Time Heals, or So They Say

22.

            I awoke in a sweat. My sheets were tangled around my feet, holding me captive. I pushed my bangs off my forehead. Another nightmare. I moved in slow motion; my body was still in shock. Each lethargic movement made me feel like it took hours before I fully sat up. I was exhausted and tired, but not enough to go back to sleep. I stared at the dusky light flitting through the slits of the blinds. The sun’s orange rays brightened my room from complete darkness into hazy light. By the time the rest of the world started to wake, my heartbeat finally slowed. I allowed my breaths to calm me, convincing myself I was safe. I wasn’t trapped. I wasn’t under attack. They told me it would take time to heal. It’s been seven years now, seventeen weeks since the last nightmare.

21.

            The walk from my bed to the bathroom seemed to take twenty years. By the time I walked in and turned on the shower, I had to sit on the toilet to rest. I let the steam from the hot water soothe my scratchy throat. Trying to regain breath while simultaneously coughing up a lung was counterproductive. I had spent a year in quarantine, and as soon as the restrictions began to lift, it hit me. Covid-19 was stupid and pointless. Hopefully, I’d only need to rest for a couple days. I was restless, itching to be active again. My favorite part of the day was eating lunch on the back patio. The warmth of the sun reminded me of normal days. I stayed outside until sweat began to trickle down my spine. Sometimes I wished I could just get up and walk down the street, never go back inside again. Being sick in bed for days can do that to a person. As long as it didn’t take me weeks to recover, I’d be fine.

16.

            Time slowed, and I flew through the air, weightless and free. For a moment, I felt nothing but the wind on my face. Seconds later, I felt everything. I reached out to catch myself. My arm hit the ground first. I felt the bones inside snap. I didn’t know how to react. I felt so much pain that I couldn’t even cry. My body was stunned, and so was I. My friend skidded her bike to a stop and ran over.
            “Are you okay?”
            I glanced down at the blood gushing down from my elbow, the scratches all over my leg. I winced when I tried to push myself off the ground. “I’m fine.”
            She wasn’t convinced. She crouched down and let me lean on her shoulder as we waited for help to arrive.
            “Maybe you broke something.”

16.

            As my mom drove me to my last appointment, I watched the trees blur into the houses through the passenger seat of my car. The cast had been on my arm for eight weeks now. I was tired of relying on everyone else for help. I couldn’t even drive and had just gotten my license. The doctors said eight weeks would fly by. They were right. It wasn’t the first time someone told me I would heal with time. At least a broken arm was something tangible. I could feel it healing. After my cast was off, I could take steps to ensure my strength came back. The doctors said my arm would be back to normal within months. But some broken things aren’t as physical, and they don’t have a set time for recovery. Some things never heal quite right. Something is always disjointed, a little off. The brokenness doesn’t really go away. Some people take forever to regain their old selves. Years, lifetimes even. Some people wish an arm was the only broken thing in their life.

20.

            I watched her walk past me in the hallway. Two years passed since we last talked, but I still remembered who we were. Now, I barely recognized her. She kept her eyes straight, her head faced forward. Her hair was darker now, she didn’t wear glasses anymore, and her clothes were brighter. She didn’t glance in my direction. She didn’t acknowledge that I was wearing the shoes we bought together. I wondered if she still had her matching pair, if they were as scuffed as mine. She didn’t notice that I was growing my hair out. I had no idea if she still even had a thing against short hair. She didn’t realize how much it hurt to see the person I used to stay up all night with, eating snacks that could burn a hole in my stomach, acting as if I didn’t exist. I wondered if forgetting me burned a hole in her heart the way it did mine.

15.

            I awoke in a sweat. My sheets were tangled around my feet, holding me captive. I pushed my bangs off my forehead. Another nightmare. I moved in slow motion, my body was still in shock. Each lethargic movement made me feel like it took hours before I fully sat up. I was exhausted and tired, but not enough to go back to sleep. I stared at the dusky light flitting through the slits of the blinds. The sun’s orange rays brightened my room from complete darkness into hazy light. By the time the rest of the world started to wake, my heartbeat finally slowed. I allowed my breaths to calm me, convincing myself I was safe. I wasn’t trapped. I wasn’t under attack. They told me it would take time to heal. It’s only been two days. I knew I needed to be patient. I didn’t know how many more nightmares I could stand. I just wanted to forget. I couldn’t handle one more night of waking up and not remembering where and who I was. I told myself I was worth more than the nightmares, the pain. I tried to believe that with time, maybe I’d recover.