Monday, March 8

File Cabinet #1; Worry Dolls.

There was screaming. You couldn't get it out of your head. You could feel it in your head.

The summer nights surrounded us, as we casually talked. Faces floating by. Old high school sort of friends, and foes. The heat of the air was more that welcomed. Crowds and crowds of faces. The heat. The faces. We all waited gathered around each other, voices from all around, it was summer of '08. We traveled. We waited. Yet, there was a funny taste in the air. A collaboration to watch explosions in the sky, a single framed sky. That was it. I remember the feeling. There were so many people. As we talked, and talked and watched and waited for bursts of flame to erupt, an unexpected downpour was upon us. Drenched in wet wet summer water, falling from the sky.
Metaphor. And real. We watched the sky, for something great.
In the rain.
Then, nobody knew what to do. A quick glance to one another. A friend glanced at his glowing phone, and he glanced at me, then glanced again. I felt the sky fall. It was raining. I was raining. He pulled me aside, from the crowds, and the rain. And told me.
"They are taking her to the emergency room."

I broke. She had broken. I didn't know. I didn't know.
My mind made from mud, and sticks, evaporating with the crowded place. I couldn't hold it in.
We had all seen it coming.
There was no hesitation.
As the fire, in the sky blew, boomed, and shook us. We ran, in the mist of rain.
Six of us. Running. Scared.
Running to her.
We climbed into my small, white, beat, car...and we drove down the road. The air felt still and nervous between our quiet bodies. There was complete silence. She was there, we were coming to her. A burst, a rush a quick run into the towering white place. Our eyes were glossy. Scared. We held each other.
For you.
For her.
We could feel it all.
The complications.
The downfall.
The hurt.
The friendship.
The ties.
The broken.
The wounds; hands.

I remember seeing her face. Hooded, in a small room. Her hands holding small things, little dolls, hooded. Her hands raw. Prickled. Hurt. I found her father. I hugged him. We didn't say a word. Her brother. We didn't say a word. Our hair, messy and wind blown. Our eyes, glazed.

I locked eyes with her. She wasn't in there. I couldn't see her. She couldn't see me. We were staring at each other. In that white room. In her blue jacket.
In all the night. I whispered, I love you.
"Please be okay," I prayed. I prayed so much that night.
I whispered it with all the atoms in my soul.
Those little dolls she was holding, with names like Fred.
I can't get the image out of my head.
Sleeping in her bed that night. Finding letters. Meeting with her father. My dear friend. Alone in her head. The strange summer.
I can't get the image out of my head.

I take a step back. I recognize my friend. I recognize the hurt we feel. How hurt, should never go unnoticed. We should always take things into our own hands. And help one another.
I admire you. How far you have come. How well you are now.
There there are no more empty rooms.
There are no more metaphors.
There are no more harmful figures.
There are no more crying nights.
There is no guilt.
Even though there is not a Gypsy anymore, you will always find his cousin, lurking around...helping.
There is not too much pain now.
There are more snow cones to eat.
There are more summer nights, and video tapes.
There are more laughs together.
There are more colour fests, and running on football fields. There are more pictures to be taken, and jokes. There is so much more. There are memories to be made. There are events to be late for, and outfits to change, and hair to cut. There are nights to stay up, and fries to eat. There are friends, upon friends, upon friends. There are tramps to jump on. And camps to go to. There is Bear Lake.
I'm glad I can see you, in your eyes.
Welcome home, K.

I love you. You are loved.
My friend.

To, DV, RW, KW, KM, CC, RB. Summer '08.
My friends. Thank you, your strength. Our closeness.
I don't think any one of us could forget.

written by: Macy Chapman

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