor entered the room with a film in his hand. He flipped the light on a box and put the film up for me to see.

  “I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything for me to do for you. I will direct you to a different specialist.” He lifted his marker to the film and traced an invisible circle around a black spot near my spine in the picture. “This concerns me. I’m not sure what this is, so you will see a neurosurgeon next. This is something you need to get taken care of; it isn’t a back issue. This is part of the sheath.”

  He walked from the room without another word about it.

  “Oh, you were right Maggie. It’s snowing,” my mother said. I hadn’t realized she heard me acknowledge the snow before we got in the car.

  “Okay, Maggie. This spot on your spine isn’t so much a spot as it is a lack of something—a black hole if you will. This isn’t something I can remove in surgery,” the neurosurgeon said at my appointment with him. “We will schedule an MRI and refer you to a neurologist.”

  “Maggie is always right, Rebecca. You know that,” my dad said from the back seat.

  “Not you too, Dad, you sound like Gabe,” I said with a scowl.

  “But, what I don’t think you realize is, it’s just something we all love about you. You’re right, and you know it,” my dad said as he leaned forward to squeeze my shoulder.

  The constant reminders of their love and the sweeties were more annoying than helpful. I knew they loved me. They always told me they loved me, but the increase of them, as if they were afraid to not be able to say it anymore, was worse than the unknown.

  I just wanted normal. I wanted the expected back. I wanted to wake up and go to work without having my future dancing in the air around me. My feet wanted to do the dancing.

  We turned into the parking deck and my mom pulled up to the valet. I gave her a questioning expression.

  “What? I figured it’s free, we might as well use it,” she said.

  I shook my head as the man opened the door for me. I put my hands in my pockets and rubbed my fingers of my right hand with my thumb. I didn’t like to do it in front of everyone because it reminded me of Toby. I didn’t want them to see me thinking of him and wanting to go back to that time—the time when I was the strong one and he depended on me. Now, I depended on everyone else. That’s the reason I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to know how my future would fall if our roles reversed.

  My dad put his hand on my back, and we walked into the hospital. The halls were endless here and self-consciousness enveloped me as my left foot caught every other step. Move the right foot forward—no issue. Then, the left foot goes to move forward and it drags as if it were longer on that side.

  When I was a little girl, I had to practice on a balance beam for tumbling. The instructor told us to dip our toes in the water—that was just lowering our foot to either side of the beam as we walked. I remembered how much I enjoyed that. I would point my toe and pretend I dipped it in the water off the side of the beam before bringing it back up. I walked down it that way, right dips, left dips. I imagined one day I would be a beautiful dancer possessing grace and confidence.

  I wasn’t graceful anymore. My left foot didn’t dip. It dragged now, and instead of touching the water, it pulled me under.

  “Okay, go ahead and have a seat. I’ll check you in,” my mom said, waving to the chairs.

  I sat next to my dad and we both watched an adventure cartoon with a boy and his talking dog. I laughed a little too loud at parts. But it was funny. I needed funny right now. Laughter was something I valued most as of late.

  I searched my bag for my phone. I needed to do something with my hands, other than just rubbing them together.

  In the bag I had a CD—a CD. I thought it funny they told me to bring one to listen to while in the MRI. I mean, who has CDs anymore? I burned one for the occasion.

  I needed to find my phone though. I wanted to surf the web in hopes of not thinking. I couldn’t find it so I gave up and put the bag under my chair.

  “Okay. You’re all checked in. They said it will be about a half hour. They had an emergency earlier that has
set them back.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I mean, is there a way around it? I kind of have to wait.”

  “It’s okay to be afraid, Maggie,” my mom said as she took the seat next to me in the waiting room. “You don’t have to continue alternating sarcasm with silence about it. Say something. Please?” she asked. She wanted me to say something for her benefit, but I was speechless.

  Everything in my life I had once planned now floated above me. It was as if all my hopes and dreams had sat on a shelf that was my life. The shelf fell from the wall and took all its possessions with it. But they never fell to the ground. They just hovered—just out of reach waiting for me to find them again.

  “I can’t say anything, Mom,” I said, grabbing my bag from under my chair once more. I swear, I searched for my phone thirty times already. It served me right for just throwing everything into the damn bag. But, I needed to read mindless news based on celebrities and movies to ease this growing fear. Mindlessness helped the thoughts and the worry drift away. I wondered if that was the sole purpose of the popularity of celebrity news. I just kidded myself into thinking it interesting, when in reality I just wanted to forget about life for a while.

  “Honey, it will be okay. It’s a little MRI; then we will get some answers, and we can move forward,” my mom said to reassure herself more than me.

  I saw her own fear trace across her face. I knew it was just as hard to be in her position as mine. I was in that position for years with Hannah. When someone you love is in pain or hurting or unwell, it is a horrible place to be—just watching as they are consumed by it.

  “Hey, don’t listen to your mother,” my dad said next to me. “You know it will suck, but that’s okay. I know you—you’ll take it with a smile. You’ll get through it.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said in dismissal as I finally found my phone in my bag.

  “I’m serious Maggie,” he said, as I heard the tears in his voice. “I know you will get through whatever this is and you will do it with humor. That’s just how you are and that’s what hurts the most. You’re so damned strong.”

  “Come on guys. This is just a thing to go through. You know—stuff happens. We’ll all get through it. Talk about something other than this please. For the love of god talk about something else,” I said.