A story. THE story.

She lay on her side in the fetal position. She hated that word “fetal.” It sounded so medical, so impersonal…plus it reminded her of the baby she’d never have. So she hated the word for many reasons. She buried herself under her white down comforter that was cool in the summer, but provided enough warmth in the mild Texas winters. She burrowed into the mattress, wanting to sink down into it. She cried so hard that her body shook with each wail. Her audible cries probably carried throughout the room to the adjoining utility room and out the door to the backyard that was ajar by the help of a bird-shaped pillow, which was purposely placed there so her cat Mollie could come in and out as she pleased, in the evening hours after she got home from work. But she didn’t care who heard. Let the whole neighborhood hear. They probably heard her screaming and cussing earlier over god knows what, so why not this too, now? Who cares? It’s not like they didn’t already think she was the weird cat lady who would call to her cat as if she were a human child, saying phrases like “Mollie don’t make me come find you!” and “Why don’t you ever listen?” They knew she clearly lived alone and had no friends, seeing as no one ever came over to her house. They’d seen her come home every day about 5, carrying a brown sack from whatever fast-food restaurant she chose that night. So was her crying really that unexpected? If that was her life I just described, did it really surprise anyone that she’d be crying?

She was facing away from the door, her comforter still encompassing her, cocooning her body. She left just her face out so she could breathe, because from all the shallow breaths she was trying to catch amongst the crying, it was making it difficult to breathe, especially under a comforter. She was listening to music on her TV screen through Amazon. The words of Beck called out- “True love will find you in the end. You’ll find out just who was your friend. Don’t be sad, I know you will. Don’t give up until true love finds you in the end.” She cried harder and tried to hug herself but it didn’t work, so she envisioned someone holding her, squeezing her tightly. It had worked years ago when she was maybe 20. She actually felt arms and the tight embrace. Of course it was a trick of the mind, but the important thing is that it worked. But it didn’t work this time. She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t envision it. She couldn’t trick herself into believing that it was happening in that moment, as much as she wanted to. She closed her eyes tight and kept thinking “I can’t do it anymore. I want this to be over. I don’t want to live anymore.” She had reached her breaking point before, so I won’t call this a breaking point. Even though deep down she knew she’d move past this moment, that didn’t matter, because this moment would come again…and again…and again. And she didn’t want to keep living this moment over and over again. She wanted it to all end. She was dying, both inside and out. Her body was disintegrating. If you blew lightly on her skin, her dusty bones would crumble before you and there would be nothing left but ash. If it happened outdoors then all it would take would be for one gust of wind to blown through and her entire being would be gone. As if she was never here. And why would she break down so easily you ask? Is she getting enough calcium? Why yes, yes she is. On her 13^th birthday she broke her femur in half and when they did surgery they said they had never seen anything like it. There was calcium leaking from bones, she had too much. They were super strong, but yet she broke the biggest bone in your body, in half. No easy feat. So it would make complete sense for someone who hasn’t felt the embrace of even basic human touch in months; who hasn’t been held on tightly and securely, body to body locking in as one, in over a decade. It would make sense that someone who has been missing out on something everybody else takes for granted, would fall apart so easily. Not quickly, but easily. There’s nothing quick about it. It had taken years to break down to this point. Years.

But then something miraculous happened, something that was impossible and can’t be explained, yet she wasn’t startled by it, which she probably should have been. She would’ve heard the creak of the box spring, if she still had her old one. Or she would’ve felt the mattress shift, if it was one of those older, lumpy mattresses, but it wasn’t, so she didn’t. She only felt arms wrap around her, scoop her up, not off the bed, but into the arms of another. Her fatigue from her crying spell left her limp, but she remained in the fetal position, a perfect little spoon for a big spoon to fit. She thought about her hair clinging to her wet face from all her crying. That’s what she thought about in this moment, not who or what or how anyone could possibly be spooning her right now. She considered reaching up to move her hair from her face when right then, the hand attached to the arms that were holding her tightly, let go for a second and moved the hair from her face, gently and methodically pushing it behind her ears. This made her cry again. Not full on cry, but she felt the tears escape from her eyes and fall. This was what she wanted for as long as she could remember. Someone to hold her and to push her fallen hair behind her ears. I mean nobody does that unless you’re in an intimate relationship with them. Friends don’t just push the hair that’s fallen in your face behind your ears. She turned her face into the mattress as if embarrassed that she was crying again. But this only made the arms hold her that much tighter. She reached her hands up in front of her body to grasp the hands as if to make sure they weren’t planning on letting her go. But they weren’t and she knew it. The hands felt soft and delicate. The fingers felt long and elegant and the hands felt no bigger than her own. But the strength of them felt ten times stronger than her own. Suddenly another song playing on her TV in front of her came on. It was a familiar one. One of her favorites. She opened her eyes to read the words along with the artist. But as soon as the first verse began, the mysterious hands grew a voice. Well more accurately a voice from behind her began to sing: “You with the sad eyes. Don’t be discouraged oh I realize it’s hard to take courage. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all and the darkness inside you make you feel so small. But I see your true colors shining through. I see your true colors and that’s why I love you. So don’t be afraid to let them show, your true colors, true colors are beautiful, like a rainbow.” Her voice was methodical. It sounded like what cotton candy looks and tastes like. Light, fluffy and sweet. It was a beautiful voice. The voice of an angel. Only she hoped it wasn’t a real angel. Because angels don’t stick around…or have real bodies…or are visible to the human eye. She felt the body of the big spoon move in and join her little spoon, and they fit together like the most perfect puzzle piece. With the simplest of ease. They were now One. The hands that become the voice that became the body, when she felt it bond with hers, was definitely female. She began to hum the rest of the song, in a way that lulled the once crying girl into a trance. She felt the whole body still holding her, yet the bed below seemed to have dropped from existence. It felt like she was floating, but still very much being held on to. She didn’t open her eyes for fear that she would discover she really was hovering and that would be too much for her to comprehend, even more than the mystical female being that was in her room holding her in this moment. When she felt that the voice was about to speak again, the girl felt her body rejoin the bed and the plane of existence they were currently on. Her eyes opened wide when she felt the breath of the other, on her ear. She had leaned in and began to whisper in her ear- “Don’t give up hope.” Then gently she kissed the little spoon’s cheek and as quickly as she had come, she left. She was gone. The girl knew it, but yet she could still feel the other’s arms, even if for a fleeting second. She could feel the after-effects of her warmth, of her embrace. The aftershock was powerful and she clung to it and whispered back to herself as if she had been the one to say it the first time- “Don’t give up hope.” And maybe it was just the girl all along…who’s to say really.