by CJ Lyons
Except me. Don’t think I’m up to replacing all those bandages myself though.
After a few minutes of coaxing on my part, he agreed to allow Terra to help me.
“Just don’t remember what you see.” He pointedly avoided our gazes, “When you take off these bandages, you can’t remember what you see.”
“Promise.” Terra and I said in unison.
Noah took off both his shirt and pants, a red blush working across his face. “Don’t remember.” He said again.
We unwrapped the bandages slowly; it was like unwrapping a gift we knew we didn’t want, a slow and maddening process.
For the most part, he was relatively healed, except for the wounds on his face. They were still raw and red, burning below his milky white eye.
Did remember exactly how that looked.
Liar, faker, promise breaker.
We took out all his stitches, which took longer than I thought it should have. It was more difficult to get some of them out because they were over other scars. Scar tissue is tough.
Had to put another bandage over his eye, and I felt the cool blue of his gaze burning into me as I did so. He really has a sharp stare.
Once we were finished, all that remained were the rough edges of the healed cuts, and the bruises. He was silent for hours afterward. He’d nod or shake his head to answer questions, but was unresponsive until about nine-thirty this evening.
We were all sitting in the living room, listening to one of Terra’s new CD’s. I think she got about four for Christmas this year, from various friends.
“I’m sorry.” Noah said, as Terra was getting up to change it to the next CD.
She turned around, “Sorry for what, sailor?”
“I am sorry that I have been so difficult today.” He tightened his hands into fists on his lap, “It was not my intention to become such a burden on you.”
Terra smiled at him, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hands in her own, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know how you must be feeling. I understand.”
Noah kept his eyes down, avoiding either of our gazes. Touched his shoulder, and he looked me in the eye.
Simultaneously, Terra and I hugged him, and I could feel his anxiety just dissolve away.
“Thank you.” He murmured.
“You’re welcome, sailor.”
He’s found a port at last. Noah is home from the sea.
60 Days, 29 December, Monday
Just remembered my list today. Remember it? Haven’t really thought about it since last month. Let’s see where we are today.
1. Make Noah smile for real.
2. Begin a collection of something.
3. Make snow angels on New Years Eve.
4. Sew a marvellous dress for Terra for Christmas.
5. Dance in the rain.
6. Paint a picture.
7. Learn to knit.
8. Buy a lava lamp.
9. Write something really interesting and profound, that people will remember. (Note: perfect words)
10. Fall in love, even for a few seconds.
Decided to finish numbers two and six today. Noah seemed eager to help me; he’s decidedly more cheerful today than yesterday.
We decided I should start collecting heart-shaped things. Glass or plastic gems like the two we already share. We found three more around the house, a tiny red one, that I suspect was candy in a past life; a big blue one that Terra gave us, and an orange glass one that was in the big gift basket.
It’s kind of cool, actually. I’m collecting hearts.
When we got to work deciding on what to paint, Terra joined us, helping us get the paint and water ready. Since this was sort of a spontaneous thing, we were painting on paper, which Noah claims is a nicer surface for painting anyway.
I painted a really terrible picture of a field of flowers, that Noah said he liked, but I was convinced he was only humouring me.
Terra painted a picture of the tea-kettle. The copper one. It actually wasn’t too bad.
And Noah was the best at it, obviously, as he usually is, and painted a white rose. How he managed to paint something so colourless on white paper and still have it look amazing is beyond me.
Watched his face as he worked, concentrating on his concentration. Extraordinary.
When we go back to school though, it just occurred to me, he won’t have outpatient care anymore. Think that means he’s going back home.
He can’t go back home.
There has to be something I can do to make it so the police or someone can stop him from going back there. His father is too damn powerful, though. What if I can’t stop him?
Noah will go wherever he feels like less of a burden, and I know he thinks he’s causing us trouble here.
No matter how much I tell him otherwise.
Damn his stubbornness.
59 Days, 30 December, Tuesday
Talked to Terra about where Noah would go once his outpatient care had finished, and she said that unless the police had a solid case against his father, then he would go back there.
“It’s really hard to have a good case against him without Noah’s testimony. But since he doesn’t remember, opposing counsel will tear him apart on the stand.”
There goes memory. Causing more problems for everyone.
Sometimes I wish every memory could be written for our perusal, even if we’ve forgotten it.
58 Days, 31 December, Wednesday
Tonight is the night the world begins again.
I’ve got a new policy. These last few days, I’ve been moping around, worrying about everything that’s going to happen.
Which makes me feel like a hypocrite, because I always state that I’m going to live for today, and to hell with tomorrow. It’s stupid to worry about tomorrow when it’s an unattainable thing. We never live in tomorrow, it only matters when it’s today.
Counting down all these days, it’s like reminding me how many todays I have left to experience. Not tomorrows.
So I cheered up. Moping around with worry today does nothing for tomorrow, and also wastes this day.
As soon as this occurred to me, I decided to make it my resolution. That’s the tradition. With each new year, we try to make ourselves or our lives better.
Another tradition we share at my house is to go outside and make snow angels. We can be angels. Noah is one, and I’m his guardian angel. It’s not so farfetched.
The clock was counting down to midnight, and we were hastily scribbling out our resolutions on strips of paper. Terra urged us to hurry, and was readying the matches.
Something we’ve always done is take our resolutions, write them down, and then burn them, allowing the embers to float up into the sky like our own personal fireworks.
We all went out onto the front lawn, where our neighbours already were with their resolutions. Terra’s good friends with them, but I don’t really know them. As the clock struck twelve, the entire block cheered, and we lit up our matches, setting our individual resolutions aflame.
Remember distinctly the way Noah’s face brightened as the fire engulfed his paper. Sharp shadows and brilliant highlights. Beautiful.
Noah edged closer to me as they burned, nudging me to get my attention. “I didn’t make a resolution.” He whispered.
“What did you burn then?”
“A wish. Is that okay?”
I laughed, “Probably! I can’t see anyone challenging that.”
A burned wish. That’s almost poetic.
“Also… number three.”
“Huh?”
“List item number three: Make snow angels on New Years Eve.”
I grinned, “You’re right.” Glanced behind me, and then flopped backwards into the snow on the front lawn. He looked at me curiously, until I motioned for him to copy me.
He complied, falling into the soft snow beside me.
“Like this.” Demonstrated the sweeping arm movements necessary for the wings, “You’ve got to open you
r wings.”
He began, and his wings ended up blending with mine. After we finished the wings, he grabbed my hand, holding it tightly. Even with mittens on I could feel his contentment.
The fireworks from over by the river were actually visible from here. They exploded in the sky, sending trails of light to descend like liquid stardust. The snow around us glittered with the same lights, reflecting from the nearby house as well.
Terra had lit some sparklers, and was passing them around to everyone, laughing loudly and cheering as the pops and bangs of the fireworks crackled around us.
She turned around to give each of us one, and saw us in the snow, grinning broadly. Instead of handing them to us, she lit a whole bunch and stuck them in the snow beside us.
“Tiny fireworks!” she exclaimed, and then ran off to the rest of the group.
There was so much laughter and light, and the feeling of Noah’s hand in my own was so comforting.
Looked over to him, and realised he was staring at me with wonder.
Smiled, and he inhaled a quick breath. “What?” I asked, squeezing his hand.
“Are you an angel?” he asked breathlessly.
Rolled slightly, and kissed him softly, before rolling back to my spot. “Only yours.”
He sighed through a smile, and then turned his attention to where I had just rolled.
“Your wing is broken.”
“Hm, so’s yours a bit.”
We awkwardly fixed the dents in the snow, still holding hands.
Don’t know how long we laid there until the thought occurred to me.
February is always snowy here.
I’m going to die in the snow.
The final snow angel.
December
/end.
57 Days, 1 January, Thursday
So another thing I’ve noticed during this whole recovery period that I’ve never commented on is the fact that Noah never complains.
Have to ask him how he’s feeling for him to actually tell me. You’d think if he was in pain, he’d let me know.
It was only when I was reaching past him on the couch and leaned on his leg did he make any noise to warn me that he was in pain.
He sucked in a sharp hiss, flinching away from the contact I made with him. Looked at him with obvious surprise.
“I’m sorry.” He said automatically. “I did not mean to do that.”
“Well, what’s the matter? Your leg-”
“It is rather inflamed and sore. Please excuse me.”
“What? Let me have a look at it, I could put some medicine on it.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
That’s the sentence that summed it up. He hates to be a problem for people. Guess that’s why he gave up his happiness so readily to stop his curse.
“You’re no trouble to me, please just let me help you.”
He always looks so grateful when I say stuff like that. After adjusting on the couch a bit, he rolled up the leg of his pajama pants, revealing his knee, which was pink and hot with swelling.
“Whoa, what did you do?”
“I fell getting out of bed two mornings ago. We were busy with other things, so I did not inform you.”
“But this looks terrible! Doesn’t it hurt a lot?”
“It does.”
“I don’t like it when you’re hurt.” I mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t like it when you’re hurt.” I said more clearly, looking up at him while my hands hovered gently over his knee. His face was also flushed red, and he looked kind of shaky. It must really hurt. “I’m gonna go get that peppermint stuff, okay? Just sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
He made a noise to say something else, but I held up my hand. “Don’t protest, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
A jiffy is about a minute and a half, by his timing.
As I was rubbing the peppermint stuff into his knee, he placed his hand over mine. It was cold and clammy. “Aerie, do you wish for me to tell you of every discomfort I have?”
“That would be good, so then I can help you.”
“You are not annoyed by it? I find that complaining about every pain could become wearisome.”
“Isn’t it more wearisome for you if you just sit there in pain and not do anything about it?”
He was silent, but I could detect him nodding. “Then I must tell you about the itch on my back. Is that okay?”
I grinned exasperatedly, “What’s wrong with your back?”
He pivoted on the sofa, lifting the hem of his shirt up and revealing another pink inflamed area around the rough scrape up the length of his back. There were also the telltale signs of infection starting there, crusting around the partially healed wound.
“Ahh, this is infected! You need some antibiotics or something!” Was about to ask him why he didn’t tell me about it again, and then shut my mouth. The scrape was burning hot, which mirrored the warm blush that worked across his face.
Oh, that explains why he’s so feverish. As I touched the outside of the scrape, goosebumps worked all up his flesh, and he shuddered.
“Cold…” he mumbled. “I’m terribly cold.”
He started shivering, which I kind of suspect he was largely keeping in check before I touched him. It was almost as if the moment he told me what was wrong, he allowed it to truly affect him.
Grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, and helped him to his bedroom, reciting what I had read in Terra’s medical journals in my head.
Acetaminophen and a juice box, right?
He was lying incredibly still in the bed, staring at the ceiling as I approached with the thermometer, a bottle of Tylenol, and a glass of orange juice.
“Hey…” I said softly, “Can you sit up?”
Noah sat up slowly, almost like Frankenstein’s monster rising up off the bed.
He took the acetaminophen without complaint, drinking the juice completely. Settled him back into bed, and placed the thermometer under his tongue, sitting beside him and watching the matchstick numbers of the digital clock.
Almost think he’s getting worse by the minute. Right now, I’m thinking I should call Terra.
After the allotted time had passed, I checked the thermometer at 101.6. Which was decidedly a serious fever. At least I’m pretty sure.
Got him to roll onto his stomach so I could get a better look at the scrape all up his back, touching it softly. It radiated heat, could feel it before I even touched him.
He swallowed, looking at me with obvious exhaustion. He must be so tired of being injured.
“I think you might need some antibiotics.” I said, placing my fingertips on the blazing wound.
“Does that mean the hospital again?” Noah sighed, burying his face into his pillow.
“Yeah, but it shouldn't take too long. We can get you something for the swelling and pain in your knee, and some penicillin for that infection.”
“I suppose you would know best.”
“Damn right.” I grinned.
Called Terra after that, and she said she’d come get us on her break.
By the time she showed up, I was reading in the chair in his room, and Noah was sleeping facedown in his pillow.
Getting to the hospital and getting him the antibiotics was a rather silent affair. Don’t think he likes the hospital still.
He did say ‘thank you’ quite a bit though. Murmured softly through his lips like silent prayers.
Just hope he gets better before school starts.
Noah has to go home after school the first day. Apparently, the police deemed it to be a safe environment.
It’s stupid. He should be with me.
58 Days, 2 January, Friday
Had a weird dream last night. Saw that man I remember, the one who was crying. Think I only mentioned him once.
His hair was really dark, and he had bandages on his face. His one eye was yellow, and piercing, like he knew ev
erything about you as soon as he looked at you.
Still don’t know his name, or even if he has one, but the brief meeting we had stuck in my brain.
He was sitting at an incredibly cluttered desk, writing something down and then throwing the paper on top of the loosely stacked pile. Approached him slowly, fearful to move too quickly. Maybe this inherent cautiousness was a good idea, because he seemed to lose it, and buried his face in his hands, letting out a frustrated oath.
“Hey…” I said, sinking into the chair in front of the desk.
He looked up immediately, gasping. Hurriedly, he wiped his face, seeming to gain his composure instantly. “What? Is dinner ready then?”
“Huh?” I then noticed I was wearing a chef’s outfit. A big white coat with buttons all down the front, and crisp white pants. “Er… yeah, I guess so.”
He studied me critically for a moment, (which is how I know about his freaky eye) and then stood, turning around and reaching into the filing cabinet behind him.
“Oh, it’s you again…” he sighed, rummaging around for a moment.
When he turned, he had two pistols in his hands, and fired both of them, narrowly missing me and hitting the wall on either side of my head.
I froze, alarmed by the proximity of the bullets and the exploding noise that preceded them.
“You’d better run before I remember I’m a perfect shot.” He said quietly, holding the guns shakily before him with his head bowed.
Got out as quickly as I could, slamming the door behind me and rushing down the hall as more shots sounded out behind me.
What was that guy’s deal? Kept running down the dark hallway, finally finding some stairs and running up them. Think I was in a dungeon or something.
Eventually, it got brighter, and I stopped to catch my breath.
“Aerian, you let the pot boil over.”
Looked up to see who it was when I woke up. Really wish that would stop happening.
Today, Noah seemed in good spirits, no doubt because he wasn’t trying to hide the fact he was in pain anymore. It was comforting, actually.
