“I didn’t want it to be me.”
Sitting on the bottom step … cold, hard cement under her torn jeans and a busy world around her that seemed to be standing still … she held her head in her hands.
The pretty girl with the perfect spirals of hair that fell delicately in front of her deep brown eyes … almost hiding them and the tears that they have poured over her beautiful face. Her perfect smile, chased away. Her musical laughter, muted like a busted music box. The plans for her perfect life, shattered, like a fist through a mirror. Her beautiful heart bleeding.
Her perfectly pink lips trembled and she whispered, “I didn’t want it to be me.”
A small school girl, she would hop and squirm in her seat. Her small hand waving frantically in the air, she’d beg, “Oh oh oh….pick me! Pick me!” So anxious and eager she was back then, earnest for a chance to give the answer, for a chance to try…
Not today … not this time.
This time she would’ve put her hand down. She would’ve hidden under her desk, slunk to the back of the room. She would’ve run … out of the classroom, out of the building … out of the world to escape this. She would’ve paid any money, rubbed any stone, whispered any spell, prayed any prayer … not to be picked this time.
She knows these things happen. She knows no one deserves it. She knows she couldn’t have stopped it. And yet here she sits, with her head in hands and cries, “I didn’t want it to be me.”
Delicately perched on the step, an empty eggshell ready to crack- like a fractured fairytale, only there’s no happy ending. Breathing is her greatest task. And as she cries and breathes … the tears become fewer and the breathing, deeper.
The empty egg-shell is not so empty after all. Inside, it holds the steel frame of a woman who doesn’t know her strength. But as she breathes, slowly, she begins to notice the supports within her.
Still she cries, “I didn’t want it to be me.”
The longer she sits, the more she becomes aware of the steel bars that compose her core, her inner strength. And she tries to stand.
Her knees shaking, her body trembling, she takes a step … and then another … and then another.
And then for the first time, she lifts her gaze to the street in front of her- full of people, full of obstacles, full danger and judgement…
The journey ahead is frightening and overwhelming, but she knows that she can do this. She can walk this walk and fight this fight. Inside of her she can feel the strength of the many warriors, women who came before her … and she knows that she isn’t just a survivor, she’s a conqueror.
Shadows begin to move and let way to slivers of light. Though she knows some shadows will always remain.
Her legs, once too weak to stand, get stronger with every step. Her head, once fallen, raises higher with each stride. Her eyes, once too filled with tears to see are now filled with focus and direction. And her heart … as strong as it beats and as full as it is … her heart still bleeds …
because she whispers, “I really, really, didn’t want it to be me.”
Still she takes another step.
