It’s a spell that washes over me, startling me with its intensity.
Is this more than just me craving a kind touch to make me feel better? Is it more than this conversation? I’ve focused solely on music for so long that I barely know what it feels like to be amananymore.
“I know. I just… it’s that… you belong to the world. More than you belong to yourself. I do understand that. I think that’s why even though youknowwhat you want, you don’t know how to get there.”
“That’s incredibly insightful,” I breathe. “Having a therapist mother paying off?”
That breaks her out of her reverie. Her hand falls away, breaking the rapture that shouldn’t have ever been there. For her, it was just another comforting touch.
For me… I don’t even know what the hell it was, but my body is on fire in a very different way. In a way other thanwe’re dealing with bad chicken over here.
The room lapses into silence again. The motion of the bus is still rocking my stomach in a not-so-great way, but it also sucks my body into an exhausted black tide. I still am one big cramp, and dehydration is real. Carissa’s eyes skip to the stuff she took out earlier and put on the table. The IV packaging, the saline bag. I try not to look at it because it’s going to make me puke again. Gagging up nothing but bile and spit is something I’d rather take a hard pass on.
“If you let me get you out of your clothes and tucked into the bed so I can put the IV in, I have a surprise for you.”
Damn it. I’m one of those odd people who adore surprises. There’s nothing better than a good mystery. I love the suspense. “What could you give to someone who has everything?” I try to unfold out of my C-shape, but the smallest movement sends waves of agony rippling through me and makes my stomach feel like I’m being impaled with an iron rod.
“I know you don’t have this.” She leans away and winks at me.
Winks.
I’ve never seen that before, and it does something to me that makes me feel just slightly less awful. It gives me some stage butterflies. I love that feeling right before I play a show. I’ve always used the nerves to fuel me instead of trying to drown them out. My grandma always encouraged me not to shut down and numb out. Feeling is the greatest gift in the world, even if you’re not feeling great. She told me it’s how you know you’re alive. It sounds token now, but back when I was a kid, I really needed to hear that.
I somehow get vertical enough to arrange my legs over the side of the bed. There’s no way I’m going to heap mortification on top of mortification, so I tug my own shirt off and then tackle my plaid pajama pants. I get one leg out and then the other until I’m just in my boxers. I’m still not going to win anysmells fresh as a darned daisyprizes over here, but getting the foul, sweaty clothes off does help. The air from the room feels good against my sweaty skin.
First, Carissa preps the bed. She plumps a bunch of the pillows and stacks them up against the wooden headboard. Then she peels the opposite side of the covers back before standing up and looking around, probably for somewhere to hang the horrible IV bag from.
I can do this.
I’m not in a hospital.
Carissa will never do anything to me that I don’t give her permission to do. She won’t hurt me. If I freak out, she’ll stop. If I tell her to get the fucking thing out of my arm, she’ll get the fucking thing out of my arm. This is the one part of my childhood that’s stuck with me. The one fear I’ve never been able to wash away. My grandma would always tell me that I needed to feel those things too, and that I needed to let them go after. Feel the fear. Exhale. Taste the bitterness. Exhale. Grieve. Exhale. She’d say that was life. Not just the good but the bad, accepting and moving beyond it so it doesn’t have the power to break me.
I know I need to talk to someone. I need to deal with this because it’s not healthy. It’s not even safe. Now that the tour’s ending, maybe I’ll have time.
No, not maybe.
Ineedto make time.
I close my eyes and tell myself none of this is like my childhood. Nothing was even done to me as a kid. I just witnessed it all second-hand. The fear of that man, a doctor, turned into something else. It grew and grew for me, until it nearly suffocated me. Is it really even fear anymore? It’s more like straight panic just thinking about entering a clinic or hospital or a doctor coming near me.
No hospital. No clinic. No doctor. Just the bus. Just hydration. Just a wonderful, caring, and selfless woman who wants nothing but the best for every single person she ever meets. I tell her no, she’ll respect that. If I want to get on stage, I don’t have to suck it up. I can just give it a try. Just a minute, then another, and another.
“Hey.” Carissa pats the spot she just made on the bed. “Do you think you can make it over here? I can help you.”
I move before I can change my mind, dragging myself to the little nest she’s made for me. I lean my back against the pillows,my legs straight out in front of me. She tucks me in like I’m a kid, smoothing the blankets around my waist.
“You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” I mutter.
Her eyes whip back to mine. “It’s going to sting for a minute and maybe ache for most of the time it’s in, but that’s the worst-case scenario. I promise it’s going to help you feel at least a little bit better.”
“Are you guaranteeing I make it to the show tomorrow afternoon?”
She shakes her head and leaves it at that. She doesn’t press me, coddle me, or bribe me. Although I guess she technically already did that by promising me a surprise.
“If I decline, can I still have the surprise?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, but they snap with clear delight she can’t hide. There’s maybe a little bit of something darker there too. Reluctance? Doubt? “Yes. It’s for you. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you, and after what you said, I think that time is right now.”
