I stare at the wall that is ever so daringly taunting me. I
have imagined since January 27th what it would be like to stand on
the other side of this wall. My mind has gone to great lengths to imagine what
was on the other side. Yet my subconscious, like a dog’s choke leash, has only
let it venture to what it has presumed to be safe distances. Don’t get to far
ahead of yourself. I don’t know the engineering qualifications of Jericho, but
this has been my own personal Jericho.
Does the sand burn your skin as the wind blows, like it does
on this side? Or is there even sand at all. Is there even a need for the mirage
that I swear I see or does water flow freely? Hydration, not even daring to be
an issue. And nourishment. Must I hunt on the other side or does a buffet table
of only the finest delicatessens await me?
Two months. Two days. We’ve resided on the inside of our
Jericho, for just as long as we resided on the outside of it. I wish I could
say that hours and days go by and not once does the thought of cranio enter my
mind, but that is so far from the truth. I guess I should be grateful that my
subconscious only let me venture only so far as to wonder what was on the
inside of these walls.
In the same way that a new tattoo is permanently with you
for life, so is cranio. Seen or not, it is there. It is elusive at times, but its
presence is always known. It announces it’s consistent arrival dutifully every
night as I shampoo Nathan’s head. The few times he snuggles with me on the
couch and I feel every piece of fabricated metal. And especially when he
reminds me that he’s 100% boy as he trips, falls, bumps his head and I
instantly check for pupil response and that every piece of that fore mentioned
fabricated metal hasn’t shifted locations.
Two months and two days. We’re ‘on the other side.’ Yet just
because we’re on the other side, doesn’t mean this side doesn’t have it’s
challenges too. We’re just learning to live again. Learning to live again, with
these challenges.
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