Sunday, December 2, 2012

reverb | help

Reverb Prompt for December 2: Help. Asking for help can be the hardest thing we ever do. When and how did you ask for help? Alternatively, did someone ask you for help, and how did it play out for you? 
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I'd showered, gotten dressed, robotic in movement, and wound up in the car sailing down the road with all the windows down.

I parked in front of the house and took a moment, staring up at it, to compose myself. I let myself in with my old house key, cast at the Wal-mart when I was old enough to let myself in after school. The house was quiet and my footsteps on the worn gray carpet echoed catastrophically, up and up toward the loft.

She was sitting in the green recliner, the TV on, some magazines and nail polishes strewn on the tile table next to her, a table we'd had since Florida, when I was young. I sat down on the other recliner as she said "Hi!"

She hadn't even said "What's up," cheery as usual when I show up unexpectedly, when I started bawling.

"Lauren! Lauren! What's wrong? What's wrong?!"

She jumped off of her recliner, knelt in front of me and tried to peek around my arms, cold and shaking, propped up on my elbows and covering my face. She kept asking what was wrong until she saw it.

My left hand was covering my face, shading the tears streaming down my cheeks, and my ring finger was empty.

She gripped me then, strong arms pulling me into her shoulder and bracing me as the sobs rocked my body and we both searched for what comes next.


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