As I try harder and harder to think of the good,
it becomes harder and harder to breathe.
____
Theme from English B
by Madison Abercrombie
The instructor said,
Go home tonight and write
A page tonight
And let that page
Come out of you….
Then it will be true.
I understand the way it should be…
And I understand the way it’s not.
Four white walls, two doors, my closet and my bedroom door.
A TV that’s turned on ten hours a day. Or more.
A window that is as tall as I am,
And as wide as two people lying side by side.
I stare at the streetlights just outside my window,
The only light that brightens my room.
I hear three hard knocks against my bedroom door,
But I don’t crawl down the ladder of my bunk bed.
Two more knocks,
And this time they grow louder
I sit and stare, blink once
And then simply close my eyes.
I feel my eyes puff up as I try harder to control my breathing.
I think about my life.
I focus on the good.
As I try harder and harder to think of the good,
It becomes harder and harder to breathe.
I open my eyes but my crying continues.
I cradle my knees in my arms and fall to the right,
I grab the closet handle.
I grab a life-sized stuffed bear and move it closer to me.
I lay my head on its bowling ball-sized head.
I throw my left leg over the bear’s stomach,
I cry some more.
I can no longer breathe; I pant.
My lungs hurt as my breath leaves my body.
My eyes sting as tears drip down my face.
It all feels as if there is no peace;
That my world is falling apart
This is the feeling of me feeling helpless.
I hear my bedroom door opening.
My sister rushes to my bed and hurries up the ladder
She sits beside me.
She raises her arms.
She pets my head,
Then moves closer.
I feel her fear.
I feel her heart pounding faster and faster,
She fears holding me,
Fears I will push her away.
I hear her steady breathing becoming less steady
She grabs my shoulder,
Then my head,
She gently places my head on her chest.
I hear her heartbeat accelerating,
Then slowing as I hold her tightly.
I feel her relief as I allow her to comfort me.
She brushes my hair behind my ears and kisses the top of my head.
“It’ll be okay, I’m here. It has to get worse before it gets better. This is just our lives, now. Okay? This is just what we came from. This isn’t us; this isn’t what we are. I promise.”
She whispers this to me as she holds my hand,
Kisses my forehead.
She grabs my pillow and adjusts it to the back of her head.
She holds my hand and strokes my head as I close my eyes.
I come from a place where my sisters are my mentors.
I come from a dad who didn’t have bad luck or bad timing.
I come from a dad who did drugs and left us behind to become
A bum, cigarette smoking, meth loving “Son of God,”
As he tells my sisters and me,
Expecting us to forgive everything he’s done.
I come from a career mom.
A woman who returned to college at age 34
To create a better world for her children.
I come from UCLA Family Housing.
I come from, “It can only get better.”
As all my close friends say,
But feeling heartbroken
When it gets worse.
—-
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