Silent raging sea

“Alma, your arms and shoulders healed nicely.” He said, though not smiling to that piece of good news. “However, your legs… need some time – more time. You’ll have to go to re-education regularly and you’ll have to be in a wheelchair for a long time.” Dad turns pale, his hands shaking while holding my mothers’ hands as I see tears filling her eyes. It feels as if they’re the one who can’t walk and who are targeted by the news and not me. Me sitting in the chair, still.

The doctor, which I never seem to remember his name looks at me expectingly.

I stare at him, blankly.

“How-How long will it be?” Dad stammers looking hopefully and fearfully at the doctor. He looks at his sheets, apologetically, as if they’ll help him deal with the awkwardness of the bad news.

“She – um - she may not be able to walk for a few months.” He looks at us and sees the searching eyes of my parents. “At least a year. And that’s not even sure…” Silence follows suite. And then disaster. Dad’s shoulders slump, defeated and my mom gives a small cry, covering delicately her mouth.

I open my mouth and close it. I’m gaping but unable to formulate a question. At least a year. At least a year. At. Least. A. Year. This simple sentence echoes in my mind, destroying my life.

“I - will I ever be able to - to dance again?” I ask with a small voice, afraid of the answer. My passion, the only thing I’ve known since I was a kid. The way my body moves smoothly to any kind of music. The medals I’ve gained from the break-dancing competitions. The fuel to my life.

It can’t be.

His brows furrow and frown, as if he’s not quite sure what to make of my question. He crosses his hands together and sighs a deep, sorry sigh. He doesn’t say anything, but everything else does. I stare at my lap.

Everything is crumpling around me. I hear a straight, high-pitched sound. My parents embrace me, stroke my hair and are telling me something. But I can only see the doctor and his face portraying pity. I can only think of my dancing. I can only feel my shock.

Everything is wrong. Everything is finished.

The only thing that feels right and wrong at the same time is the calm tear that falls silently on the floor, not wanting to bother anyone.

Two weeks later

“Hey Alma, do you need anything?” My mom asks from the doorway, not coming in. I stare at the wall. I haven’t talked since the news. I have nothing to say. What is there to say? That I’m alright? That’s not true. That I’m utterly at the end of the rope? What would that change?

She looks at me, sadly probably, with pity, then walks away. I lay in bed, still looking at the wall. Downstairs, my parents are arguing about something, then a door slams, and I hear a chair screeching and someone slumping in it.

I take my computer from my bedtable, and immediately, notifications pop-up, from friends, family and just people. I close them. I can’t look at that right now. I need to find this or I’ll go crazy.

The page is loading.

Articles, dated from the day from the accident and after appear. One catches my attention; from a week ago. His verdict. The link opens up.

I thought it would be a young drunk person, who just came from a party. But it isn’t. He’s just a person, married and drunk when he was driving. He has a job, never had any accidents and is respected by many.

He only got a few months in prison.

I can’t believe what’s written. That can’t be possible. This can’t be right.

He destroyed my life. He smashed it to pieces, just because he had a little slip up. I’ll need to learn to walk again, rewrite my life and he’ll just resume it in a snap. This can’t be true.

3 months later

“Alma, today, let’s try to go from one step to two, alright?” she asks me with her sickening sweet voice. I nod absently. She helps me up from my wheelchair, to the two strong metal bars. I support myself on them, putting all my weight on my arms which are already trembling. “Alright sweetheart, first step like usual!” I stare at my two useless feet willing them to take a tiny little step. The left one lifts itself slightly but it is already shaking from the effort. It slumps a few centimetres away with a loud thud. I’m gasping for air, sweating and my arms are on the verge of giving up.

“I – I can’t.” I barely gasp out. I’m not going to make it.

“Alma, just try! Try harder! You can do it”

I frown and suddenly, I’m fed up. I see red and hot angry tears start to escape from my eyes down my cheeks and all that bottled up frustration, anger and despair rushes out. I snap my head towards her.

“You think I’m not trying? You think I – I want to be crippled like this for the rest of my life? You think it is FUN to not be able to do anything I want?” I shout at her. She goes pale. “To see others, do stuff and look at me like everything’s done with me. In a way, I don’t blame them. Look at me! They’re not wrong. I mean for God’s sake; I can’t get dressed without some help and let’s not talk about doing the little things like standing up to go for a glass of water. I have to ask for a glass of water. A glass of water.” My voice cracks even more, and my frustration transforms in pain. “Everyone thinks it’s a piece of cake to walk! Don’t they see my struggle?” I stop for a bit, my breathing slowing down, and my tears that were angry are now full of sadness. Quietly, I look at my feet, looking confused “I’m so tired. Why? Why me though?”

I slump on the clean white tiles of the room. Weeping as Sarah comes closer and hugs me, telling me she knows. How would she know. How would she know how desperate and, on the verge, I am? How does anyone except to know? I want to push her away and trash everything around me and for her to leave me alone. I want her to feel the mess inside me; the pain, anger frustration and injustice. I want to be left alone. But I don’t have the strength to fight back anymore. I’m tired.

4 months ago

“Pretty please? We won’t come late I promise!” I plead to mommy. She looks at me for a long time, pondering if this is a good idea. She then sighs and I know she has resigned and I have won the case.

“Fine. BUT! After your training, you are only allowed to go to the street performance for just thirty minutes max! Not a minute late or you can’t expect me to let you go to another as long as you stay under my roof.”

I’m grinning from ear to ear and I hug her tightly and I just know that even thought she might grumble, she’s still laughing slightly

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”

She laughs her rich vibrant laugh and then shoos me from the living room. “Yeah right. Go, you’ll be late to your dance training!”

As I walk out of our small house, I can still hear her laugh and something among the lines of ‘I swear, she never grows up’. I put my earbuds on and choose my song for the competition. We’re gonna rock this!

After a few meters, I come to the cross road of the city. The light turns green and I walk. I hum the melody and swing a bit. As I come to the middle of the road, I hear a distant rumbling. I frown a bit and take out an earbud, looking where the problem is, when I realise the rumbling is coming from my left, from the road. The rumbling is getting closer and when I look at my left, a car is driving towards me at full speed, not stopping. Before I could register what happened, I feel myself being projected and hit the hard and burning concrete from the summer sun.

Everything is aching. I want to cry so much that I can’t breathe anymore. I want my mommy to hold me closely and kiss me sweetly. I want to not feel anything – no pain, nothing. My vision is getting blurred more and more. Turning my head slowly to my right, I see the car driving away, like nothing happened.

Someone is shouting something and holding my head, stroking my bloody hair and shouting desperately. I try to lift my hand to reassure them that everything is alright but I can’t. Everything feels so heavy like there are rocks inside me.

I close my eyes, the music still playing in the distant from one earbud.

Present time

The dinner table which used to be filled with chatter and laughter is now completely and utterly silent. My parents look at each other, both trying to break the awkwardness a family shouldn’t have.

“Hey Al, how did your training go? Any improvements?” My dad asks, with a shy, small smile. I look at him blankly, devoid from all emotions. I open my mouth but no sounds come out. I look in his eyes and see that he’s trying and that he’s hopeful. But I also see how sad, hurt and tired he actually is. I look then at my mother and I realise how they’ve both seemed to age so much. I slump my shoulders, bow my head and let my hair cover my face. I feel ashamed and useless.

I did that to them.

If only it hadn’t happened. I miss normal so much it’s crazy.

The rest of dinner finishes in heavy silence like usual, my parents trying to come up with something to say and me trying to find the will to eat.

I wake up in my bed. I turn my head right, to my desk to see the time. 01:39. The moon is illuminating my room and is making my medals and trophies shine. I look at each of them for a long time, trying to remember how it felt like to move, to walk, to dance, to feel alive. I suddenly feel the urge to walk to my desk and grab one. I heave myself up, my back straight against the wall near my bed. I grab my legs and haul them at the edge of my bed, letting them rest on the cold carpeted floor. I push my hands from my bed and I’m standing.

I’m standing.

I take a small step and when I thought all went well, I crumple on the floor. I try to at least sit on my butt but I can’t. I have no energy left. I lay there, useless, unable to do anything, and for the first time in a long time, I feel really broken. Not broken in big pieces that can be easily glued up but like tiny pieces hiding in the corners of a large room. I feel like there’s no hope. That it’s impossible to patch me up and save me. I’m unfixable.

My parent’s barge in my room, probably because they heard the bang from my fall. They fuss over me; my dad scoops me up and lays me gently on the bed. They sit next to me, asking me the usual. ‘Are you alright? What happened? Do you need anything?

I just lay there, close myself up and allow tears to flow from my eyes, but without making any noise.

I let the tears flood from my broken heart and my broken soul tired of pretending everything is fixed.