28 Days Later
SHOVING MY FRESHLY LAUNDERED clothes into my trash bag, I grumble, “I cannot believe we actually have to walk out with a flipping trash bag. It’s so…trashy.”
A hearty laugh sounds from behind me, and I smile. “Really?” I heave another pair of jeans into the bag. “Come on, Nurse Bridge, you can do better than this.”
Nurse Bridge snatches the trash bag out of my hand and gives me a glaring look. “You know, I’ve had some stubborn, cranky patients before, but you take the cake, princess.” She shakes her head, all serious, and I can’t help but smile.
“You know you’ll miss me. Just admit it.”
Her smile drops, and I feel the seriousness of this moment pressing on me, like the room is shrinking, walls closing in.
This is it.
“I won’t miss you,” she says, plopping my bag on the bed, then fisting her hands on her wide hips. “And you know why? Because I never want to see you in here again. I mean that.”
With a heavy breath, I nod. “I know.”
“Do you?” She cocks her head. “I told you once, you’re different. And I’ll be damned if you didn’t prove just that. It’s rare when a patient who’s forced into rehab actually turns right around and readmits themselves voluntarily. That doesn’t happen often, Mel. And you better not waste this chance—it’s even more of a rarity.”
Damn. I’m going to miss her big mama self. “Just give it to me straight, why don’t ya?”
She laughs. “Would it penetrate that thick head of yours, otherwise?”
I roll my eyes. “I have a thin, pretty head, thanks.” I glance around my small room; the same one I had before when I was first admitted. But this time, I don’t dread its walls. I don’t feel locked up and isolated.
A different kind of fear envelops me. The one where I’m afraid to leave. Not sure if I can keep my shit together on the other side of them.
“Hey,” Nurse Bridge cuts into my thoughts. I look at her, and she says, “You’re going to be okay, Mel. Nothing to fear.”
With that extra vote of confidence, I smile and head to my bed where I tweak out the journal from between my mattresses. The poems and stories I’ve spent the past month creating. The moments I shared with people on the road, the times I had, the lessons learned, the mistakes made—it’s all documented.
It’s my life, and it’s my foundation.
I don’t know what tomorrow will be, but I do want a tomorrow. I do understand how to have a tomorrow. That’s my ultimate aim. My new motto; the one I recite when I feel the anxiety start to pull me under. I want to live, and I want to be as happy as I can in this life.
As I tie off my trash bag, Ari enters our room, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s gained some weight during her extended stay here, and I’m hoping that when she transfers to her new college, she’ll continue to see herself the way I do—beautiful and smart. Capable.
She moves beside me and brings something from behind her back. A pink journal. “We can’t really get any good going away presents up in here,” she says, shaking her head. “But I still wanted you to have something from me.”
I accept the gift and flip open to the first page. A poem written by her, and her contact information. “Ari, this is…”
“It’s nothing,” she says. “Don’t make a thing out of it. And read the poem later.” Her thin face blushes, and I close the journal.
“Thanks.” I give her a tight smile. “And listen, when you get settled at your new school, if you ever need anything…just call, okay? I’ll be there.”
She nods and smiles, but I can see the distress buried just beneath. The worry about having to go back home to her parents; having to start over in a new college. “Keep writing, Mel. I’ll miss you.”
I hug her, feeling the frailness of her body, and despite her aversion for human touch, she wraps her arms around me, offering me something few people receive from her. Her trust.
Nurse Bridge nods toward the door. “It’s time. I think someone’s been waiting for you all morning.”
As we leave the community area of Stoney Creek, I say my goodbyes. To Doc Sid and the other counselors, a few friends I made, and the faculty. But I hug Nurse Bridge the longest. I’m going to miss my big mama and Ari the most.
After I sign myself out, I toss my garbage bag over my shoulder and step through the doors. The bright morning sun welcomes me back into the world, and standing in the parking lot, grin on his fa
ce, another welcome awaits.
Leaning against his bobber, shades lowered and wearing a gorgeous smile hiking up one side of his face, lone dimple just for me, Boone stands with his hands sunk in his jean pockets.