I slip on a clean shirt and walk back to my bedroom. Mia is sitting on my bed, looking through one of my old photo albums. “Are you going to show me?” she asks, not bothering to look up.
I had every intention of showing her. I should show her, but for some reason I don’t want to. I can’t explain it, but it’s like I have this secret that nobody else knows about. It’s my little secret. My little slice of heaven in a word, and I don’t think I’m ready to share it with anyone yet.
“Will you be mad if I don’t?” I ask, walking over to my closet and pulling a pair of black pants off the hanger. I slip my jeans off, shimmy into the slacks and sit down on the bed next to her. Only when the bed dips under my weight does she shut the album and look at me.
“Do you regret it?”
“The tattoo?”
“No. The piercing.” She rolls her eyes and shoves me playfully.
“No,” I reply, surprised at how easily I answered. Because I don’t regret it. This tattoo is special to me in a way that no one else could possibly understand.
“Then, no. If you don’t regret it, I won’t be mad.” She shrugs her shoulder and smiles. “I’m just really proud of you.” And I know she is, I can see it in her eyes.
“Thank you.” I take a deep breath. “I’m really proud of me too.” She nods and we both fall into a comfortable silence. I’m not sure what Mia’s thinking about, but I’m thinking about tomorrow because the closer I get to tomorrow, the more nervous I become. I shouldn’t be. I’ve been preparing myself for weeks now, and I should want to get started so I can get it over with. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy, because as much as it is a means to an end, there is no guarantee it will work.
If I’m being honest, I’m scared . . . and if I’m truly being honest with myself, scared probably isn’t even the right word. I’m terrified. I’ve spent way too much time on Google, and as much good information as it’s given me, there’s been just as much bad—and the bad scares the crap out of me.
I close my eyes and count to ten . . . slowly. It’s been my thing ever since surgery. Right before I went under, the anesthesiologist told me to count to ten, and somewhere around four I drifted into a peaceful sleep. So now when I find myself getting worked up and anxious, I stop and count to ten. Usually by the time I get to one, I’ve been able to calm myself down.
“Are you scared?” Mia asks. I look at her, but she’s looking down at her hands. I guess we were thinking about the same thing. I throw myself back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. The fan is on low and my eyes lock on a single blade, following as it goes around and around. Once again, I find myself counting.
I’ve tried really hard to put up a good front with Mia. I don’t need to drown her in all of my worries. What I do need is for her to stay positive, and if she’s going to stay positive, then she has to think I’m staying positive. But it doesn’t matter how good my façade is, sometimes the truth seeps through.
“Yes. But it’s a different sort of scared. It’s not the-boogie-man-is-gonna-get-me sort of scared or a crap-there’s-a-spider sort of scared.” Mia lies back on the bed and I feel her soft hand grip mine. I squeeze it, allowing her to anchor me to the here and now. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s a panicky type of fear. When I start thinking about it, my heart starts racing, my mind goes a mile a minute and I can literally feel adrenaline pumping through my body. But the adrenaline makes me shaky and nervous, and it doesn’t matter how many deep breaths I take or how many times I count to ten, it’s still there nagging at me. Because when push comes to shove, it’s still my reality. A reality I have to face, and sometimes that alone is terrifying.” I can feel Mia watching me so I turn my head. Her eyes aren’t filled with pity, thank God, because that’s the last thing I want. But they are shining with sorrow.
“I wish it was someone else,” she croaks, swallowing hard. “There are thousands of bad people in the world, but it happened to you.” I watch her eyes fill with tears and then I look away. It’s pathetic of me really; that I’m unable to look my best friend in the face when it’s obvious that she is struggling with this almost as much as I am. But I’ve cried my fair share of tears and although I’m certain my tear ducts have yet to dry up, I don’t want to cry tonight. Somehow I know that if I watch Mia break, then I’ll shatter right along with her.
“I’m glad it’s me.” She gasps, startled by my words, and I rush to try and explain. “If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else, and I would never wish this upon someone else. You know that saying that God will only give you what you can handle?”
She nods.
“Sometimes I tell myself that he just thinks I’m really strong and I can handle it, whereas someone else couldn’t.”
“Does that help?” she asks. “Does that make you feel better about it?”
“No, but it eases my mind. Sometimes when I’m having a good day, it brings me peace, however temporary it may be. But no, it doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Peace,” she whispers, seemingly trying the word on for size. “I want you to have peace.”
“Are you going with me tomorrow?” I ask, needing to step away from the heavy talk, even though tomorrow will bring more of the same.
“I think I’m going to let you and Luke go. I was there for you through your surgery, and I think that Luke wants to be the one there for you through this.” I understand where she’s coming from, and a part of me wants Luke to be the only one to go. But as much as Luke is my brother, Mia is my sister.
“There’s plenty of me to go around,” I joke. “And I’m sure Luke won’t mind sharing.”
Mia smiles and shakes her head. “Not this time. I think he needs this more than you know.”
I sigh, bringing my arm up to rest it over my head. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Of course I’m right.” She slaps my legs and sits up, effectively shutting down the conversation. “I’m always right. Now let’s find you a hot little shirt that will drive Levi crazy tonight.”
“I don’t need a hot little shirt; I wear a jacket when I cook.”
“You do?” she asks, furrowing her brow. “I thought maybe that was just on TV.”
“Nope,” I laugh. “I wear one every time I’m in the kitchen, and since I’ll have the coat on, there will be no need for a ‘hot little shirt.’ Plus, I think Levi is avoiding me.”