Shattered
Colin still wakes in the night unable to feel his right side. He lies there in the dark, concentrating on his breath and reassuring himself that his right side is still there, even though he can't feel it. He rarely believes himself.
When he looks in the bathroom mirror, he thinks he should only see half of himself, but instead he sees a complete stranger.
On Colin's second day back, he found a photo album in his closet. He studied the pages meticulously, scrutinizing every face, especially the one he's learned belongs to him. The face looked as familiar as a picture in the obituary section of the newspaper. He used some scissors to sloppily cut himself out of every photograph, left-handed, then glued his faces to the back of his bedroom door.
This is who you are supposed to be, he thought. Be this and they'll leave you alone. But he can't be that Colin, he can only pretend, and they see and they don't leave him alone.
Except for Ephram.
Colin knows Ephram reads comics, calls them an exotic Japanese word that feels strange in Colin's mouth, soft and somehow tender. Colin doesn't think he read comics in his other life - at least, he can't find any in his room - but he wishes he could get up the courage to ask to borrow some of Ephram's. Actually, he wishes he could get up the courage to ask Ephram a lot of things.
He wants to know if the heroes in Ephram's comics ever lose their powers. Colin was a hero in this town once, he knows, until the accident robbed him of his powers. But he's alive now, he's conscious, and they think he's regained his magic. They expect this of him, and it doesn't occur to them to think otherwise. Colin knows about losing powers.
He wonders if Ephram has ever tried to draw the kind of comics he reads. He sees the doodles on Ephram's notes when they study together, quick sketches full of motion and a kind of grace that Colin hasn't mastered yet. Colin's notes are empty pages with his chickenscratch handwriting interrupting the space occasionally. When he wakes in the middle of the night, he wishes he could ask Ephram to draw his other side for him, perfect and metallic and unable to be hurt.
Ephram tells Colin that he should tattoo his memories on his body, and Colin thinks that he'd like to have Ephram's name on his right arm and Ephram's lips on his right thigh and Ephram's heart on his chest, but he can't say that. It doesn't fit his character.
Instead, he masks his emotions with a quizzical look and tries to avoid the lie in his locker mirror. Still, he can't ignore every false reflection. He threw the ball at the trophy case in anger and frustration, but he punches his fist through the car window to punish it for lying.
The shards of glass sting, biting into his skin. His blood is warm against the frigid night air. When Ephram sees it, he's momentarily entranced. Colin thinks, I will be complete when you sketch my body with glass for a canvas and my blood for ink.
But Ephram is scared, because he knows blood should stay inside of people, so he runs inside to get his father and leaves Colin alone in the truck.
It's funny though, Colin thinks when the silence of the night surrounds him. He can't recognize his own face, but he can perfectly remember the sound of breaking glass.
Colin still wakes in the night unable to feel his right side. He lies there in the dark, concentrating on his breath and reassuring himself that his right side is still there, even though he can't feel it. He rarely believes himself.
When he looks in the bathroom mirror, he thinks he should only see half of himself, but instead he sees a complete stranger.
On Colin's second day back, he found a photo album in his closet. He studied the pages meticulously, scrutinizing every face, especially the one he's learned belongs to him. The face looked as familiar as a picture in the obituary section of the newspaper. He used some scissors to sloppily cut himself out of every photograph, left-handed, then glued his faces to the back of his bedroom door.
This is who you are supposed to be, he thought. Be this and they'll leave you alone. But he can't be that Colin, he can only pretend, and they see and they don't leave him alone.
Except for Ephram.
Colin knows Ephram reads comics, calls them an exotic Japanese word that feels strange in Colin's mouth, soft and somehow tender. Colin doesn't think he read comics in his other life - at least, he can't find any in his room - but he wishes he could get up the courage to ask to borrow some of Ephram's. Actually, he wishes he could get up the courage to ask Ephram a lot of things.
He wants to know if the heroes in Ephram's comics ever lose their powers. Colin was a hero in this town once, he knows, until the accident robbed him of his powers. But he's alive now, he's conscious, and they think he's regained his magic. They expect this of him, and it doesn't occur to them to think otherwise. Colin knows about losing powers.
He wonders if Ephram has ever tried to draw the kind of comics he reads. He sees the doodles on Ephram's notes when they study together, quick sketches full of motion and a kind of grace that Colin hasn't mastered yet. Colin's notes are empty pages with his chickenscratch handwriting interrupting the space occasionally. When he wakes in the middle of the night, he wishes he could ask Ephram to draw his other side for him, perfect and metallic and unable to be hurt.
Ephram tells Colin that he should tattoo his memories on his body, and Colin thinks that he'd like to have Ephram's name on his right arm and Ephram's lips on his right thigh and Ephram's heart on his chest, but he can't say that. It doesn't fit his character.
Instead, he masks his emotions with a quizzical look and tries to avoid the lie in his locker mirror. Still, he can't ignore every false reflection. He threw the ball at the trophy case in anger and frustration, but he punches his fist through the car window to punish it for lying.
The shards of glass sting, biting into his skin. His blood is warm against the frigid night air. When Ephram sees it, he's momentarily entranced. Colin thinks, I will be complete when you sketch my body with glass for a canvas and my blood for ink.
But Ephram is scared, because he knows blood should stay inside of people, so he runs inside to get his father and leaves Colin alone in the truck.
It's funny though, Colin thinks when the silence of the night surrounds him. He can't recognize his own face, but he can perfectly remember the sound of breaking glass.