Passing through Pain

Good. No rain today. Finally, the big day is here. Due to the clear weather, no thanks to the weatherman, you are finally competing in the biggest competition in your life. Your father pats you on the back. You look up at him and he gives you a comforting smile. “Get out there. Go run.” 

Run. The word echoes throughout your mind and body, carrying a message that propels you to focus. The loud cheers from the crowds-muffled, as if underwater. The competitors next to you ahead or behind-gone, as if it is just you. The sound of shoes hitting the ground becomes faint, and the world becomes alive again. The horizon is a beautiful pale blue with streaks of white, the calming clouds. The air is refreshingly cool, and the breeze nearly indistinct. You become cognizant of the virtually unbearable burn in your legs and the heavy steadied breathing you possess. Your face feels damp and sweat drips onto your forearms. Run. The finish line. Just up ahead. Run. Run faster. You channel all your energy into the sprint you need. Ignoring the excruciating pain and distant screams of the crowds, you tear through the track, continuing until your shoes land past the painted white line. And then-relief. Your lips then twist into the biggest smile as you collapse onto the ground. 

“How do you feel?” Your mother is sitting across from you, sipping a bright pink smoothie.

“About what?” You are also sipping a smoothie, but yours is orange. 

“Winning.” Mrs. Anderson stops sipping her smoothie and rests her hand under her chin. 

“Wonderful. In fact, I feel kinda exhilarated, like I could run forever.” You smile as you say this, knowing how comical you might sound. Your father’s deep chuckle proves you right.

“After all that running, it's better for you to take it easy. You only feel like that because you have a lot of adrenaline. However, you were really prepared once you stepped onto that track and did great while running. Did all of our drills help?” Mr. Anderson is enjoying a light green smoothie while he sits next to his wife. 

“Yeah, they did. Thank you again for taking me to the field after school for such a long time.” You are truly grateful and mean every word you say. Your father had been taking you to an open field next to the park in your neighborhood for years, racing you and creating fun drills for you so you could keep getting better and better. You are absolutely certain that without your father’s help, you never would have made it into your high school’s track team, much less have won this competition. 

“If you are serious about taking this up as a career, I’ll gladly help. Let me warn you, though. It isn’t easy getting to be an olympic athlete. It takes a lot of perseverance and work to get there. I saw that in you today, and I have been seeing that ever since you were racing me at the park when you were two. Keep this up. You are going to get far in this.” Your father beams with pride as he speaks. Before you have a chance to reply, your mother jumps in. 

“Your father is right. Practice makes perfect. Can you please go get me a napkin?” Mrs. Anderson has a little bit of her drink on top of her lid, and you are glad to comply. While you walk to grab the napkin from the counter, a sudden chill runs down your right leg and pain springs up, seeming to follow the exact path. Then they both disappear as quickly as they came. Breathing a sigh of relief, you turn to grab the napkins. Then all of a sudden, you nearly fall. . Even after catching yourself, you still feel too weak to stand. You hold onto the counter for support and stay there for a few minutes, biting back a scream that threatens to escape from you. 

“Are you okay, honey?” Mrs. Anderson stands and cranes her neck to see you, who is across the restaurant. Although you are the only ones there, her voice is a bit louder than expected. 

“Yeah, I just can’t find the napkins. Oh- wait. Nevermind. I found them.” You call back, doing your best to conceal the pain. Quickly, you make your way back to the table where your parents are seated and hand the napkin to your mother. 

“It happened again, Suzella.” You whisper quietly to your older sister. It is already nine-thirty and you are supposed to be sleeping. But, you had asked Suzella to come into your room before going to bed, for a very important reason. 

“You felt the pain again? When?” Suzella’s voice holds a tone of alarm and is a little over a whisper. 

“Shhhhh. Yes, I felt the pain again. It is worse though. I felt it a lot more when I was with Mom and Dad before we picked you up from your violin practice. It is almost unbearable, and my foot felt it this time too.” You inform her. 

“Wow. That’s bad. The pain is spreading. Did you feel anything else? is that the only time it happened?” Suzella whispers back.

“It left and I felt numb for a second, but then I almost fell. I felt it too while I was running, but it isn’t that bad. I even finished first. But when I was just walking, I felt like I was getting stabbed in the leg over and over.” You confess. 

This is getting really bad. Eventually, you won’t be able to even run. You need to tell Mom and Dad. It’s been happening for weeks and you still haven’t said a word. Wait. Why haven’t you told them yet?” Suzella asks. 

“You know how they are. If I tell them, Mom will take me to the hospital right away. And who knows. Maybe I won’t be able to run anymore. Besides, it’s not that bad.” You whisper.

“Listen, I know how much running means to you. It’s your everything, and I get that. You want to be an olympic gold medalist like Dad. Music is my everything. I want to be a world famous musician like Aunt Sofia someday. But, really? ‘It’s not that bad’? You, you just told me you nearly fell. That’s pretty bad. In fact, that’s terrible. Either you tell Mom and Dad soon, or I will. I would rather have a diagnosis for you and have you hospitalized in no pain, then for you to continue feeling this way every step you take. You and I both know Mom and Dad would agree too.” Esma tells you gently. Although you are 3 years apart, with you a freshman and Suzella a senior in high school, you are the best of friends and tell each other everything. You are honest with each other and stick together in tough times. And this is especially a tough time. 

“Okay, I will. Soon. Thanks, Ella.” You say.

“You’re welcome. I love you. Now, good night.” Suzella replies.

“I love you too. Good night.” You whisper and climb under the covers. After watching your sister’s shadow cautiously exit the room, you turn to face the wall. You close your eyes, remembering your race earlier that day. You remember how intense it is when you neared the end. You remember collapsing from exhaustion and the searing pain in your right leg in the end. You remember the pain in that same leg again in the restaurant. You then remember your older sister’s words. The pain is spreading. However, you remember what else your sister said. Running is your everything. And, no matter what, you are not going to give that up. You will do anything to keep running. Nothing, not even the pain, will hold you back from your lifelong dream. Sure, you will tell your parents. But it will be later. It will be after you won the gold medal. It will be after you become the first freshman to win 1300 m for your high school. So, Ella is right on both ends. After finally relaxing, you shut your eyes, accepting the fate of being sleep’s prisoner until Tuesday morning. 

“Wake UP! Get-Up! -Up! Get-o-there!!!” The voices seem faint, but the urgency prompts you to open your eyes. Blinding light surrounds you, and you feel beads of sweat on your forehead. Quickly, you sit up and the sight of bright orange and yellow flames greets you. Then the voices slowly become clearer. “WAKE UP!!!! GET OUT OF THERE!! HURRY!!” Your mother’s voice stands out from the rest as it had a strange cracking effect, as though she is crying. Panic fills you as you tear the pillowcase off your pillow, and fold it. You put it to your mouth and drop onto the floor, trying desperately to find the door. You feel as though the inferno is taking place in you and is devouring your inner self. You groan in agony, but quickly regret it as the intense heat burns your throat. You keep searching for the way out, but continuously have to dodge incinerating items. A fiery beast falls from the ceiling, the remains of your fan. Your eyes begin to grow hazy and your lungs ache from lack of fresh air. You quickly give up on trying to find the door, and grab whatever clothing and sheets that you could find to tie them together. You then fasten them to the corner of your bed. As you struggle to unlock your window, you become aware of just how bad your burns are. Your fingers were darkened considerably and become numb. You ignore the sickening sight and unlatch the window. You quickly slide it open, grab your homespun rope, and throw it out the window. As you tie the rope around your left arm, you feel the house quake from the raging beast inside. With a hoarse cry you jump from the window and let the rope catch your fall. While you are in the process of releasing yourself, you hear the terrible sound of your home groaning and finally falling apart. Although you are out of the house, you are not out of the fire. Burning chunks fly from the remains of the building surrounding you. You struggle to stand, but the pain in your right leg is just as bad as ever. You fall multiple times and finally accept the idea to crawl. While embers drop all around you, you drag your charred legs across the grass and breathe steadily in an attempt to keep calm. You barely make it a few feet when a blazing block of wood falls in front of you. Quickly, you make your way through the maze. You think of your family, wherever they are and hope they are okay. The sky is still as black as coal, but the glittering pieces of diamond up above offer you a glint of hope in the midst of the charring chaos. You remember your race and the perseverance it took. The constant forcing of your legs to run, even in the piercing pain. You remember the cheers. You remember the smoothies. You remembered this moment being the last thing you remember. Because now-

Everything goes black. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sounds are quiet, barely distinguishable. 

“Can you hear me?” Your mother whispers gently. 

“Mom?” Your throat is hoarse and you slowly open her eyes to let them adjust to the bright light. 

“Oh, BABY!” Your mother cries, throwing her arms around you.

“Mom!” You respond, and flinch at your mother’s touch. 

“Sorry, honey. I am so relieved you're okay. I am so sorry about the fire. It is my fault. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean for this to happen. I-I is just cooking-and then-I don’t know what happened. I guess I just-” The tears Mrs. Anderson had imprisoned for so long, are finally freed. She shakes as a wave of sorrow and guilt washes over her. 

“Mom. MOM. Relax. It’s okay.” You say comfortingly. You weakly hold out your hand. Mrs. Anderson caught it. “Where is everybody else?”

“They’re at a hotel. They spent the night there. You’ve been out since last night. I should probably call them.” Mrs. Anderson lets go of your hand and rummages through her purse in search of her phone.

“Mom, please don’t call them. I think they need sleep after what we’ve been through.” You whisper, closing your eyes once again. Mrs. Anderson pauses to look at you.

“Of course, baby. We all need to get sleep.” Mrs. Anderson carefully catches your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead. Wiping her eyes, you mother settles back in her chair. 

“Mom?” The words are hardly more than a whisper.

“Yes, baby?” Mrs. Anderson replies in concern. 

“What about school?” You ask, opening your eyes once more. 

“Don’t worry honey. I already called them and you’ve been excused. Don’t tell me you want to go back tomorrow. The doctors said you need to be here overnight.” Mrs. Anderson replies. 

“How is everyone else?” You inquire.

“They’re okay. The doctors released them earlier today. They miss you.” Your mother responds with a warm-hearted smile. 

“I miss them too.” You smile back. Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath comes evenly, your expression in the same sweet smile. With all worry dissipated, Mrs. Anderson closes her eyes and falls asleep too.  

However, your fingers stayed intertwined.

“Yeah, well I just don’t know how to tell her. No, of course not. Okay. Alright. I’ll tell her when she wakes up. Okay, bye.” The whispers are uptight and Mrs. Anderson is continuously pacing back and forth across the room. 

“Tell me what?” You feel much better since the night before. But, your mother is acting strange this morning. 

“Good morning, honey. How do you feel?” Mrs. Anderson ignores the question. 

“Really good. Almost as if nothing happened. What were you going to tell me?” You respond as politely as you can, but refuse to be ignored. 

“Excellent. I will go tell the doctor that we are leaving.” Mrs. Anderson abruptly stands and walks towards the door quickly. You grow frustrated. 

“Mom!” You call, climbing out of the hospital bed. 

“Yes?” Mrs. Anderson turns around, worry creased into her forehead. You want to ask her what she has to tell you, but after seeing your mother’s emotional state, decide against it. 

“Did you bring me anything to wear? I know all our stuff is burned in the fire, but I still don’t want to go to the hotel in these filthy clothes.” You are awarded with a smile.

“We can go shopping before we get there. Of course if you don’t want to….” Mrs. Anderson teases. 

“No, I would love to go!” You reply happily. Mrs. Anderson nods and goes to talk to the doctor. You also get up and walk to the bathroom. Afraid to see what you look like after such a disaster, you focus on the sink below the mirror. You wince as you begin to splash water on your face. It does hurt considerably, though not as much as you expected. Smiling, you wash your hands and rinse your arms. However, your smile disappears once you examine your left arm. There is a large red mark that is wrapped around your whole forearm. Your skin here looks more raw than the rest that was exposed to the fire. With a sigh, you realize that it must be from your jump from the window. 

“That is a real smart thing you did.” Your mother’s voice makes you jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just saying you were smart when you tied that rope to you and jumped out the window. You rescued yourself. And did a good job of it too. That’s all.”

“Oh, thanks. I just remembered what you taught me a while ago. Though I didn’t expect it to hurt as much.” You laugh. 

“I never taught you that. It must’ve been your father. I would’ve taught you to wrap it around your waist not around your arm. ” Mrs. Anderson says thoughtfully.

“Oh, yeah. It probably is Dad.” 

“Are you ready to go?” 

“Yeah.”

Together, you leave the hospital. Once you are in the car, your curiosity is aroused again.

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you have to tell me?”

“Oh, honey. I don’t think you want to hear it.”

“Did someone die?” You ask in genuine concern. If Suzella died, life would be unbearable. And if your father died-you can’t even think of such a possibility. You look at your mother, who is staring at you in disbelief.

“No, no one died.” Mrs. Anderson shakes her head in bewilderment at such a bold question. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Well, it can’t be that bad then.” You reason. 

“Um… Bethie. The doctors told us that you are going to have to go back to the hospital- for a skin graft.” Your mother dreads uttering such words, but at least she doesn’t have to hold them back anymore. 

“Oh. When?”

“We haven’t scheduled the appointment yet.” Your mother responds.