#I am quite proud of myself for not panicking in particular. I tend to get stuck in 'half-sleep' on normal days

[andyhdi]

A large worry of mine was that I would be unkind when I woke from anesthesia, as I understand everyone has different responses.

When I woke up from surgery in the recovery ward, I instead immediately was trying to offer the patient next to me (who was having a rough time of it) some of my lollies, and heavily praised my minder every time she fed me ice chips.

All in all, not unkind in the slightest. :)

[suolainensilakka]

First Meeting

(Characters belong to myself and @enderchest !)

This was a really, really, really bad idea, Duster thought to himself as he shuffled from one pede to another, trying his hardest to blend in and stamp down his nervousness as Sentinel Prime marched in front of the group of soon-to-be Elite Guard cadets, scrutinizing each and every bot with trained precision and likely gauging whether or not they were worthy of recruiting officially.

“And what do you do?” he heard the Prime’s voice say, and tried to refrain from wincing. He wasn’t really yelling, per se, not even close, but the volume was still enough to make Duster cringe. The mech being questioned chuffed with laughter, but the much smaller minibot couldn’t see him properly from behind the mass of armored pedes blocking his view to the left.

“Gimme a target and I’ll show ya,” the mech replied with an audible grin. Sentinel’s optics narrowed at the informal language but he didn’t comment further, instead pointing towards the row of blandly painted training dummies standing behind him, stepping aside.

“Alright then, knock yourself out.” He was clearly skeptical, but there was a small glimmer of curiosity in his optics as he watched the newcomer step forward with confidence.

Duster leaned over to get a better look, only barely managing to catch a glimpse of a light brown and green mech before he suddenly launched forward with almost frightening speed and collided with the closest dummy, shattering it into near-symmetrical splinters that exploded outwards and sent all nearby mechs jumping backwards with surprised yells. The mech paid them no mind, instead whirling towards his next target and obliterating it in a similar manner. One was split in half with a single kick, another was sent flying several dozen feet into the air, and all the remaining ones were taken out so fast Duster’s optics almost hurt while trying to keep up with the bot’s incredible swiftness.

The mech finished his mock battle with a victorious whoop, turning to face his audience with his arms spread outwards and frame physically radiating heat from exertion. He paused for a moment before speaking, huffing as his frame struggled to cool down, but it was clear from the look on his face that he was quite proud of himself.

“How’s that for a demonstration?” he asked, grinning. There was a beat of silence as Sentinel simply blinked in response, before brushing a few stray flecks of debris from his shoulder with a short hum.

“Quite impressive,” he said, voice slightly strained from annoyance at the mess scattered about, but nonetheless still pleased. “What’s your name, soldier?” he then barked sharply, and the bot in question let out a short laugh.

“Name’s Breakbrawl.” He paused for a moment, flexing his arm cables in an almost comically exaggerated manner before continuing, “Sorry ‘bout the mess, by the way. Things kinda tend to go boom when I’m around.” Breakbrawl then chuckled at his own little joke, shoulders shaking and teal headlights flashing briefly.

“... Alright then, Breakbrawl, you’re in,” Sentinel replied after a pause, his trademark smirk settling back on his face as he gestured for the bot to step back into the line. Breakbrawl let out another joyful whoop, practically leaping into the group and moving to stand on his previous place with newfound energy and brightly glowing optics.

Duster had been watching the performance in almost complete silence, utterly captivated by the mech’s movements and the almost physically tangible confidence rolling off his shoulders in waves, and for a moment he’d almost forgotten why he was here in the first place. His earlier nervousness came crashing back in when Sentinel snapped back into drill sergeant mode, asking for each bot’s designation and function as he gradually moved closer and closer to Duster. The brown minibot briefly considered hiding behind one of the taller mechs, but immediately - albeit reluctantly - shook the idea away. You’re here now, you’ve come this far, you’ve put in too much effort to give up now. Stay calm.

Sentinel’s pedesteps grew closer. Duster tensed. His audials were online and perfectly functional but seemingly refused to process any noise filtered through beyond unintelligible muttering, and his spark hammered against its chamber with almost enough strength to visibly shine through its protective casing - calm down, you’re not going to die, just stop panicking - and Duster fought against the urge to bolt with all his might. Then, finally, after an agonizingly long ten minutes, Sentinel stopped in front of him and turned to look. The Prime’s stern expression briefly twisted into confusion after seeing no one there, and Duster - trying hard not to let his internal screaming physically spill out of his vocalizer - cleared his throat and waved a servo nervously.

“D-down here, sir!” he croaked, wincing slightly at the spontaneous voice crack. Sentinel nearly jumped in surprise before swiveling his helm towards the voice, and a wide, amused smirk appeared on his face. Leaning down towards Duster, he folded his arms behind him and tilted his helm slightly to the side, as if talking to a lost sparkling who had wandered too far from its guardians.

“And who are you, then?” he asked, clearly unimpressed. His tone sounded almost condescending, sending another wave of fear dancing through Duster’s spark.

“I... “ the minibot began, before pausing to clear his throat again and looking back up at Sentinel. “M-my name is Duster, sir.” A raised eyebrow was his only response for a moment.

“... Alright. What’s your specialty?”

“My--” Oh. Oh. Duster’s optics nervously flicked to look at the mechs around him - all had their optics trained on him and him alone, all understandably curious - and suddenly Duster realized just how awful his idea to come here had been. He didn’t have any special abilities or strengths that he could name. Not any he knew about, at least - it was becoming glaringly obvious that Sentinel, however, was very keen on knowing.

“Well?” the blue mech prodded impatiently, and Duster swallowed nervously.

“I-- uh--”

“Drawing attention away from teammates and distracting enemies, then. Got it,” Sentinel suddenly interrupted, grin widening even further. Duster’s vents sputtered, belching out clouds of soot in surprise.

“W--” he coughed, squinting slightly. “What?”

Sentinel’s optics narrowed marginally, adding a vaguely hostile edge to his already condescending expression.

“You heard me. It’s obvious you don’t have a lick of fighting spirit in you, and judging by that flimsy, paper-thin excuse for armor you’re wearing you wouldn’t last a nanosecond in a real, up-close fight with a Decepticon.” He leaned even further in, forcing Duster to take a nervous step backwards with his audial fins pinned tight against his helm, and jabbed a digit towards the minibot’s chest where his spark was rapidly pulsing within its glass casing. “And that might as well turn you into a big, red, screaming target with the words “shoot me” painted on. Honestly, it’s a miracle cleaning models like you are even allowed to apply.” Slowly, with an infuriatingly smug air clinging to him, Sentinel rose up and turned away, seemingly ready to continue to the next bot. Faint murmurs echoed all around - some sounded concerned, some snide, and it made Duster’s plating rattle faintly in discomfort.

“So, am I… am I in…?” he squeaked softly, watching Sentinel pause for a moment before turning his helm to peek at the minibot with a glare.

“For the time being, yes. Try not to waste my time too much. This oughta be fun…” he huffed, although Duster could tell the last part was more meant to be a low murmur than a comment directed his way. The Prime then turned away with a dismissive sneer, apparently choosing to ignore Duster from that moment onwards.

It was probably a good thing he did, too. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last pinned under the Prime’s piercing gaze. Not without completely dissolving into a coughing, anxious mess, anyways. The fact that he had actually managed to get into the training program helped in softening the blow, but his joy was still vastly overshadowed by the obviously mocking way Sentinel had delivered the news - he just had to hope he could keep his calm for the rest of the training program, too.

“Well then, folks, it seems like you’ve all been - for the better of worse - accepted officially. Make no mistake, this does not mean that I’ll be going easy on you.” Sentinel’s gaze hovered over the group, optics narrowed. “Any of you.” Duster could hear some of the new cadets shuffling around nervously, too intimidated to talk. He couldn’t blame them, really.

“Now, since this particular training area is currently… “ the Prime began, before pausing and gesturing to the destroyed remains of the training dummies behind him, “... inoperable, we’ll be using the one further north until this mess is taken care of.”

Ah. Duster had a sinking feeling he knew what Sentinel was implying.

“You, over there. Duster. You’ll clean this up while we begin.”

Yep. Knew it.

Duster repressed the urge to sigh out loud, before nodding firmly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Sentinel flashed another - insincere - smile his way, before turning around to address his troops. “Alright, off you go now,” he barked sharply, and a chorus of loud “yes sir”s met Duster’s audials before the group trotted off with thundering pedesteps, and left the brown minibot standing alone on the clearing.

“Wow. Tough luck.”

… Well, almost alone.

Duster’s helm fins twitched towards the noise and he turned to look at the source of the voice, seeing a slender, dark silver and green mech - Shutdown, he recalled from the earlier demonstrations - standing a few feet away with a sly grin, leaning his weight on one pede and arms crossed. Duster merely raised an eyebrow, silent.

“What, not even gonna reply?” Shutdown snorted, visor flashing. Duster simply rolled his optics in annoyance, moving to pick up the nearest piece of discarded rubble on the ground and twisting the shard around in his servos.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” he asked dryly, tails twitching idly. He heard Shutdown give a harsh, ringing laugh behind him and tensed, listening as the mech’s pedesteps grew closer.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you be somewhere too, I dunno… where you’re actually useful?”

Duster’s joints froze, vents sputtering out another cloud of dirt. What…?

“I dunno why they even let you in. Like, what are ya gonna do, blind the ‘Cons with ultra-polished armor? Dump a bucket of cleaning solvent underneath their pedes to trip them? Face it, you ain’t made to be a warrior.” Shutdown’s words each stung like a sharpened blade cutting into Duster’s armor, each one more vehement than the last - don’t defend yourself, don’t provoke him, stay still, the minibot chanted mentally, struggling not to visibly tremble - but it seemed like the green ex-racer wasn’t done yet.

“Keep trying, janitor, maybe you’ll actually make it to a full week,” he snarled, leaning almost uncomfortably close to Duster’s frame.

Don’t defend yourself. Don’t defend yourself. Don’t defend yourself. Don’t--

“OI! Knock it off, chump!”

Duster blinked, armor clamping down onto his protoform in surprise. That voice…

Shutdown actually visibly flinched, whirling around to look at the mech standing a few feet away with his teal optics narrowed, engine rumbling a low, threatening note.

“I mean it. Quit badgering the little guy and haul your aft back to Sentinel’s group before I punt you across the field myself,” Breakbrawl snapped sharply, and Shutdown paused to shoot another nasty glare at Duster before quickly slinking away from Breakbrawl’s piercing gaze, still muttering under his breath what Duster assumed were things he dared not say out loud himself.

After the mech’s back vanished from view, Breakbrawl strolled over to where Duster was still paralyzed and crouched down, optics visibly softening.

“Hey, fella, you okay?” he asked with an almost shockingly gentle voice, and Duster simply blinked in response before a nervous smile found its way on his face and he gave a tiny laugh.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Why…” Duster paused to cough out a puff of smoke, grimacing, “... why’d you… help me?” He really couldn’t comprehend why he of all bots would deem him worthy of assistance - as much as he hated admitting it, there wasn’t anything special about him. There had never been. So why…

“Eh, I just don’t like bullies,” Breakbrawl replied, stretching his neck cables with a faint grunt. For a second Duster thought he saw a veiled look of sadness flash in the mech’s optics, but the cryptic expression was soon gone before he had time to really notice it. Breakbrawl then flicked his optics to look into Duster’s own, and despite the mask covering the lower half of his face they almost gave the impression of a warm smile. Something in Duster’s spark shifted.

“Seriously though, you okay? Do I need to kick his aft?” Breakbrawl said, winking playfully.

That got a louder, more genuine laugh out of Duster, vents billowing out soot as his shoulders shook.

“No, please don’t,” he squeaked quietly, grinning. Breakbrawl gave a chuckle of his own in response, waving an arm through the air in a relaxed manner.

“Alright, alright, I won’t.”

Duster was just about to reply before a loud shout pierced the air from somewhere behind him, dragging out a frightened gasp from his vocalizer.

“Hey! What the pit are you still doing here?”

Breakbrawl’s armor had flared out like a startled cyber-cat’s at Sentinel’s yell, but he soon smoothed down his plating and turned towards the Prime with a sour look.

“I was just making sure Duster’s okay. Is that a problem…” He paused, narrowing his optics. “... sir?”

Sentinel glared back, before shaking his helm with an irritated sigh. He paused to glance at Duster, then back at Breakbrawl, scowling.

“Well then, if you two are such great buddies now, why don’t you clean up this mess together? That oughta teach you some manners, soldier,” he finished with a disapproving mutter, before sharply turning around and marching back to where the rest of the group was in the middle of completing an obstacle course. Duster simply stared for a moment, before looking at the mech next to him with a timid smile.

“Jeez, what crawled up his tailpipe and died?” he quipped, gently elbowing Breakbrawl’s side with a dull thud. The taller mech simply gave a casual shrug in response.

“Beats me,” he replied with an audible grin and a chuff of laughter. He then paused for a moment, picking up a nearby shard of debris and weighing it in his servos with a thoughtful look. His optics flicked up to look at the back of Sentinel’s helm, where he was barking out orders to the cadets, and Breakbrawl’s optics soon gained a mischievous glint. “Say what, Dusty… Should I nick ‘im with this?” he asked, slyly eyeing the Prime before shifting his helm to glance at Duster. The brown minibot burst into a short giggling fit, rapidly shaking his helm with a mildly exasperated look on his face.

“Primus, no! Don’t!” he chided the larger bot, whose face was glowing with both glee and genuine joy of having made the skittish minibot actually laugh.

“Well, if you say so,” he replied, snorting quietly. There was a short, relaxed pause between the two before he then slowly crouched down and started collecting the surrounding debris, quietly humming a cheerful melody Duster didn’t recognize. The minibot then jolted with a faint gasp, suddenly reminded of his original task, and bent down next to Breakbrawl to reach the rubble a bit further away, face glowing blue.

Breakbrawl’s optics briefly flicked to look towards Duster with an unreadable but relaxed expression, but he soon returned to work without comment. Duster simply allowed himself to get absorbed in the soothing, repetitive motions of cleaning, replaying the earlier conversation in his memory files and spark only briefly stalling at the realization that Breakbrawl had given him a nickname.

… Maybe Elite Guard training wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Contrary to Shutdown’s harsh insult on his first day, Duster didn’t get kicked out after a week.

He managed to last an astounding two and a half weeks before Sentinel seemingly got tired of having to pretend to tolerate his presence, and loudly and gleefully announced Duster’s involuntary exit. The shocked, dumbfounded silence that followed the announcement still haunted Duster to this day as he organized his belongings with automated motions, mouth pulled into a thin line and tails twitching idly. He remembered feeling shock and disappointment, but those feelings still paled when compared to a resigned, tired acceptance. He didn’t expect to last that long, but it still stung a little. Duster paused for a moment, looking at his arm pensively - it was probably for the better, anyways. As much as he hated admitting it, Sentinel was right about his unusually thin armor being unsuitable for combat.

A sudden but gentle knock to the door in his shared quarters with Breakbrawl broke the silence, and Duster’s armor flared out as he whirled around with a startled yelp. The door slid open and in came a very apologetic-looking Breakbrawl, audial fins pinned back as his optics gave the impression of a grimace.

“Sorry, pal, did I startle ya? Didn’t mean to do that, my bad,” the larger mech said, ducking his helm to avoid knocking it against the top of the doorframe as he strode in. Duster merely blinked, still frozen, before smoothing down his armor and waving a servo through the air nonchalantly, chuckling softly.

“‘S alright. Training’s over already?” he asked, tilting his helm to the side. Breakbrawl’s expression softened a bit more to his default relaxed look, and he gave a short nod in response.

“Yup. That’s… not the only reason I’m here, though,” he replied, and Duster raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yeah? Everything alright?”

Breakbrawl’s face, though still covered by his mask, almost looked mildly smug. The expression disappeared shortly after, but Duster was already suspicious. The minibot narrowed his optics as Breakbrawl walked further into the room and sat down onto his assigned berth, the metal creaking slightly with the impact, and took a deep breath.

“I quit.”

Duster’s pistons froze for the second time that day, before his vents soon came back alive through a sputtering, choked squeak of alarm that sent clouds of dirt billowing everywhere around the brown minibot.

“What?” he hissed, optics flying wide open. Breakbrawl waved his servos in a placating manner, expression abashed, before he went on to explain.

“Easy, Dusty, easy! Don’t twist your cables into a coil, I’ve made my decision and I ain’t changing it,” he said with a small chuff of laughter. Upon seeing Duster’s still shocked expression, he let out a small sigh. “Look, I just…” he began, idly scratching the back of his neck. “... I dunno. It was really unfair of Sentinel to kick you out, especially in front of everyone like that.” He paused, optics flashing in a smile. “It just didn’t feel right to stay when I got this far this easily and you constantly got bossed around like you were nothing. Which definitely ain’t true,” Breakbrawl added with a huff.

Duster listened, silent save for the soft whirring of the gears beneath his protoform. He didn’t know how to respond. Breakbrawl’s expression softened further, and he leaned slightly towards Duster.

“B’sides, it just… it wouldn’t feel right without you,” he murmured, voice hushed to the point Duster wouldn’t have recognized him as the same mech who oh-so-gloriously demonstrated his fighting prowess the first time Duster ever saw him if he hadn’t seen this side of him once before. Duster took a small, hesitant step forward, swallowing the lump building at the back of his throat tubing.

“Y-you…. you could have become an Elite Guard, Brawl. You could have been promoted even further - you could have become a Prime, for crying out loud!” he spoke, voice trembling. “You could have become all that - gain the respect of the entire Autobot army, even - and you quit?” Duster felt something prickle at the corners of his optics. “F-for me?”

While Duster might have imagined the expression before, now there was absolutely no mistaking of the glow of pride on Breakbrawl’s face as the bot looked at Duster with what may have been the most fondness he had ever seen on a mech’s face before this moment. The barest hint of blue glowed on Breakbrawl’s cheeks as the mech chuckled, before a sly grin found its way on his face and his vents blew out a gust of air in a scoff.

“Tell ya what, Dusty, they can keep their damn Primes and promotions. Your company is perfectly good ‘nough for me,” Breakbrawl spoke with confident triumph, servo placed on top of his spark chamber to show the sincerity in his words.

Duster’s vents gave a small, choked whine he barely managed to stifle, and the minibot broke into a small, nearly hysterical fit of giggles. Breakbrawl looked concerned for a second before Duster quieted down, shoulders still shaking slightly.

“That’s… wow,” he finally replied with another muffled snort, grinning. “You…. seriously? That’s like… the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Duster murmured softly, and Breakbrawl’s optics shone.

“Yeah, well, you deserve all the nice things in the whole world if I had any say in it.” He ignored Duster’s flustered sputtering for a moment before continuing with a grin, “And I’d say you’ve gone through enough scrap in your life as it is.” Breakbrawl paused again, expression softening once more. “Say what, how about we go exploring together? I can get us a small ship, we could just…” he spoke, slowly dragging his opened palm across the air in front of him as if to imitate a starship’s trajectory, “... fly through the cosmos, just you and I, no strict higher-ups bossing us around, no Sentinel to breathe down our necks, no limits or boundaries between us and the galaxy.”

Duster listened quietly, helm fins twitching with curiosity as he nodded slowly, optics gradually gaining back their passionate shine as he watched Breakbrawl animatedly gush about their future journey. The larger bot paused for a moment, glancing at Duster in a silent question.

“I heard there’s a small team of Autobots currently stationed on a planet called Earth and that they could use some backup. A change of scenery would be pretty nice wouldn't it?” Breakbrawl asked with an audible grin, tilting his helm to the side. “Whaddya say, lil, buddy? Wanna go on an adventure with me?”

Duster gave a short, delighted laugh in response, launching forward to wrap his arms around Breakbrawl’s chassis in a hug.

“Absolutely,” he said, burying his helm into the crook of Breakbrawl’s neck with a wide smile.

[novadreii]

2017 review

I’ve always flip-flopped on doing these every new year, but even if it’s “just another day”, I think it’s nice to use the time as an opportunity for personal reflection. so here, in no particular order, are the Significant Events I experienced this year:

moved out on my own for the first time. have been financially supporting my brother and myself while he gets his trade degree in video editing. it’s hard some days. we live a frugal life (note to materialistic self: this is not forever, this is not forever...) but he is well-fed and has a non-toxic environment to get his shit together. despite my anxieties and issues with avoidance, i’ve made it work. i haven’t once needed financial assistance from my parents. i’m turning out to be quite the little shrew with money and I have a natural knack for managing it. i’m proud of myself for this.

dealt with death and grief due to the passing of both my grandmothers within a month of each other. it was exactly like what i expected it to be like, and i am grateful that i got my spend my childhood with them, and that they passed away while I was an adult and was much better emotionally equipped to deal with it.

changed jobs/careers. from retail to a desk job. the pay increase and corresponding decrease in stress level of the work i’m doing is certainly welcome. yes, it took a friend begging me to come work with her, and i don’t know if i would have had it in me to change jobs by myself. but i wrote the cover letter and showed up to the interview, and busted my ass in training. so i will take some credit for this and again, i am proud of myself for taking such a big jump.

the relationship with both my parents took a big step back. mainly due to me. i am withdrawing from them and it’s because i am still dealing with a lot of leftover childhood resentment that apparently i haven’t stuffed down far enough. will have to work on this in 2018.

have pushed myself to do some social stuff that I really didn’t feel like doing. at this point I don’t know if I truly am this much of a hermit, or what. once i’m out, i generally have a good time. but i’m always wishing to be back in the safety and solitude of my home. people, even friends, are too unpredictable for me, and so I tend to avoid them. will continue to work on this too. I think it’s one thing to be introverted, but I am taking it a bit far.

didn’t go back to school yet. struggling with the feelings of shame about this. the desire is still there, but I still feel so panicked at the very thought of going back. my academic burnout happened what, two years ago? but it still feels fresh. being enrolled in school just makes me feel like i am constantly drowning and bound to fail after all is said and done. i don’t know to trick my brain out of this way of thinking. may have to seek actual professional help on this one if I don’t make any headway.

so overall, a pretty big year for me. lots of growth, lots of firsts. i’m generally feeling a bit “emotionally winded” or just generally out of balance/sync with myself. i’m in a different home and job from last year, my entire life has really changed, and I can’t shake the feeling of being behind all the time, not quite being able to catch up with everything that needs to be done. i made a lot of external strides forward, but emotionally and internally, I definitely took some steps back.

I don’t have concrete resolutions, however, I am generally going to work on continuing to be mindful and engaged with the present moment, and keeping my heart as open as I possibly can. This might prove difficult, as I feel like I’ve got a booby-trapped fortress around mine. I want to trust people more, let them in, be less judgmental always, and continue to extend compassion and a helping hand wherever I’m able to do so. i need to look outward, to others. I think this is where my area of focus this year should be.

My wish for you reading this is that you reflect on what is keeping you in or out of balance. to keep doing what makes you happy, and to be able to identify and leave behind what doesn’t. or, if you’re feeling stuck, and not necessarily in the most proactive of states, to just be present and still and realize the joy of the very moment you’re inhabiting right here and now. yeah, yeah, I know. Corny. but I’ve noticed that the present moment is always waiting for me when I’m spiraling or in a crap state of mind; I just need to yank myself back. I notice that time slows significantly and the burden of things that have or haven’t yet happened lessens. Those things have no place in reality. There is only right here, right now, and if we work on what’s right in front of us, the rest will unfold as it should. I really do believe that.

Happy New Year, friends.

[such-an-almighty-sound]

you go to the fog place yourself this time. it’s like turning to the side suddenly, a narrow periphery only open for a second. 

although you did not coordinate this, cm florence is already there, as though waiting. you register that she is wearing the white dress, patterned in vertical lines of embroidered flowers. it splits open at the knee and petals around her. cotton or something, vaguely soft. 

have you made up your mind?

i think so.

mm. i just want to look at your face for a moment before we go. here. you are already quite close in the fog. she takes your head between her hands and looks not really at you, but- you’re not sure what. her eyes flick back and forth for a moment, and then she makes a soft ohh in the back of her throat and smiles, lets go.��i think we’re ready then. we can talk once we get there. the fog starts thinning out this way. 

and just like that, you’re walking after her, slightly behind, noticing once more her particular certainty about where her feet will fall. 

the fog begins to change color and then smell and then the ground shifts under your feet and turns both soft and compact-

the trees make a cathedral around you. 

the light falls down slowly through the canopy, softened and diffused by layers and layers of intersecting green boughs. a feeling of depth. under the vast scale of the red cedars, the muted light makes you feel as though you are deep deep underwater, peacefully swimming in something infinitely larger than yourself

florence’s bare feet stepping forward ahead of you, the tattoos on her ankles too fast / for freedom winking as she moves through patches of shadow and sunlight

your feet are bare too. the duff and compacted needles are cool and springy, slightly resilient underfoot. you do not leave footprints.

the clearing itself is held in the lap of an enormous redwood cedar. an irregular oblong framed with ferns, the edges slipping back into the paths that snake through the woods. park benches in a single line mark the far boundary of the space. the iron has grown almost green with sea patina, all fogged over and glassy. 

do you remember being here?

you raise your face, feeling the scent of sea and cedar, the soft light sifting down. all the bracken and ferns and ridges of earth where older trees used to be create a bowl around you, like being in a cupped green palm

yeah. it’s gentle but pungent, the smell of the cedar all around you, the cedar earth a fragrant dark rich red under your feet. red as old blood. the smell is like a prayer. you have pressed your face to it a hundred thousand times, in sickness and in health. 

you came back here? afterward, to this memory?

i think it was the last place i really felt safe, for a long time. something about being so ill and such beauty still existing in the world. it made sense to hold onto that. 

she nods. i thought it might be a good place for this. you have it in common between you.. you were here after bandon. you were so raw, and this was a calm eye in the middle of all that... you don’t have many of those. a wry, but gentle smile.

and i was alone here.

you were. which also makes it special, gives it that space we need, for our work. you are both quiet for a moment, having circled back around to your purpose, your reason for being here at all. forest noises fill in the space between you; calling birds, the distant thrush of waves.

are you ready? florence asks. i can go get her, but you can take as long as you need. she’s not touching you, but her hands want to: they halfmove, fold and unfold. wanting for a shoulder, your face, your own hands to touch. a hesitancy you’re not sure of. 

yes, you say. 

she looks as if she wants to say something very much, but begins to turn away, just brushing your shoulder with the verymost tips of her fingers. while still within distance she abruptly turns back and gathers you up, tightly. her hand, firm on your jaw, guides your face to look at her.

no matter how this goes i am very proud of you. a kiss on your left temple, a kiss on your right, and she’s gone, picking her way out of the clearing. 

you do not watch her walk away because you do not want to see the point when these trees become else, the vanishing point, that bridges between here and there. in your heart you would like these woods to continue on forever without ceasing, a green echoing that goes on and on. 

instead, you sit on one of the benches and wait. 

it is not long before florence walks back. an almost perfect echo of the night of the 27th: arms, blanket, body. the sunlight is behind her, slanting through the dense trees, throwing her silhouette into perfect relief. 

she sits down carefully near the far end of the bench, arranges them both. come around here to the other side, bucky, where there’s room for you. 

there’s room, but only enough. enough that it gives you only two choices, to sit or not. no edging away, no hiding. intimate, your leg against hers, your shoulders touching, you sit so close. 

florence holds the head of your younger self in her lap, body lying down the length of the bench. she sleeps, as you still do, curled tightly into herself, hands knotted under the blanket in the same way. and the distance, the years, the long and twisted miles of anger and tears and fighting and grief, folds up between you. two fuses, inches apart.

you feel your panic stir in your chest, the wet overwhelming one, like a hole bored clear through flesh. you take a breath, and take another, and realize that you can smell cedar and nurse logs and florence and cloth and very faintly the salt of the sea but you cannot smell the hospital on her skin. 

florence begins to resume the small rituals of tending. tucking hair back, tracing lines with her thumb and forefinger, making the blankets neater. light continual contact. she glances at you, then back down to her lap. i worry about her being cold. i know this… doesn’t change anything, but i do. i worry. she reaches down and parts the side of the blankets, takes the unconscious hands out and looks at them. covers them up in her own. so cold. you’re not sure you have the right to the pain on her face, but it’s there, all the same. 

small hands that used to be yours.

slowly, you reach out and lay your hand over your younger self’s. gently. deliberately. and nothing happens. her hand is cold, and bony and bruised, the fingernails shredded, joined to an arm lax with exhaustion that goes deeper than sleep.

you wait and nothing happens. something should, something catastrophic, something cataclysmic. you keep your hand there, half-tensed. almost unable to move for anticipating a blow that doesn’t come.

florence leans against you right then, her eyes half-closed. warm, calm.

is she breathing? you blurt, panicked. everything has always ended before here, and you don’t know how to go on

florence sits up, half-surprised. yes of course, look. she lays her hand flat between four electrode stickers.

i don’t know what to do. 

her hand rises and falls.

you don’t need to do anything. just keep breathing. keep holding her hand. remember you’re here and not there. 

where’s her telemetry unit? you keep noticing details you couldn’t remember in a dizzying influx of information. this body you can only remember clearly as someone else’s. there’s lanugo beginning on her arms. 

florence looks at you patiently. there’s no risk in her being here with us. you know how this goes. 

you are scared but you can only feel its current tugging at you, not pulling you down. there is further to go still.

what can you remember about that day? florence asks.

i remember i thought i would be in and out in an hour or so. there was an advertisement for the clinic on the radio as we drove there. it wasn’t a surprise. i always knew where we were going. the initial appointment took five hours. most of which was sitting in a cold sterile room alone waiting and losing track of time. i had never had to talk with a doctor one on one like that before. there was always someone else i could use as a distraction, a foil to bounce things off of and this time.. there wasn’t. i thought a lot of things but i didn’t ever think i would be going to the hospital that day. when doctor m. told me she apologized. and then...

and then? florence asks. 

and then i walked myself across the street into the hospital. and the programs took over from there.  there’s a lot that was frustrating because i had lost control of being able to do things for myself, because of protocols and just because.. i couldn’t do them. like not being able to walk anymore. being unable to get out of bed, having to page someone to do absolutely everything for me. not being able to be alone, ever. not being allowed to have the bathroom door shut. the very thing that saves you be the one that traps you.

everything was like that. the telemetry unit being an effective tracking device, refeeding... everything was so grounded in there being a body, in keeping myself in that body that i had tried for months and months to escape, to turn into something else 

and i didn’t want to be there but i didn’t want to be dead either, not really. although at the time i thought about bandon with this perverse kind of angry jealous longing. 

and all those doctors and nurses and cnas and mas working so hard to keep me rooted in a body i didn’t want to be in anymore

there’s what feels like a dichotomy between being angry and being scared and i.. i think i always chose angry then, too. 

-you were angry at yourself then, too?

yeah. i guess i was. you feel like you’ve opened a box that used to hold something important, and found it empty. all this time. 

sometimes you need time, bucky.

it’s just been this cycle, going on and on. endlessly perpetuating self-hate. you’re staring out, into the clearing as you speak. years and years of it.

but you’ve gone through and you’ve seen there’s no way you could have avoided- what happened happened. trauma is like a circle, she’s not free until you are and you had to see these things to be able to let go of blaming her, of blaming yourself.

the ouroboros, you say.

well, that’s one way of putting it.

you both (all three) sit for a moment, silent. then florence speaks

i think our time here is almost up. i’ve got to walk her back. she looks at you, that kind of gold light in her eyes. is there anything else you want to do before-?

you look at the face surrounded in blankets, imagine running your hand over it like she does. some things are still too far out of reach.

no.

okay then. 

a reversal of the night of the 27th. you’re walking behind them both, into the fog. it changes color and scent and becomes denser and more regular. you reach a doorway full of light and florence nods at you, walks through. there’s still the imprint of a smaller hand in yours. 

you wait the long minutes in the busying fog until florence comes back and grabs you up. she’s holding your head against her chest, rocking both of you back and forth.

i am so proud so proud of you. you’ve left her an opening. a way out!

i did. you mutter, unsure. i did. a pause. can we go somewhere else now?

-of course.