The sound of shattering glass yanked me abruptly from my reverie. I had returned to my bedroom…the ‘living painting’ had vanished. My mind refused to comprehend what had just happened as it desperately tried to return to the surreal forest. That lofty world was gone. My special tree was lost, too. I found myself back in a harsh reality, soaked in agony.
White hot pain seared through my forearms and hands. Blood sprayed from the cuts and slices. I didn’t attempt to stop the blood flow, although it was spilling all over the floor. I silently watched in morbid awe as the crimson liquid gushed from my wounds.
I was emotionally devastated from touching the ravaged tree…so much untold sorrow and pain…my secret left behind.
“Ember, are you okay??” Tray shrieked as he rushed down the hall.
But, I couldn’t answer him. My voice is lost somewhere deep inside me.
My brother swiftly surveyed the scene before he disappeared. It seemed like he was only gone for a split second before he ran back into my bedroom with a handful of paper towels. His panicked grip crushed both of my arms as he pressed down on the wounds to stop the bleeding. He was deathly pale and breathless.
“What happened in here???” he finally asked.
His voice was shaking, like he was fighting to suppress a choke.
“I…I don’t know…exactly,” I replied, weakly.
That was the best explanation I had to offer to him, right then.
I must have crossed over the brink into insanity. How can I tell Tray something like that?? It’s not like I can say I was transported into a painted landscape that transformed into a surreal world. Or, that I went on an imaginary flight through an enchanted forest. How can I explain a collision into a barrier made of nothing? Or how a dead, ancient tree is holding a secret for me??
There’s no way to tell him those things – not without a straitjacket being issued with my name embroidered on it. I must have been hallucinating. No rational explanation would come to mind. So I simply stood transfixed in excruciating silence and stared at him in confusion. I must have turned temporarily psychotic because reality was bombarding me with the evidence.
The pain continued to assault my body as the awkward stillness carried on. I could see a thousand unasked questions swirling behind Tray’s eyes. Then, I thought about how this insane scenario must look from an outsider’s perspective. When that scene crossed my mind I had to suppress an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing.
Hey anyone, does small town USA have a loony bin????
Tray continued to apply pressure against the wounds for what felt like an eternity. He was nervously biting on his lower lip and trying to maintain a calm, neutral facial expression – a gypsy mask he designed for my benefit. His face eventually shadowed over from his emotions. It betrayed him, revealing his true feelings. The uncomfortable tension grew into the size of a mountain.
My arms felt bruised, ripped and raw when my brother removed the blood soaked towels in order to look at my injuries.
“They’re deep, Little Girl…” he offered and paused.
I took comfort in his chosen nickname for me. Every time he calls me ‘little girl’ it reminds me that he is my parent…my protector.
“I’m sure they look much worse than they are…” I replied without examining them.
The pain feels like a red hot poker being jabbed into my flesh. I can’t let Tray know how much the wounds are hurting though. I also refuse to visit the emergency room on my first day in our new home. That little excursion will hopefully be reserved for a much, much later time – somewhere close to never.
“You need stitches…”
“No, what I need right this instant is a new window pane. We have to do something about this ‘Ember-window-smashing-catastrophe’ before our landlady returns. I would hate to get us ‘kicked out on our butts without a refund’ tonight. We should at least, get to sleep in the beds one time before your security deposit is lost to the Bank of Dills, forever,” I said.
We exchanged a tense moment of ironic laughter.
I have always been prone to bizarre mishaps. Somehow, I have miraculously managed to avoid scars…well, up until this point I avoided them. I’m not accident prone – just extremely curious and that makes me inattentive. These distractions usually lead to trouble. Although I’m normally annoyed by that fact, today I’m grateful for my historical shortcomings.
Tray will not question me about how I managed to put both of my hands and forearms through a window pane. He will just chalk it up to me, being me. Hopefully, he will never have to know that I inexplicably turned into a raging mental case. Some things are better off being sorted out alone – if that’s even possible in this scenario – especially those things that could land me in a nice padded room that locks from the outside.
When I finally built up the courage to look at my injuries, I was horrified. They were shimmering! Hundreds of glassy slivers were imbedded in the raw, exposed flesh. I realized, with a wave of nausea, that those shards will have to be removed.
My brother led me into the bathroom and cleaned the wounds in the sink. As the water washed over the slices, it felt like I had suddenly placed my arms inside an incinerator. Then, I braced myself and prepared for the agony. I silently vowed that I wouldn’t cry out in pain, no matter how much it hurt. But, I broke that promise about fifteen seconds into the procedure.
I managed to get myself back under control after that initial bout of hysteria. Every time I made the slightest noise or movement though, my brother would apologize to me with a pain-soaked facial expression.
Tray’s suffering added another hideous agony on top of my own torment. His personal torture had literally been provided by my own hands. I avoided looking at him and managed to not flinch anymore until he was finished.
This whole scenario is ripping his heart to shreds. Emotional pain is always so much worse than physical pain.
An hour later, he was finished. Every inch of my body was exhausted. My hands and arms were throbbing while Tray applied the bandages. Then, he handed me two painkillers. I swallowed them and regretfully wished that I had taken the medication before the glass removal procedure.
I tried to think of something lighthearted to say, but my words would fail me. I didn’t even protest when he suggested that I go to bed for the night. After turning off my stereo, he gathered the items I unpacked and, in true male form, tossed them on the floor.
He left me to find something to ‘repair’ the broken window. He returned a few minutes later with a sheet of blue Styrofoam insulation and a roll of packing tape. Using only the light from the hallway to see his way around, he temporarily fixed the window until it could be repaired properly tomorrow.