Life On Pause
"Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."
Yeah, that's accurate. The plan was to go to a wedding in the west end of the state and then drop by a ren faire on the way home, spending a night in an Air BNB. It ended up being the other way around more, and as you can guess it by now, this entry will be both a mix of past and present. So here we go.
***
I made the drive to Charleston easy enough, got to the house earlier than expected. It was amusing to walk in a couple of hours early and catch people off guard. After a small break to let my brain shift out of driving, I got to work helping clean up the house for the Halloween party. All around me stuff was happening, music was playing and I was briefed over any parts I was to play for the party.
Upstairs a blue shimmery light was fixed to the wall and the lights dimmed. The first chance I had to sneak away, I went up and laid down to lose myself beneath them. It was like being underwater, or in a seaside cave at night. I got more relaxing done in that ten minutes than in the entire week before.
A came up and found me, sitting on the couch nearby and discussed party plans. Slowly others found me and I couldn't help but feel good. T came and laid beside me, chuckling at how little it takes to entrance me, and Z came around to play near me and then ultimately lay next to me. They never know how much they mean to me in stupid little moments like these ones. They can't see the way my veins feel like they're glowing under my skin with pleasure.
Slowly, very slowly I begin to understand that I am passing into this family as if through osmosis. My nature to just be present and let others come to me at their own comfort levels is being rewarded, they come now ever closer, ever more easily. I welcome every interaction, every offer of affection. Whatever separates individuals from a family is slowly dissolving around me and for the first time I can really sense it.
I close my eyes, and revel in this new feeling. When I touch T later than night, it's on a new level.
***
The next morning is set to be a big day, logging a lot of hours in the truck. We chose Big Red because it could fit all of us easily, five Bs and me. Her first real long haul test with a full crew. We planned to be at the Air BNB early to dress and prepare early. Life chose a different path.
Greenville was around 3 hours away, but it took us a few more to get there between breaks. The snacks were gone inside the first hour. Z sat on the front, middle bench, and I got to hear his excitement at getting to see clearly out of the windshield. I remembered how I felt in my mom's van, sharing the front seat and single belt with my little sister, or how amazing it felt to ride in dad's truck with him.
I watched as Z slowly started to fall asleep, shivering from the a/c. Lay it on, kid, you're killing me. So finally I decided I'd give him an open, showing him how to lay against me in a way that might at least be marginally comfortable. It must have worked because within moments his little head was so heavy and wobbly on my chest that I had to bring my arm up with every touch of the brakes to keep him from face-planting into my lap.
The sun caught in his hair, the dirty blonde mixing with shades of blue, and I felt his little hand against my leg. I will never know how it feels to hold a baby after birth to my chest and feel joy, I will never know that kind of emotion, but I can have the smallest of glimpses in moments like this. I can have some vague, out of focus and dull sense of what that must be like, and in my mind I know now that I'd do anything for the people in this truck. It is in this moment I feel the full scope of my love for them. It is in this moment that all words escape me and the feeling is all there is.
"At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it."
The same is true of pure joy. You cannot read it, only feel it.
We arrived at the wedding in half an hour to spare, hungry and tired. Whatever I had imagined in my mind, whatever picnic casual affair I've been to, this was perhaps the most casual. It was hot, and the mosquitoes drank a liter of my blood. We must have looked a bit wild in mismatched clothing, worn out from the long drive.
I had fancied dancing in a dimly lit room with crazy lights, and the Cha Cha Slide with K and Z. Instead I had to laugh at my own self for making plans and knowing better. So we made the best of it anyway and still had a good time, but when Shawna said it was good to roll out, I didn't hesitate. As we trudged back to the truck, I made up my mind to connect with them over my favorite old movie instead. In air conditioning, no less.
The house they rented was really impressive, like a magazine ad in Better Homes and Gardens. Feeling hot and sweaty and crumpled walking in was a lot like how I remembered feeling whenever my family went to the rich side of the family's reunions at one uncle's house or the other. Everything had a very untouched feeling to it.
We touched everything.
Everyone branched off and did their thing for a bit, getting out of each other's hair after so long glued together. I remember that part from many road trips in my own past, so I entertained myself and relaxed a bit until dinner.
Z's favorite is Olive Garden, so as a surprise, we took him there. To keep the kids from arguing about the front, I gave it to K and Z to spend a little time in the back with S and R. It was twilight so I could see my own reflection in the window, passing fields and houses. There was one field with a giant tree in the middle, reminding me of the one next to the farmhouse. How many times did I sit under it and watch passing cars wondering about the people in them?
Now here I was, this family absorbing me, becoming a part of their collective memory, a thread in their story. What would I think of myself if I were watching myself from under that tree as a kid? I know I'd see the love in my own heart and feel a connection to my own little self. I was once the child in a family of love. Was I always destined to complete this circle?
We got to Olive Garden and I giggled to hear Z squeal in delight. We tumbled out of the truck and waited for a table, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging here. I was with them, truly with them, and sitting to dinner was happiness for me. From time to time my mind would wander, traveling down old dreams, old parts of me waking up to realize I had a place at this table with this family, and that I could be a part of it. I was letting myself accept it, opening further these parts of myself that had been shadowed and cold.
I sat across from Z, and from time to time he'd slurp a noodle and then grin at me. How do you describe what it feels like to love someone who isn't yours? To want to be a part of their lives so much you can almost taste it? It was here that I started forming the idea for the letters. When I looked at Z and knew I wanted to be there for him regardless of relationships. That I wanted to be there for all of them as more than just the girl dating T.
The ride back was deeper for me. I saw my reflection in the window again, heard the truck full of talking and music, and I checked in with myself. Occasionally S would say something and I'd smile inwardly at the sound of her voice or that I was picking up the patterns of her speech. The compass of my life that has been spinning wildly slowed and stopped, and every step after that has felt more sure and steady. I am where I was supposed to end up.
That night we huddled in the biggest bedroom and watched my favorite October movie, Watcher in the Woods. It's old and unintentionally funny and T is right, it deserves an MST3K treatment, which would probably make it ten times better. I'm just happy that I got to watch it with them, sharing a part of my own childhood. By the end it seemed to have been well received, even if it was slightly comical for taking itself too seriously and the confusion over the ending.
That was perfection.
***
We took off the following morning and drove to the renaissance faire in Charlotte, NC making decent time. This was their first, and I felt honored to get to show them the whole world that is the ren fest. I chose my corset and linen half chemise to wear, pleased above all that it fit. I still don't regret that choice even for the heat.
As we walked in, I set my crown of yellow flowers on K's head and walked in, catching a glimpse of T holding S's hand. It made me smile to see them, to be a part of them even when I wasn't attached to T's hip. It was comfortable and happy and that was another sign for me. We got in, got a little sorted and over the map I kept an eye on their reactions.
It was a large faire, comparable with Michigan's Holly Ren Fest, bigger than the one in Massachusetts by double if not more. All around us people in elaborate costumes flitted around, shouting compliments, selling wares and in general just being colorful against the backdrop of some old English village.
It was hot, much hotter than the thermometer was trying to declare, and maps turned into fans. I have spent so many ren faire's cold with muddied boots and cloaks, fighting rain and wind and sometimes snow flurries. Life was different in Winterfell. Here it was blisteringly hot in the sun, and dry to the point of dusty.
The family ate as they could, turkey legs and candy apples. Corsets don't allow much room for food even when they're not laced tightly, especially not without sacrificing breathing room.
It was the joust I was most keenly interested in, although their Joust of Champions was different than others. Usually it's the full combat display, but here it was the skill display and lance joust. Here they call the combat skill display a Joust to the Death, which got a chuckle from me. At any rate, it was the Champions we saw, and I got seats early to make sure I got a good view.
They rode hard in good form, and with each clash of wood on shield I remembered all of it. The years spent running after horses, carrying helmets, polishing armor. Somewhere, probably in some old forgotten corner of a shed, small armor must sit dusty and neglected. A breast plate made for a small frame, a full pair of sleeves and gloves meant to fit slender arms and disguise gender. I wonder from time to time if any of it got recycled or sold off, if perhaps I've seen the pieces I used to wear without knowing it.
The hooves of the horses pound the dirt, thundering along at breakneck speeds and from my shaded spot I can hear other hooves in the past. I'm riding with my friend Summer, miles away from anything resembling civilization on a lazy day. The creak of the leather saddles and our idle chatter is all that fills my mind, our horses used to this relaxed weekend routine. We've ridden through barren farm fields, across streams and approached the wooded trail we liked to take before turning around and heading back to the stable.
There's a log over the path, probably felled in the recent storm. She goes first, guiding her horse over with me not far behind. But as her horse's first leg extends over the log, it catches and the log rolls, stirring the leaves on one end. Chaos erupts, both horses rearing up and giving frightened cries. I tighten my grip on the reigns and lean forward but too late, I'm caught off balance. Backwards and backwards I fall until I hit the ground on my side, a large stone smacking my ribs and cracking them.
My horse bolts from the woods and I barely have time to pull my head back from where I've landed in the fetal position as hers thunders by, it's hoof landing less than an inch from my face. I can hardly breathe both for fear and pain. I know I've had a close call, and Summer helps me stand up, trying to brush each other off. I feel awful, and we begin the long walk back to the stable, but thankfully after a mile her mother's truck comes screaming through the field. She saw the riderless horses return and has been out searching for us.
We ride back to the house and I go to the hospital. I'm 17, and I'll never return to the saddle. Every horse since can sense my fear, my tension, and I can't bring myself to try again. I miss it in some ways and in others I'm grateful. The loss of riding channeled my energy into driving. It's only once in a great while I wonder what my life would have been if I had performed that autumn as I had practiced. Who would I be today if that fall had never happened?
Light glimmers off the full armor of one of the knights, bringing me back. I know beneath the shining metal they're bruised and beaten, chaffed and sore. I also know they live for this game, for this performance. They are the upper echelon of ren faire royalty with the actors who portray actual nobility. They are the jocks of their world, and I laugh at myself to realize that I trades jousters for football players.
After the joust we go to see the anti-climactic mermaids. I steal away with K into the tent, but we exchange glances and laugh. The only thing we seem to feel is jealousy over the tank of water that looks much cooler than standing in the heat. We sneak out while the rest of the family goes in, hiding in the shade of the building, giggling about the mermaids. She lets slip that she's happy to be here, that she's excited I get to be here too. I tell her I'm happy too.
We decide it's time to head out. We're tired and hot and it's a long walk back to the truck and then a long drive back to Charleston. It's right about here that my inability to draw a full breath starts to hinder me, and the way my corset has trapped my body heat against my skin is making my vision blurry. I'd feel amused that twice today I recall that long, aching walk from the woods to the stables, except I'm not exactly feeling fond of that memory.
By the time we reach the gates I can feel my nose throbbing, the first initial sign that I'm running out of time to get my body cooled down and breathing right. It takes a lot to drop me, a lot for my body to tap out, but once in a while the combination hits me. I focus all of my will on taking the steps, on reaching the truck and even with my focus so heavily laid on one part of myself, I can appreciate the family coaching each other to the end.
I've kept myself together enough, there's only mild concern that I'm struggling to walk by the time we reach the truck. I climb in and sit, a/c blasting on my face. I'm trying to downplay myself, to just power through it like I do when I've pushed too hard, but they see it and they call me out. "Don't argue, take it off and put on my shirt." I need to breathe too much to argue and so he helps me stand again.
The corset comes off and I almost drop. The throbbing I usually feel in my nose has spread quickly and dangerously to my whole face and the world spins. I'm fighting to hold on to my brain, to make myself stay together, the full lungs of air I can once again gulp down help. He doesn't let me fall and after a few moments I climb back into the seat.
It's sweet relief, and K is sitting there, checking my face from time to time. I can recall leaving the grounds, a few of the turns, but my brain is shutting down. My body red-lined for too long and now it's insisting on a reboot. I feel too safe, too comforted to fight it anymore and close my eyes, giving myself over to darkness for a little while.
I know at times I wake up and stare at the road, the signs. In my head I can't quite place where I am, but I know I'm safe, and when I wake up fully, it all comes back to normal. Reboot successful.
At some point K throws her arms around me and says they're keeping me forever, and the I can feel the trickle of joy in my soul. Yeah, you can keep me forever. I don't plan on leaving.
It's decided to go swimming to end the night and weekend, and in a comical twist T has driven my truck the whole trip and now I will drive his car to N's place. It feels bizarre and yet familiar to have them all piled in the backseat, following S across town.
At the pool I peel off my clothing and jump in immediately, the cold water soothing my skin and my soul the way only water can. Sinking to the bottom I open my eyes and look up, recharged. They ask me if it's warm before they jump in, and for me it is. I've grown up in colder waters, this is like a bath. They exclaim it's freezing and I laugh.
We swim, we play, we spend time together. I glide under the water, stretching painful muscles where steel ribs have squeezed me for hours, restoring me. The kids swim around me, T and S get some time to connect and I even take on a wrestling match with N although when I strain to push him under I can feel the pain in my sides and have to forfeit. I'm still weakened from the day, but I still find enjoyment.
The kids play games with me, laughing and squealing in delight and I wish we could do this more often. This is a place, an activity where I excel, where I can do anything and feel comfortable. Being here with them is letting them deeper into my heart. I find that I love each of the kids in individual ways. I find that I love T and S both together and as separate people in different ways. I find an affection and appreciation for N and his place here too.
I find just enough energy at the end of the night to show my deep appreciation in a physical way before I fall asleep into dreamless darkness.
***
He's stolen a little time to spend with me before we part ways. These are my last moments of this weekend, my last gulp of air in this world before returning to my quiet sanctuary. We talk quietly, and I admire how he's careful with me, with talking to me about my feelings. We recap the weekend, and even through my fears of scheduling, he reassures me. We'll make it work. I won't be left behind.
And then, just like that, it's over. I'm driving home, the long stretches of road and pressing silence under the music swallowing me. The transition. The shift of gears.
What will my future hold? What am I driving off into? When will I come back?
Every mile takes me further away in more than just distance.
Yeah, that's accurate. The plan was to go to a wedding in the west end of the state and then drop by a ren faire on the way home, spending a night in an Air BNB. It ended up being the other way around more, and as you can guess it by now, this entry will be both a mix of past and present. So here we go.
***
I made the drive to Charleston easy enough, got to the house earlier than expected. It was amusing to walk in a couple of hours early and catch people off guard. After a small break to let my brain shift out of driving, I got to work helping clean up the house for the Halloween party. All around me stuff was happening, music was playing and I was briefed over any parts I was to play for the party.
Upstairs a blue shimmery light was fixed to the wall and the lights dimmed. The first chance I had to sneak away, I went up and laid down to lose myself beneath them. It was like being underwater, or in a seaside cave at night. I got more relaxing done in that ten minutes than in the entire week before.
A came up and found me, sitting on the couch nearby and discussed party plans. Slowly others found me and I couldn't help but feel good. T came and laid beside me, chuckling at how little it takes to entrance me, and Z came around to play near me and then ultimately lay next to me. They never know how much they mean to me in stupid little moments like these ones. They can't see the way my veins feel like they're glowing under my skin with pleasure.
Slowly, very slowly I begin to understand that I am passing into this family as if through osmosis. My nature to just be present and let others come to me at their own comfort levels is being rewarded, they come now ever closer, ever more easily. I welcome every interaction, every offer of affection. Whatever separates individuals from a family is slowly dissolving around me and for the first time I can really sense it.
I close my eyes, and revel in this new feeling. When I touch T later than night, it's on a new level.
***
The next morning is set to be a big day, logging a lot of hours in the truck. We chose Big Red because it could fit all of us easily, five Bs and me. Her first real long haul test with a full crew. We planned to be at the Air BNB early to dress and prepare early. Life chose a different path.
Greenville was around 3 hours away, but it took us a few more to get there between breaks. The snacks were gone inside the first hour. Z sat on the front, middle bench, and I got to hear his excitement at getting to see clearly out of the windshield. I remembered how I felt in my mom's van, sharing the front seat and single belt with my little sister, or how amazing it felt to ride in dad's truck with him.
I watched as Z slowly started to fall asleep, shivering from the a/c. Lay it on, kid, you're killing me. So finally I decided I'd give him an open, showing him how to lay against me in a way that might at least be marginally comfortable. It must have worked because within moments his little head was so heavy and wobbly on my chest that I had to bring my arm up with every touch of the brakes to keep him from face-planting into my lap.
The sun caught in his hair, the dirty blonde mixing with shades of blue, and I felt his little hand against my leg. I will never know how it feels to hold a baby after birth to my chest and feel joy, I will never know that kind of emotion, but I can have the smallest of glimpses in moments like this. I can have some vague, out of focus and dull sense of what that must be like, and in my mind I know now that I'd do anything for the people in this truck. It is in this moment I feel the full scope of my love for them. It is in this moment that all words escape me and the feeling is all there is.
"At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it."
The same is true of pure joy. You cannot read it, only feel it.
We arrived at the wedding in half an hour to spare, hungry and tired. Whatever I had imagined in my mind, whatever picnic casual affair I've been to, this was perhaps the most casual. It was hot, and the mosquitoes drank a liter of my blood. We must have looked a bit wild in mismatched clothing, worn out from the long drive.
I had fancied dancing in a dimly lit room with crazy lights, and the Cha Cha Slide with K and Z. Instead I had to laugh at my own self for making plans and knowing better. So we made the best of it anyway and still had a good time, but when Shawna said it was good to roll out, I didn't hesitate. As we trudged back to the truck, I made up my mind to connect with them over my favorite old movie instead. In air conditioning, no less.
The house they rented was really impressive, like a magazine ad in Better Homes and Gardens. Feeling hot and sweaty and crumpled walking in was a lot like how I remembered feeling whenever my family went to the rich side of the family's reunions at one uncle's house or the other. Everything had a very untouched feeling to it.
We touched everything.
Everyone branched off and did their thing for a bit, getting out of each other's hair after so long glued together. I remember that part from many road trips in my own past, so I entertained myself and relaxed a bit until dinner.
Z's favorite is Olive Garden, so as a surprise, we took him there. To keep the kids from arguing about the front, I gave it to K and Z to spend a little time in the back with S and R. It was twilight so I could see my own reflection in the window, passing fields and houses. There was one field with a giant tree in the middle, reminding me of the one next to the farmhouse. How many times did I sit under it and watch passing cars wondering about the people in them?
Now here I was, this family absorbing me, becoming a part of their collective memory, a thread in their story. What would I think of myself if I were watching myself from under that tree as a kid? I know I'd see the love in my own heart and feel a connection to my own little self. I was once the child in a family of love. Was I always destined to complete this circle?
We got to Olive Garden and I giggled to hear Z squeal in delight. We tumbled out of the truck and waited for a table, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging here. I was with them, truly with them, and sitting to dinner was happiness for me. From time to time my mind would wander, traveling down old dreams, old parts of me waking up to realize I had a place at this table with this family, and that I could be a part of it. I was letting myself accept it, opening further these parts of myself that had been shadowed and cold.
I sat across from Z, and from time to time he'd slurp a noodle and then grin at me. How do you describe what it feels like to love someone who isn't yours? To want to be a part of their lives so much you can almost taste it? It was here that I started forming the idea for the letters. When I looked at Z and knew I wanted to be there for him regardless of relationships. That I wanted to be there for all of them as more than just the girl dating T.
The ride back was deeper for me. I saw my reflection in the window again, heard the truck full of talking and music, and I checked in with myself. Occasionally S would say something and I'd smile inwardly at the sound of her voice or that I was picking up the patterns of her speech. The compass of my life that has been spinning wildly slowed and stopped, and every step after that has felt more sure and steady. I am where I was supposed to end up.
That night we huddled in the biggest bedroom and watched my favorite October movie, Watcher in the Woods. It's old and unintentionally funny and T is right, it deserves an MST3K treatment, which would probably make it ten times better. I'm just happy that I got to watch it with them, sharing a part of my own childhood. By the end it seemed to have been well received, even if it was slightly comical for taking itself too seriously and the confusion over the ending.
That was perfection.
***
We took off the following morning and drove to the renaissance faire in Charlotte, NC making decent time. This was their first, and I felt honored to get to show them the whole world that is the ren fest. I chose my corset and linen half chemise to wear, pleased above all that it fit. I still don't regret that choice even for the heat.
As we walked in, I set my crown of yellow flowers on K's head and walked in, catching a glimpse of T holding S's hand. It made me smile to see them, to be a part of them even when I wasn't attached to T's hip. It was comfortable and happy and that was another sign for me. We got in, got a little sorted and over the map I kept an eye on their reactions.
It was a large faire, comparable with Michigan's Holly Ren Fest, bigger than the one in Massachusetts by double if not more. All around us people in elaborate costumes flitted around, shouting compliments, selling wares and in general just being colorful against the backdrop of some old English village.
It was hot, much hotter than the thermometer was trying to declare, and maps turned into fans. I have spent so many ren faire's cold with muddied boots and cloaks, fighting rain and wind and sometimes snow flurries. Life was different in Winterfell. Here it was blisteringly hot in the sun, and dry to the point of dusty.
The family ate as they could, turkey legs and candy apples. Corsets don't allow much room for food even when they're not laced tightly, especially not without sacrificing breathing room.
It was the joust I was most keenly interested in, although their Joust of Champions was different than others. Usually it's the full combat display, but here it was the skill display and lance joust. Here they call the combat skill display a Joust to the Death, which got a chuckle from me. At any rate, it was the Champions we saw, and I got seats early to make sure I got a good view.
They rode hard in good form, and with each clash of wood on shield I remembered all of it. The years spent running after horses, carrying helmets, polishing armor. Somewhere, probably in some old forgotten corner of a shed, small armor must sit dusty and neglected. A breast plate made for a small frame, a full pair of sleeves and gloves meant to fit slender arms and disguise gender. I wonder from time to time if any of it got recycled or sold off, if perhaps I've seen the pieces I used to wear without knowing it.
The hooves of the horses pound the dirt, thundering along at breakneck speeds and from my shaded spot I can hear other hooves in the past. I'm riding with my friend Summer, miles away from anything resembling civilization on a lazy day. The creak of the leather saddles and our idle chatter is all that fills my mind, our horses used to this relaxed weekend routine. We've ridden through barren farm fields, across streams and approached the wooded trail we liked to take before turning around and heading back to the stable.
There's a log over the path, probably felled in the recent storm. She goes first, guiding her horse over with me not far behind. But as her horse's first leg extends over the log, it catches and the log rolls, stirring the leaves on one end. Chaos erupts, both horses rearing up and giving frightened cries. I tighten my grip on the reigns and lean forward but too late, I'm caught off balance. Backwards and backwards I fall until I hit the ground on my side, a large stone smacking my ribs and cracking them.
My horse bolts from the woods and I barely have time to pull my head back from where I've landed in the fetal position as hers thunders by, it's hoof landing less than an inch from my face. I can hardly breathe both for fear and pain. I know I've had a close call, and Summer helps me stand up, trying to brush each other off. I feel awful, and we begin the long walk back to the stable, but thankfully after a mile her mother's truck comes screaming through the field. She saw the riderless horses return and has been out searching for us.
We ride back to the house and I go to the hospital. I'm 17, and I'll never return to the saddle. Every horse since can sense my fear, my tension, and I can't bring myself to try again. I miss it in some ways and in others I'm grateful. The loss of riding channeled my energy into driving. It's only once in a great while I wonder what my life would have been if I had performed that autumn as I had practiced. Who would I be today if that fall had never happened?
Light glimmers off the full armor of one of the knights, bringing me back. I know beneath the shining metal they're bruised and beaten, chaffed and sore. I also know they live for this game, for this performance. They are the upper echelon of ren faire royalty with the actors who portray actual nobility. They are the jocks of their world, and I laugh at myself to realize that I trades jousters for football players.
After the joust we go to see the anti-climactic mermaids. I steal away with K into the tent, but we exchange glances and laugh. The only thing we seem to feel is jealousy over the tank of water that looks much cooler than standing in the heat. We sneak out while the rest of the family goes in, hiding in the shade of the building, giggling about the mermaids. She lets slip that she's happy to be here, that she's excited I get to be here too. I tell her I'm happy too.
We decide it's time to head out. We're tired and hot and it's a long walk back to the truck and then a long drive back to Charleston. It's right about here that my inability to draw a full breath starts to hinder me, and the way my corset has trapped my body heat against my skin is making my vision blurry. I'd feel amused that twice today I recall that long, aching walk from the woods to the stables, except I'm not exactly feeling fond of that memory.
By the time we reach the gates I can feel my nose throbbing, the first initial sign that I'm running out of time to get my body cooled down and breathing right. It takes a lot to drop me, a lot for my body to tap out, but once in a while the combination hits me. I focus all of my will on taking the steps, on reaching the truck and even with my focus so heavily laid on one part of myself, I can appreciate the family coaching each other to the end.
I've kept myself together enough, there's only mild concern that I'm struggling to walk by the time we reach the truck. I climb in and sit, a/c blasting on my face. I'm trying to downplay myself, to just power through it like I do when I've pushed too hard, but they see it and they call me out. "Don't argue, take it off and put on my shirt." I need to breathe too much to argue and so he helps me stand again.
The corset comes off and I almost drop. The throbbing I usually feel in my nose has spread quickly and dangerously to my whole face and the world spins. I'm fighting to hold on to my brain, to make myself stay together, the full lungs of air I can once again gulp down help. He doesn't let me fall and after a few moments I climb back into the seat.
It's sweet relief, and K is sitting there, checking my face from time to time. I can recall leaving the grounds, a few of the turns, but my brain is shutting down. My body red-lined for too long and now it's insisting on a reboot. I feel too safe, too comforted to fight it anymore and close my eyes, giving myself over to darkness for a little while.
I know at times I wake up and stare at the road, the signs. In my head I can't quite place where I am, but I know I'm safe, and when I wake up fully, it all comes back to normal. Reboot successful.
At some point K throws her arms around me and says they're keeping me forever, and the I can feel the trickle of joy in my soul. Yeah, you can keep me forever. I don't plan on leaving.
It's decided to go swimming to end the night and weekend, and in a comical twist T has driven my truck the whole trip and now I will drive his car to N's place. It feels bizarre and yet familiar to have them all piled in the backseat, following S across town.
At the pool I peel off my clothing and jump in immediately, the cold water soothing my skin and my soul the way only water can. Sinking to the bottom I open my eyes and look up, recharged. They ask me if it's warm before they jump in, and for me it is. I've grown up in colder waters, this is like a bath. They exclaim it's freezing and I laugh.
We swim, we play, we spend time together. I glide under the water, stretching painful muscles where steel ribs have squeezed me for hours, restoring me. The kids swim around me, T and S get some time to connect and I even take on a wrestling match with N although when I strain to push him under I can feel the pain in my sides and have to forfeit. I'm still weakened from the day, but I still find enjoyment.
The kids play games with me, laughing and squealing in delight and I wish we could do this more often. This is a place, an activity where I excel, where I can do anything and feel comfortable. Being here with them is letting them deeper into my heart. I find that I love each of the kids in individual ways. I find that I love T and S both together and as separate people in different ways. I find an affection and appreciation for N and his place here too.
I find just enough energy at the end of the night to show my deep appreciation in a physical way before I fall asleep into dreamless darkness.
***
He's stolen a little time to spend with me before we part ways. These are my last moments of this weekend, my last gulp of air in this world before returning to my quiet sanctuary. We talk quietly, and I admire how he's careful with me, with talking to me about my feelings. We recap the weekend, and even through my fears of scheduling, he reassures me. We'll make it work. I won't be left behind.
And then, just like that, it's over. I'm driving home, the long stretches of road and pressing silence under the music swallowing me. The transition. The shift of gears.
What will my future hold? What am I driving off into? When will I come back?
Every mile takes me further away in more than just distance.
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