Holy Ground, part 1

I could see the wreckage. I could see it in the way your eyes smiled the clearest, bluest, devastation I have ever seen.  

I could see it in the subtle confidence you performed as you tipped your head back and grinned. Cool Guy, you had it down. I know, because I did too. Cool girl. We’d been practicing since childhood– you switched words to halt your stutter and I learned the art of being quick to laugh, shoulders back, ask another question.  We learned early that being attractive affords you a certain anonymity.

Pretty people don’t get sick.

And for a moment, we were magnetic. When we walked into a bar, people stared. We played our roles well. You would twirl me through the crowd and I would ignore my every impulse hide away. Wide grin. Spin spin spin. We sat with arms around each other as people stumbled up to tell us of our luck. “So beautiful,” they said, and we threw our heads back in calm, adorable, laughter.

We were beautiful, it was true.

But I could see the wreckage.

And I know that you could too.

2015, age 22