XXXV. Scars

"I wish I could fly like that hawk, rising and falling with the still spaces in the air, far above all this sickness and death and evil." Heather Day Gilbert, God's Daughter ---- Chapter XXXV – Scars A loud snore woke me up. Instinctively, I rolled over to kick Shea but there was no one in my bed. Sitting up, I realised that we were still on the phone. I looked at the call time to see that we had been supposedly on the phone for six and a half hours. Shea was sleeping on the other end. It took me a minute to remember what had happened the night before. I had experienced an honestly harrowing panic attack. I'd always had recurrent anxiety and I had experienced panic attacks before, but that was absolute hell. I wondered how Shea knew immediately what was going on, and how he knew what to do. I would ask him when he woke up. I then wondered if it would happen again. That kind of fear was crippling. It honestly felt like I was knocking on death's door. My poor heart felt like it would literally burst in my chest. How much more could the organ take? I checked the time on my phone and saw that it was nearly seven. My dad would be here in an hour. Pushing my fears and anxieties aside, I ended the call with Shea and got out of bed to go and help my mom. I dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a loose sweater. I scooped my hair back into a messy bun and decided that was good enough. I could still only wear loose fitting clothes thanks to my surgery scar. I hadn't seen it properly. Not in a mirror anyway. But I was pretty sure it was a monster. Trauma scars always were. I had never been much of a bikini girl before, but I knew for sure I wouldn't be one now. I couldn't help but notice that it was particularly painful today. Really painful. But it had been painful the whole time, and maybe the hardcore hospital drugs were just wearing off. Either way, I couldn't bother my mom with this when she would be running around like a madwoman. As soon as I opened my door, the smell of bacon hit me. I literally started to salivate. I carefully made my way downstairs to see a full-on buffet being assembled before me. Mom looked like she had been up for hours. She was wearing the mint green blouse, and a perfect face of makeup. Her hair was down, shiny, and healthy looking thanks to the blowout. Based on the half-inch she had lost from her waist line, I could tell that she was wearing the spanx. She looked beautiful, and completely stressed. "Sara!" she cried when she saw me. "Oh, hon, you should have called for me, I would have helped you downstairs." She came rushing from the kitchen and helped me to one of the stools at the counter. I got a better look at the counter top once I was seated. She had already prepared three monster stacks of pancakes and looked like she had more batter ready. There were enough fried, scrambled and poached eggs to feed a small army, and she had all sorts of garnishes and fillings to add to omelettes. She was assembling a fruit platter while simultaneously frying bacon. And she wasn't just slicing fruit, she was freaking segmenting it. "Mom, segmented oranges taste the exact same as sliced oranges," I murmured. She scoffed. "I know. They just look prettier this way." "Why are you making the bacon this early?" I asked. "Daddy's not going to be here for another hour." I kind of wished the clock would hurry because I was getting hungry. "This is just for the pancakes," she explained. "I'll make more closer to eight." "Pancakes?" I repeated. Mom flitted back to the frypan, flipping the sizzling pieces. I could see the fat popping in the pan. Ugh, I wanted some. "I used to cut up cool bacon pieces and Ronan would mix them with maple syrup on pancakes. I don't know if he still likes it this way, but he did … once." First off, that sounded absolutely delicious. But secondly, the fact that my mom remembered something so trivial as to how my dad liked his pancakes just killed me. It was like I was witnessing a family that was completely different from mine. I really didn't know much about my parent's marriage or their relationship besides the bits and pieces that they told me. But they were together for four years before it all went to shit. That was a long time to be in someone's company. They had to know things about each other that only they knew. I adjusted my posture, and resisted wincing as my scar pulled. Shit, that was actually a bad one. I wondered if I could get some Tylenol without my mom freaking out on me. Before I could, though, Mom gave me a bushel of apples and a potato peeler, because apparently, we peel apples now. I humoured her, and I set to work peeling the apples, letting the task distract me from my abdomen pain. Mom laid out our never used dining table beautifully. A fresh lot of bacon was sizzling in the pan when there was a knock on the door right on eight. Mom, frazzled, quickly wiped her hands on some paper towel, smoothed out her shirt, checked her reflection in the oven door, took a deep breath, before walking over to the door. My dad had shaved. He was completely clean-shaven and looked so much more like the pictures I had of him. He was dressed in a pressed, white button-down shirt, and a pair of dark wash jeans. He was carrying a fresh bunch of Gerber daisies, and a tray of coffee. He remembered Mom's favourite flowers. Dad smiled when he looked at Mom, albeit kind of nervously. "Good morning," he uttered. "Morning," Mom replied quietly, opening the door wider for him. "Please, come in." "You look really nice, Amanda," he complemented cautiously, as though he was treading on eggshells. I knew he had to be shitting himself. How weird was this situation? But Mom smiled upon hearing it. "Oh, this?" she said nonchalantly. "It's just an old shirt but thank you." I had to stop myself from laughing. She was seriously pretending like she hadn't rushed out to a boutique and spent hundreds of dollars on options for today and spent hours getting ready. "I saw these and … well, I know you used to like Gerber daisies. I don't know if you still do, but you did … and …" Holy crap, this was actually too cute. "I love them," Mom said as she accepted the bouquet. "Pink ones were always my favourites." She turned away from him and brought the flowers over the counter top which she had cleaned off minutes before Dad had arrived. She pulled a vase from the cabinet and filled it with water. Dad's eyes moved to me and he smiled warmly. He was more confident with me, I thought. "How are you, Saraphine?" "Hungry," I replied. He laughed. "Me, too. Smells amazing in here." He walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. "How are you feeling?" "Fine," I lied. No stupid stomach ache was going to spoil this morning. "I realised when I was buying the coffee that I don't know how you take yours, or if you even drink it," he confessed. "I'm sure all kids your age are into coffee now. Isn't getting something complicated from Starbucks with macchiatos and almond milk popular now?" "Bit hard when there isn't a Starbucks in Providence," I replied. "I just like my coffee black." "Guessed right then," he said, grinning. "Well, I got you a black coffee thinking you could add in milk or cream if you wanted. I know Amanda likes hers with whole milk and sugar. No watery two percent for you," he said, handing Mom her cup. Mom smiled again as she accepted her coffee. "Listen, I just wanted to say to you both that I'm really grateful to be invited here," Dad said sincerely. "I know there's been a lot of hurt, and a lot of pain, and I am the root cause of a whole lot of that, but you both will always be the most important people in my life. I hope that I am able to earn back your trust." As I said, "Thank you, Daddy," Mom came out with, "I put bacon bits in your syrup," which I'm certain was her way of saying you're on the right track. As we ate, my abdomen really started to hurt. It started burning. It was like someone was holding a curling iron right up against my skin and holy shit, it was excruciating. I tried to concentrate on my mom and dad's conversation, but I couldn't focus on anything except the pain. "Sara?" I heard Mom ask faintly. "Mom, I don't feel well," I managed to mumble. Mom scrambled from her seat and I felt her cool hand against my forehead. "Oh, Sara, you're burning up!" "What does that mean?" Dad asked in a panicked tone. "It means she's got an infection!" Mom cried. I felt her lift up my sweater so that she could look at my abdomen and she cursed. Was it bad? Shit, what had I done? "We need to get her to the ER," she said seriously. "My truck is in the driveway," Dad said, jumping up from his chair and lifting me from mine. "Let's go. I'll drive faster than any ambulance." I was conscious and coherent, I just couldn't talk for the pain. I started to feel severe chills as the searing hot pain in my stomach grew harsher and harsher. Oh my God, this was really bad. Mom sat in the back seat with me as Dad sped out of our driveway. "Sara, how long have you been feeling sick?" Mom asked as calmly as she could. Her cool hands were on my cheeks. "I don't know," I groaned. "Since this morning." "Are you positive?" Mom pressed. "I think so." "Tell me why that's important," Dad demanded to know in a panicked voice. "Septicaemia is a side effect of a splenectomy," Mom replied shortly. "How could that happen?" he shot back over his shoulder. "Blood poisoning can be caused by an infection," Mom said bluntly. "Stop questioning me and drive. She needs IV antibiotics immediately." Holy shit! Blood poisoning! I had seen enough medical shows to know that wasn't good news. So, a stabbing didn't kill me, but something as stupid as an infection might? "Mom!" I wailed. "Am I going to die?" "No, hon!" Mom cried, cradling my face. "You're going to be just fine, I promise." I could still hear the fear and panic in her voice, too.