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Theme Six: I'm not feeling well.
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The doctors say I'm fine. Thank God hill people don't believe in modern medicine.
My Nana says I'll be better with time. My Papa says I shouldn't be rushing my recovery. I was on my feet early anyway and had the cast off early and was doing yardwork on it when Wayne arrived. I was pushing myself to recover, to get on with life, to know people here so I could forget what happened. I wanted to be part of their world. Then he came into it and made me realize I wasn't safe here either.
I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. I didn't go downstairs to eat. I didn't even move an inch. I laid there, body only rising slightly with each breath, until Nana came to check on me. Then I staggered out of bed, cringing and gritting my teeth with pain every step of the way. I don't know why. I didn't feel any pain. I didn't plan to do it. I just couldn't help it. I didn't want to run around town doing errands anymore, not if it meant that I had to risk seeing Wayne again and facing everything that had happened.
It's been rough ever since. I want to do things but I'm scared. I want to go outside and play, I just don't want to face kids my age and questions about my past. I want to go into town and go shopping, I don't want to hear salespeople ask about the scars. I want to move on and find a boy to pair off with, as my Nana says, and yet I can't because I don't want any more pain.
If I were better I'd be out there going to all these things my Nana raves about, dances and barn parties and hayrides. If I were stronger I'd be out there playing football with the guys like I used to. I'd be finding love in all kinds of unexpected places from a bunch of guys, since they're all nice and open hearted and sweet. The truth is, though, I don't want a new boyfriend or a new crush or even a new friend who is a boy. I don't want to move on.
I want Wayne. I want to run my fingers through his light brown hair and giggle when he's mad I messed it up. I want to hold his hand because he's afraid of the dark and the power went out. I want to have silent conversations with him no one else can understand because of how good our lips reading skills are. I want to teach the city boy how to build better snowmen and climb trees faster. I want my old life with him back, not a new life with a new boy who won't know all the things he knew and say all the smart things he said. He quoted Shakespeare and drank prune juice and spoke properly.
He was Wayne. He was perfect. He was mine.
"I can't go to the hayride, Nana. I'm not feeling well."
And I won't be, not for a long, long time.