Shaken And Stirred
To your 25th (aka Year 2.5),
Something works its way through your body when you see the words “traffic accident,” “rods, pins, screws,” “surgical procedure,” “right leg,” “ankles.” It shakes you. And leaves you petrified. Some people describe it as that feeling felt deep within your bones. Others may diagnose it with the letters P-T-S-D.
Whatever it is awakens the memories. Your mind begins to project scenes of the past—each one like an image in a filmstrip. You memorize every last detail. And part of you (the part of you that you’re not allowed to let others find out about) yearns for these kinds of moments.
They say “Be grateful. Forget and move on. You got a second chance. Life is beautiful. Cherish it. Love yourself.” And they are the people who wept in the mornings and waited through the evenings. They begged the Lord and every doctor for that second chance. They suffered because of what you did so you owe it to them to be grateful, to forget and move on, to cherish your second chance at life, and to love yourself.
In their presence, you silenced this unnamed whatever. But whatever it is was still there, waiting to be acknowledged. So this year on your birthday, you tried to put a name to that whatever by giving yourself the permission to relive the things from 2.5 years ago.
The platform for the subway marked with the number 7. Where you crossed the yellow line painted to caution. And waited for the grinding of the iron against the railroad tracks. You let your foot hang. You stretched out your right hand. You deliberated.
The parking lot above the shopping mall. Where you swiped open the camera on your brand new phone. Just minutes before the fateful fall, you took a series of pictures. You could never remember why.
The hospital you were taken to. Where the doctor who worked the day shift removed the staples in your leg one by one—a pinching. Where the doctor who worked the night shift refused to give you any more oxycodone for the pain that wouldn’t stop—a throbbing.
You let your mind meander through the memories but you didn’t lose yourself in the time travel. You held on to the present. You’re learning how to remember the Before while still living for Right Now. And as you get older, you’ll get better and better at it.
Sincerely, Esther
