Under the Surface

The cold exterior Emma displayed was a sign of something wrong deep underneath. She didn’t like to show her feelings. Joy, excitement, sadness, fear— she locked them all away. She stayed constant, like a frozen pond.

Trauma has a way of freezing the mind. It isn’t talked about as often as it should be. Slogans like “love yourself,” and “grow,” are popular, but when that trauma rips through someone’s very essence, the inner being of someone’s soul, that growth comes to a halt, like a branch hacked from a tree. The green leaves will curl their ends in the beginning. Sticky sap coats the severed wood, but once the dust settles and the leaves shrivel to crusting husks.

It’s hard to find life in a frozen pond. The life inside freezes, leaving a snapshot of what was. First, it hurts to stop moving, to slowly freeze. But then, you can become numb. Emma was numb. And she liked it.

She would’ve stayed numb, too, but the man in the apartment next door made the first blow to her ice shield.

He moved in alone with minimal belongings. She watched him carry a few things in. They were nice things. She noted how his arms were strong as they didn’t waver with the heavy loads. He worked from home as most did since the pandemic. He typically worked outside on his tiny patio. The sun shined on his dark hair to reveal glittering red highlights. It was just him, his lawn chair, and fancy laptop.

Emma had a patio like that, but she stayed inside. Since the incident, she liked staying put, and the pandemic gave her every excuse to. She opened her curtains though, and she could watch him attend meetings with his classic, thoughtful expression. A few times, he’d stop, like he could feel her eyes on him. He would look over. After the third day, he waved. Emma closed the curtain.

But she found herself opening the curtain again. He was pleasant to look at. He smiled a lot when he talked to his coworkers on the laptop. When he caught her staring, he winked. Emma felt something stir in her chest. She felt silly. She tried to focus on her own remote job, but he was distracting.

He became more distracting when her groceries were delivered to the bottom floor, and she had to carry every bag up four flights of stairs.

When her first trip was done and she panting outside her door, he emerged from his apartment wit his mask on. His eyes crinkled; he was smiling. “Can I help? I’m Mark, by the way.” He took a step closer and retreated against his own door when he saw her eyes pop. His eyes looked sad.

Fear gripped Emma. “Social distance,” she said. But that wasn’t really the reason.

“Sorry,” Mark said.

Emma nodded. “But you can help if you want.” Her legs ached. She was a small woman.

It’s not easy to unfreeze. When it’s natural, the sun warms the frozen pond’s surface, making the ice sweat and thin bit by bit. The water below warms against the icy lid. It pushes and fights for it to split into chunks, allowing sunlight to dance over the little waves again. She didn’t know how Mark was unfreezing her. He was consistently helpful and offered to get her things because he went out to the shops and she didn’t. She had his number and sometimes texted to make requests about getting milk or bread. He was kind. He even shared toilet paper. She started to like him more, and she didn’t like that, It was painful, to slowly see her defenses wear down and break apart, leaving dangerous shards ready to defend her from anything getting inside.

She lashed out sometimes. Said he texted too often. So, he only texted once a week. Asking if she needed anything. Asking how she was feeling. She usually didn’t say how she was feeling, but she started to want to more and more. She wanted to share the burden of fear the loop trauma plays for the mind. Other times, she questioned why she would even tell him anything.

But he was like warm sunlight, and her layers began to thin and break. She wasn’t used to feeling the live emotions flood her like water. She didn’t like feeling open, ready to let anything sink in. Frozen ponds keeps things on the surface. But as he continued his kindness and patience, she felt the first crack. She started having late night phone calls. He started figuring out too much and offering more support.

She sought distance. She declined his calls, hoping the frigid way of life would refreeze and heal the defense, but he waited. And she kept thinking of him. She began to miss him, even if he scratched up her icy surface.

She’d wake in the night, feeling fear clutch her chest and strangle her throat. Loud, shaking gasps would fill the silence of her dark room. She needed the light on to see it wasn’t happening and she was safe, alone in her room with the locked door. When she was numb, she didn’t dream. Feeling again meant pain, exposure— more of her pond breaking apart. It could refreeze.

He promised to giver her space. Only sending a weekly text every Wednesday to say he was thinking of her. On a Sunday, after a weekend of crying, she called him when the fear woke her up again. Four in the morning he answered, alert and gentle. At her request, he drove over and slept on the couch while she slept in her locked room.

Breakfast was made and ready on the table. He was gone, knowing she would want her space.

Men had said they wanted to fix her before. Other men were hoping to wait on her, but they wanted a carnal reward. She tried those before, hoping to be cured, but that made the nights worse, and she found being numb, trapped deep under the ice, was her fortress.

He, though, never asked for a reward.

She sat at the table with the lukewarm pancakes, a cup of fruit, and glass of orange juice. He made a picture perfect meal, taking nothing for himself. She sat in the chair, hesitant to take her fork. She wished he had stayed. She told herself she didn’t. She told herself lies.

When more of the ice is cracked apart on a frozen pond, they float is piece. They stick together sometimes, merging into a layered wall. As one, they drift towards the bank, leaving the pond half vulnerable. The folded blanket on the couch and lukewarm pancake ushered her ice into a wall. She hoped to stay behind it, but the season of her life was changing. The water was getting warmer. The ground was going soft. The edges of the ice wall were marooned to the center of the pond, where all that was left was getting smaller by the day.

She texted him before Wednesday. Drunk on sleeplessness, she invited him to a movie. He accepted immediately. By morning, she was scouring her mind for any reason to cancel. By afternoon, she said she wasn’t sure if she could come. He maintained patience; he could see the ice was shrinking.

She went to the theater’s parking lot. Fitted clothing felt constricting, as she hadn’t bothered to wear anything pretty for months. Her eyes felt heavy from the mascara. A pit constricted in her belly. She clutched steering wheel, dreading when she would see his car. When the Chevy truck parked across from her, she held her breath.

He walked over with dark denim jeans and a button-down white shirt. He stood two feet from the car, squinting slightly to examine her expression. He drew out his phone sent a text, asking her if she wanted to go back home after all. Nervously, he slipped his hand into his pocket and tried to smile. There were many cars in the parking lot; many people walking inside, families and couples.

A ringing was sounding in her ears. The phone screen went dark from in activity. Finally, she managed to text back. She invited him to see a movie at her place, where she could be on her own terms in her own house. He grinned and nodded. When they got to her place, he sat as far from her has possible. She served him ice cream, and he asked to clean up the dishes after the movie she had memorized.

“You’ve done enough,” she said.

He nodded. “Do you need me to stay on the couch tonight?”

She shook her head. The anxiety was clawing at her again. But why? Her knees were shaking, like the last bit of ice wobbling in the water before completely melting away.

“Alright! If you get scared, you can call me again, okay?”

She felt herself starting to cry. She hoped to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t breathe. A sob escaped with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?!” he asked, rushing over. His complexion paled. His hands hovered just above her shoulders, trembling, but he held them up in front of him and slowly lowered them to his sides. He looked pain, like all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and hold her away from the rest of the world.

She couldn’t talk, but she walked to him, falling into his chest.

He caught her and stood there as long has he needed.

When the last of the ice is gone, does the water feel relief when all movement is freed? When there’s no more weight keeping it in place? She felt wild. She felt feelings she thought would never return. She felt everything, and it overwhelmed her. She stayed put, focusing on his steady heartbeat until she could catch her breath. Finally, she managed to say, “I do want you to stay.”

So, he stayed. She nestled against his side as soon as he sat on the couch. She eyed the wet spots of tears and snot on his shirt. Gray and black streaks were mixed in from her mascara. She and felt shame. Pond spills over its banks from all the melted ice.

“What?” he asked, carefully wiping away a tear. Light gray water coated his finger. She knew now her makeup was still running on her face.

“I ruined your shirt.”

He shrugged, “I’m boring. I have plenty of white shirts.”

She tried to smile. “You’re not.”

He shrugged and paused before looking serious; “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” She could feel herself starting to actually smile. Her face felt tight. The expression seemed foreign, but the smile broke through.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said. He grinned.

She knew her face was blotchy with swollen eyes. She knew her eye makeup likely made her resemble a panda, but she could see love in his eyes. Love can make things beautiful, and accepted love makes all things beautiful. When love is accepted between two, the bond is sacred. She could let this man into her life. Changing and moving towards something again was frightening, but she learned that he truly loved her, and she could allow herself to have that sort of love despite being broken. When she accepted that love, could see herself anew. She knew how he saw her, and if Mark could see her as something worthy, valuable, maybe she could too because she knew she loved him.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

“I do,” she said. “And I'll make breakfast.”

“Is that right?” he asked playfully raising an eyebrow.

“It is right,” she said. She looked at him, taking in his face and the twinkle in his eye. Her eyes flickered down to his lips. “And you’re right.”

He looked confused. “I’m right?”

She kissed him and knew she would kiss him again every night.