Breath Of Life

“I knew you would,” he says.

His voice is a lifeline. No words are needed. A hush falls over the phone. The tension slowly fades away, and I find a sense of peace. There’s something about sharing the experience with the person who was there when it all went down.

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah, actually I do. I think I can sleep now. You?”

“Same,” he says.

“Talk to you later on today?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” The smile is audible.

I disconnect feeling better for a reason I can’t explain and don’t want to examine too thoroughly. The relief of the pressure squeezing me like a vise is all that matters. I stand, knowing sleep won’t be coming, and walk into the kitchen. My hair is curled up around my edges from sweat. I’m gross, but too on edge to shower. I fill a black cast iron kettle, set it on my stove, and light the gas burner.

The familiar actions continue to help me decompress. I pull out my tin of Chamomile tea, and my favorite mug—a coloring changing ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good’ mug. I scoop two tablespoons full of raw sugar inside and wait for the magic to happen on the stove. Bracing my hands on the counter, I round my back, lengthen my spine, and repeat.

I took up yoga years ago to manage the too tight muscles in my back, and the crowded head space that housed my thoughts. I could never shut off the flow of imagery and to-do lists when I laid down. A co-worker suggested I try yoga when I stumbled onto a movie set with an extra-large coffee and heavy concealer. I’m not an actress or a model, but if you come in looking like hell, folks don’t want you to touch their makeup.

The whistle blows, and I prepare my tea as I make a to-do list in my head to think about anything else but that night.

“HOW ARE YOU?”

I glance at my sister, Riley, and shrug as I push the pickled beets and lettuce together then take a bite. I chew slowly to gain more time before I speak. Always intuitive, my sister—a physical therapist and Reiki Master—is insanely good at reading people, especially if they’re family.

“If you say fine, I’m going to call you out on it,” Riley says as she wags her fork at me.

I swallow and sigh. “I don’t know how to answer that. I mean I’m not physically harmed, but my head isn’t screwed back on straight just yet. It’s changed the filter I see the world through. I’ll never be able to go back totally. I hope in time I won’t be so jaded.”

Riley purses her fire engine red lips. Her thin eyebrows draw together, and she leans in. Her cloud of pink curls dances around her face. “Jaded how?”

“I’m always looking over my shoulder, and trying to read people and my surroundings. I don’t feel safe anymore. It’s a state of being we live in without thinking on it. We know the world’s not the best, but it doesn’t affect us directly until it does.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Yeah, well me either.” I stab the salad and bring it to my mouth. It might as well be sawdust. I can’t taste anything as the anger flares. I know she’s trying to help, but it’s dredging everything up and adding to my unease.

“You need to have your chakra realigned.”

I huff and blow the strands of hair away from my face. “Riley.”

“What? I’m serious. A traumatic event like this can throw everything off. I can look at you and tell you’re not yourself.”

Of course I’m not! I got robbed and damn near raped. I bite my tongue to keep from taking out misplaced anger on her. I’m all for believing what makes sense, and if I’m honest, I’ve seen Reiki do some wonderful things. I don’t believe for a second it can fix what’s going on with me. I clutch the fork.

“Q?”

“I hear you, Riley. If you want me to make an appointment for an alignment, I’ll do that.”

“Your energy is off, baby sister. I can take one look at you and see that. Your eyes don’t hold their normal spark.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask with a huff. “It’s not like being robbed at gunpoint and damn near dragged off is an event you recover from in a week or two weeks. It’s going to take some time, and having everyone hover over me giving me those ‘Poor Quinn’ expressions isn’t helping me any.”

“What do you want us to do? We’re worried, and you always hold everything so damn close to your chest it’s like using a pry bar to loosen you up.”

“Because I like to share when I’m ready and not before. You never understood that. I’m like Dad. We like to sit on things, turn them around in our head, and get comfortable with our thoughts before we invite anyone else into our problems.”

Riley huffs. “First of all, you weren’t always like this. And no ... what you like to do is pretend everything is fine when it’s not.”