V. H. King's Ink

“I still don’t know how it happened.”  Elina shook her head.  “Isn’t that weird?”

Tashae shrugged.  

“Why do you always have to know?”

“Have to know what?”

“It just happened.  Accept it.  People would kill for that sort of luck.”

Elina flinched.  There had been too much death lately.  She had seen too many murders to take that phrase lightly anymore.  Tashae had a point of course, and Elina knew she was lucky. 

“I shouldn’t complain about it.  And I’m not.  I’m just—why did it take this?  What was so drastic about twenty pounds that suddenly meant I was allowed to love myself?  My actual body?”

“You’re not that lucky,” Tashae teased.  “You still got a shit pancreas and only half the strength in your right hand.  Not to mention a million aches and pains doctors won’t listen to you for.”

“That’s their problem.” 

Elina turned away, scooping clothes out of the dryer and into the basket.  It was her problem too, but there was only so much she could blame herself for.  She carried the clothes to the living room, where Tashae had already set up the ironing board. 

Not that Elina would be ironing.  She would sit on the floor and fold shirts, mate socks, and try to convince herself that she was fine.   She was not obsessing over the sudden drop in her weight. That had been eight months ago, that the doctor had noticed. Maybe ten, since she had started losing weight. But she hadn’t gained it back. And she didn’t weigh herself every day anymore, only three times a week. Maybe more, if she felt strange–if she felt like there would be a difference in the numbers. Mostly she stayed around the same. Nothing drastic. She was fine.

“I still have a lot to grow on.” It comes out half-hearted, and Elina can almost hear the lie she’s silently telling herself.  “A lot to get used to.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you think too much?  Why do you always have to be something?”

“If you knew you could be better, wouldn’t you want to?”

“Who says I have to?”

“I say you have to pick a movie.” Elina said.  “Since you say I need to stop thinking.”

Tashae snorted but obliged, scrolling through titles on the screen at a dizzying pace.  Elina slowly let out a breath—which reminded her that she needed to inhale, first, if she wanted to breathe out the tension that was folding in on itself under her skin. 

She was fine.  She had time.  There was nothing to race towards, nothing to rush.  Except it always felt like she was supposed to have things figured out. It never felt like she was allowed time to find out what she needed to learn, let alone learn those things.  Another sigh as she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. 

Let yourself be here. 

Spring rain fabric softener.  Soft black cotton.  Neon socks that could fit on a kid’s foot, Tashae liked to joke.  Elina sorted through the basket, trying to push back the restlessness.  A pile of laundry in her lap made it harder to get up and do something else.  She had to do this first, and she would try not to think about everything else that she needed to do.  Everything else she needed to be.

She would not to think about how she wanted to cry, and how she was already tired even though she’d spent the morning sleeping and the only thing she’d done today was eat breakfast.  Why should one meal wear her out?  Why did folding a few shirts and sorting through socks while watching TV make her so weak?  Why wasn’t she better? Who had trapped her in this limited skin, and why couldn’t she get out?

I should be stronger than this.  I was told—I was raised—to do more than this.

Great, now she really had to keep herself from crying.  A pity party wouldn’t help anything.  Things would only change if she changed.  So she had to work harder. Find a way to figure out…  Flutes caught her attention and nudged her chin up.  The deep blue of arctic waters, rippling with firelight and shadows, filled the screen. 

This is Berk…

Elina couldn’t manage a laugh, but a small smile appeared on her face.  She reached for the remote, turning the volume as far as she dared.  It was the middle of the day—and the weekend—so her neighbors could stand a little noise pollution.  She wasn’t even sure if they were home, but she didn’t care.  She needed to immerse herself into the world of dragons, Vikings, and occupational hazards for a few hours. 

---

“It shouldn’t be a prerequisite,” Elina says later.

The baskets are once again full. This time everything is folded and all the socks are paired, except for three that might be hiding under the mattress or inside a fitted sheet.  Three movies later—not that it had taken that long to do all the laundry, but Elina couldn’t watch just the one.  She had to watch all three.  Besides, it kept her mind from spinning. 

“You want the spinach and feta we saved as a favorite?” Tashae asked, scrolling through their most recent pizza orders.  “And do you want any chicken?”

“Get the barbecue chicken pizza too,” Elina said.  “No onions, extra cheese.”

“Nothing else?  Just the two pizzas?”

A pause as Elina thought it over, but then she nodded.  She could handle two slices of pizza tonight.  The spinach and feta was a thin crust, which meant she shouldn’t have much trouble eating it during the week.  Maybe she would roast some squash and brussels sprouts to go along with it.  Tashae taps in the order and then takes the baskets upstairs. 

Elina stretches out on the couch, closing her eyes.  A forty-five minute nap would be nice.  Not needing a forty-five minute nap every half hour would be nicer.  I have to get used to this.  I have to accept it.  But she’s never been good at that.  She always has to fight.  And now she has to fight herself to not fight herself, and it’s exhausting being so torn up inside all the time, and why can’t she just chill out?

The fact that Tashae was here was progress, she supposed.  Admitting her disabilities had felt like admitting defeat, for Elina.  Hadn’t she failed at that all-important self-sufficiency that had been ingrained in her for as long as she could remember?  She comforted herself with the fact that she could still work.  She tried to tell herself that she could have some bad days.  She was allowed that. As long as she made up for it elsewhere. As long as she somehow proved that she was still…

“I’m scared of what will happen.”

“I think you’re scared of a lot more than that.”

“I’m scared of everything and I hate it.”

It’s another half-hearted lie, but she holds onto it because it’s easier than saying what she’s really afraid of. Easier to hate herself than to feel the fear.

“And here you are, smacking your fear in the face even if you haven’t figured out how to move with it.”  Tashae found her hand and squeezed it.  “I’m proud of you.”

Elina opened her mouth to retort, but then she closed it.  Easier to hate herself than to feel the fear. She didn’t want to slink into the sludge of self-hate, not when Tashae was kind enough to be honest with her. She looked down, steadying herself with a breath.  Focusing on the warmth of Tashae’s hands on her own.  Tashae was kind enough to be here with her. Maybe she could allow herself to be, here, too.

“Thank you,” Elina finally said. 

Tashae settled on the floor, stretching her legs out.  Elina’s eyes found the crown of Tashae’s head, the twists that bounced over her shoulders.  Elina held her breath and then let it out.  You can’t be afraid. 

Except Tashae liked to remind her that she could be afraid, and she could still push herself forward.  That’s what taking risks was all about.  She reached forward and let her hand rest on Tashae’s shoulder. 

Sometimes it felt like there were words Elina was supposed to say. Things she was supposed to do.  Ways to make it clear, how much their closeness meant to her.  But maybe the only thing Elina could do was to lean into that closeness and keep it alive.  Elina leaned forward, slipping her arm around Tashae’s shoulders and pulling her closer. 

“Is that supposed to be a hug?” Tashae asked, laughing.

“That’s me asking for cuddles.”  It’s out of her mouth before she can take it back, but she doesn’t want to.  “Come squish up here on the couch with me.”

“I’ll squish you for sure, if I sit on you.”

They fit themselves against the cushions, like two sardines in a can.  Elina closed her eyes again, smelling honey and jasmine and a hint of something she could never place.  She hugged Tahsae close, smiling into her shoulder. 

She was glad to be here, in this moment, even in this body, next to someone like Tashae.  The prospect of more days with Tashae wasn’t the only reason to care for her body, but it was certainly a lucrative incentive. 

“You’re still thinking,” Tashae mumbles into her ear.  “I can hear the smoke coming out of your ears.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“One of us has to have some humor.”

“You know your body will change, when you’re a kid.  People tell you all the time.  You can see it with your own eyes, the differences.  But—”

“You said but.”

Elina shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. 

“I guess I thought—I thought it would stay the same.   Like sure, you get taller and all that, but then everything stops until it’s—until it’s time to unwind.”

The glossy laser-print of obituaries rose behind her eyes.  She has plenty of childhood memories to choose from. The sleek feel of the paper between her fingertips, as she sat through funerals. Good for fanning.  Impervious to sweat or tears or rain. 

Sunrise. Sunset.  But what happened during that long day called life?  What if it wasn’t as simple as a flower sprouting from the ground, tilting its head toward the sun, until it was time to fold itself up again and curl back into the ground?

Or maybe it was as simple as that, but with new blooms every decade or so.  Maybe the seasons shifted.  Maybe the sun was not as fixed a point in the sky as she thought.  Maybe the flower had to twist and turn, leaning toward the light when it needed strength, sighing into the dark when it wanted space. 

“If the opposite had happened, would you feel the same way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it is a pre-requisite,” Tashae says.  “But not in the way you think.”

Elina had spent plenty of hours wondering why a sudden and, to all appearances, unexplainable drop in her weight might somehow make it easier for her to accept her body.  She had criticized herself in a wordless sort of way, shrugging through spiderwebs of shame and guilt and clutching at a sort of desperate gratitude. 

Yet she hadn’t spared much time wondering how she would have, or should have, reacted if she’d gained twenty pounds instead of lost it.  She liked to tell herself that her only issue was the awkwardness of her size—that it didn’t fit nicely into pleasant plumpness or a lithe, littler shape.  She’d told herself that often, but had she believed it?

A hand pats the soft squish of her stomach.  Elina smiles, a prickle of warmth scattering across her shins and shoulders when Tashae kisses her shoulder.  It was a body, that she had.  Not some cardboard box to be broken down and recycled.  A real, breathing, living body.  One maybe she could do well to really live in, rather than forgetting about it while she drifted away in her endless thinking.  She tried to promise herself she would do better, be better, but then her stomach growled.