12 Step Suffering

You said that, if you could, you would take back everything you ever did to me.

All the yelling, screaming, punching, fighting whirring in reverse. Rewinding like a film in our little box television.

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I remember seeing you sitting in the driver’s seat. The big white bus somehow looking small with you at the helm; leering and menacing.

You press the clutch and shift the gears and roll towards me. Faster and faster until you hit me.

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I felt my skull crack on the concrete.

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The blood began slowly. There were a dozen stages of grief, pain and processing before the first delicate trickle began to trace the cracks.

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First, the bones cracked. The sound pierced the air like a blunt knife through cauliflower.

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Second, the earth shifted. I remembered being six years old with a migraine and crawling into your bed. My head was on fire then, just as it is again. The only difference now is that I cannot run to you to brush my hair until I fall asleep.

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Third, the pain began. Needles poked into my head. Not stabbing and staying, but slowly pressing in before pulling back out, over and over and over and over. Stinging as the air made its way to the open wounds.

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Fourth, the air blew colder. I will never be sure if the air really picked up or if I just suddenly became very aware that it was moving around my body. Finding any way to get in and cover me in goosebumps.

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Fifth, I’m transported into our little television. The air whirls around me, but this time I am in control. I move the air with my hands. Learning control. If there is one thing I understand, it is control. I am the last air bender. The world is depending on me. I feel it's weight on my shoulders, but I have a job to do.

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Sixth, I regret rewriting my resume. This job is too much for me. My little body isn’t ready to hold the weight of the world. Atlas is going to laugh at me. My cheeks going bright red to match the flames licking my brain.

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Seventh, the cooking began. A slow roast heating up in my skull. The blood rushing around my head ensures I stay tender and juicy. A rare steak. Gravel for seasoning.

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Eighth, the ground holds me down. I can feel the stones pinching my skin, my back, my shoulders. Keeping me down so you can come over to see your handiwork. The gravel holds me tighter than you ever have. Tighter and tighter, squeezing and pinching until I can’t even feel it anymore.

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Ninth, I start floating. I’m flying high above myself, like an angel in heaven. I hope that I am dead. I hope that I can stay in the clouds and watch the world go by for the rest of eternity.

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Tenth, I am not dead.

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Eleventh, I can see my chest rising and falling. It’s a miracle. I am Jesus. I am Harry Potter. I am the phoenix. I am the hero of the stories you have taught me. I am coming back to the world with intentions of divine retribution. I have taken the sins of my family with me and will come back to try again. If only I could walk back home and sit at the dinner table. I’d have to find my legs first.

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Twelfth, the pain comes flooding back. I claw my way back into my body, leaving more scratches and scars than were already there. I press myself back into my feet, my calves, my thighs. I can feel, but cannot move. My stomach, my chest, my shoulders. If this is what my heart feels like, I do not want to come back to my head. My arms, my hands, my fingers. Paper cuts and gravel rash are not so different after all. I can feel my body again. I take a deep breath. Courage. I will reclaim what’s mine. You will never take my body from me. You can never have my mind. As I exhale I hear the blood rushing and rushing. The flames have not died down. My head is on fire. It’s time for the gasoline to spread onto the road. I can only hope it finds your engine.

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The blood starts slowly. Tracing each little crack on the concrete. Curling around like the cursive writing you once taught me. Looping letters writing all the things you have ever done to me and all the things you have never done for me. Out in the open. Ready for the open book exam on how to love without hurting.

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You said you would take it all back, if you could.

I watch the scene reverse. Frame after frame, sliding back in the opposite direction.

I feel it all again the second time, until finally you are reversing the bus back over me.

I see you at the front of the bus; leering and menacing.

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You push the clutch and change the gears and start rolling toward me.