A New Beginning

I cradled the jagged edge of the glass, a soothing, unexpected relief in my palm. The tip seemed perfect for its purpose—keen and rugged, not unlike a peak I’d never climb.

“Eden? What’s going on in there? Let me in now.”

Shit, I didn’t mean to make so much noise when I bashed the mirror. She might get over this, but I doubted I’d be forgiven for destroying her vanity.

The door cracked open against the wall. “What are you doing?!”

I dragged the shard across the damp skin just below my other wrist, creating a pool of dark crimson on the aquamarine tile. A prayer whispered into my ear lulled me into a sweet oblivion.

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I wiggled my fingers. Pain tap danced through my knuckles from the strip of white adhesive tape that held my chemical lifeline in place. I blinked a few times, and a grating beep I couldn’t escape welcomed me back to the world.

“Eden, can you speak?”

Another blink. “Ede, please come back.” Josie squeezed my index finger, and I winced when her fingertip tapped the spot on my bruised forearm.

A shriek from behind her sent my heart racing. The pressure on my chest was a tide that pulled me down, down, down…

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When I opened my eyes, Mom perched on the seafoam bedsheet, a flattering shade nearly identical to her pencil skirt, the one I could never fit. Her intermittent sniffs and the steady rhythm of the monitor meant I was out of danger, for now.

“Are you back for good now?” Her hair fell in smooth waves, clouds of Chanel masked the bleachy stomach-turning stench that I hated most about hospitals.

“Does it matter?” Bile spilled from my gut, and my temple throbbed, a prelude to a battle I no longer wanted to fight.

“I’m sorry you found me.” Her eyes were saucer-wide, and a shake of her head unleashed a strand across lines etched into her forehead.

“Why do it there, Eden?”

“You asked me to come home.” I brushed away tears I didn’t realize had fallen. "I guess, maybe I didn't want to be alone."

“So you celebrate with us, then die? Why come home at all, if this is what you wanted?” She tilted her head, her lips arranged in a terse line. “I remember how you loved Christmas, baking, carols, decorations. Being with your family."

The afternoon light casted slender phantoms onto the pilled blue blanket, grave diversions from her steely truth-detector gaze I always withered under, while I scrolled through my list of excuses for a missed curfew or a low grade on a test for which I didn't study.

I wrapped my good arm across my chest, my skin itchy and raw under the bandage. "She was my family, too."

“Well, I'm just the mother who labored for 36 hours with you, nursed you through the flu and chicken pox, and cared for you for 33 years." Her fingertips pricked my scarred, trembling hand, a once welcome comfort. "I don’t think you really want to die, but whatever I did to make you choose this instead, I’m very sorry and I need you here.”

How could I explain that none of the memories of our road trips and celebrations, of nights out with them when we were younger, or the beautiful violet-pink fall sunrises on my Saturday morning runs, yellow leaves crunching under my feet, made me want to stay?

Mom swept her reddened eyes across the floor-to-ceiling whiteboard with names of the staff assigned to me, my favorite pale pink hoodie draped over the back of the heavy green plastic chair below the window. “Are they helping you here, Eden? Do you feel you’re getting better?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t know, Mom. Who cares?”

Her gasp echoed through the room. “You don’t think your brother and sister care? Josie says she calls, but you won’t pick up.” I slid the half–empty box of tissues on my table toward her, and Mom nodded her thanks.

I dug my nails into my palm. “I don’t mean to hurt you, either. I’ll try, for all of you.”

But I didn’t.

I shared during our group sessions. I took the meds that dialed down the urge to harm myself, then spent the long evenings curled up with my journal or one of Mom’s old paperbacks.

I wrote until my hand cramped, about that night, the nightmares, and the other ways I planned to do it. When I couldn’t think of any other truth to unearth, I read. But, getting lost in someone else’s life didn’t work, either.

One night, I walked to the courtyard garden, my hoodie no match against the mid-January chill.

The water gushed in the stone gray fountain, a reminder of a waterfall near a creek where we fished one summer. Josie and Greg held their lines, while Mom snapped photos, and Grandad helped them cast out where they could find the biggest trout. It was the exact opposite of this—stifling heat and crystal-clear skies.

I remember sitting on the other side of the boat, too young for my own pole, surrounded by my sister’s cackles and my brother’s squeals. I wasn’t angry at being left to watch, but I was safe, even while I held onto the boat with the tightest grip my tiny hand could make.

Now, my hands ached in the icy dark, and I wasn’t alone.

“Are you happy, Eden?”

I covered my mouth to stifle my gasp. “Sami? How are you here?”

My best friend looked the same as she did the night of the accident. Her wavy ponytail swished, and her pink sweater glittering in the silver light.

“I need you to let go of this. You have to.” She stepped closer, her citrus scent filled the crisp air between us.

"But it was my fault. I couldn’t see. I'm so, so sorry, Sami." My tears spilled faster, and she caught my hand.

“I know you are. But it’s OK." She flashed the smile that broke a million hearts. "Just live, sweetie. No more regrets.”

My chest heaved when I lifted my head from a sweat-soaked pillow. I never shared the dream with anyone, or the bits of that night that floated back, like snowflakes on an early winter night.

Sami's giggles in my ear, my arms holding her up as we stumbled out of the bar, that cloying scent she wore cutting through the humid air. A downpour of rain skating across the windshield. My hands gripping the wheel, as tight as a second skin. A skid across lanes, and a sickening crunch of metal.

Her piercing scream, and the acrid curlicues of smoke rising through the darkness.

Silence.

Sami was more than a friend, a sister to me more than my own, and I didn’t want to do this anymore without her.

Yet, she had a different idea. Let go of this.

I needed to stay, if I wanted to know love and safety and peace again.

So, I did.

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Josie called one morning after Group, and when she asked to visit, I didn’t say no.

I tied the silky red scarf around my neck, the one Mom never let either of us borrow, then ran a hand over my hair. I never liked to wear it longer, and Josie always hated my haircuts and complained they did nothing for my face.

Maybe if she brought a bunch of magazines, we could talk shit about the styles and clothes of those wannabe celebrities whose reality shows we used to watch.

Instead, she took me to lunch at a cafe down the street from the hospital. It was OK, since I’d be released in a week, and I finally felt a little bit hungry for something other than broth and crackers.

We sat at a table in the back. Sweet basil and pasta sauce rumbled through my empty stomach.

“Your hair’s grown back a little.” Josie stirred a squeeze of lemon into her tea. “I think it looks more like you. Guess I was wrong-shorter suits you, sis.”

“I'm trying to fix this.” I tapped my temple, and my lips twitched upward.

She took a sip, then wiped a coral stain from the top of the glass. “You don’t think you look good?”

I thought of my therapist's advice, to give myself grace. Then, I said, “Thank you, Josie. I'm working on it."

She laid a warm hand on mine. “Ede, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Maybe I should, I-I’m just not sure.”

“Neither am I, Jo, but I'm glad we’re here.” I blinked away a tear and squeezed my sister’s hand. “I’m really glad I’m here.”