Page 2 of The Scars I Bare
I took a deep breath, Jake’s words soaking up the air around me, seeping into my skin like a dark, penetrating fog.
Like most survivors of a life-altering event, most days, I tried not to think about it. When I looked down at my mangled arm, currently masked by the prosthesis I wore in public, I tried not to remember the way the smoke had clung to the air—so thick, I could barely breathe—or how, to this day, I could still hear the high-pitched sobs of a mother holding her young child next to me, unsure if he was dead or alive.
Like I said, I tried.
But, like most survivors, it was an uphill battle, and most of the time, I felt like I was being dragged backward.
Back into the past.
Back to the night with its fire and ash. Its chaos and—
“Dean?”
“Pardon?” I answered, blinking several times before coming back to the present. My eyes focused, and I came face-to-face with Jake crouched in front of me, the crowd silently watching us.
“You okay?” he asked, his gaze scanning me for signs of distress.
No matter how hard he tried, Jake could never stop being a doctor. Part of me couldn’t wait to see him with a child of his own. He’d be a damn mess.
“Yeah,” I replied, wondering how long he’d been trying to get my attention. “Yeah,” I repeated. “I’m good. I can do this.”
Jake didn’t look completely convinced, but he rose, stepping aside to allow me room to step up to the podium. It was a short walk, maybe three or four strides at most.
But it felt like so much more.
Time seemed to slow as I concentrated on what I was about to do. When the town officials had come to me and asked if I would be willing to unveil the memorial they’d commissioned for the ferryboat victims, I should have felt honored.
Humbled.
Grateful.
Instead, I’d felt nothing but dread.
What could I say? How could I look into the eyes of the families who’d lost people that night and tell them this statue was somehow going to make it better? It wasn’t going to bring them back, no matter how breathtaking it was. It wasn’t going to take away the pain, no matter how long it stood here. It wasn’t going to make the frustration of a three-year-old cold case the officials now deemed a fluke accident suddenly vanish, because, now, there was a place they could go to mourn.
This changed nothing.
When we all left this place, the only thing that would be different was the pier. And perhaps a clearer conscience for the powers that be because they had been unable to do their job at the end of the day. My eyes darted to where Macon Green—our resident cop, a native of the town—stood, and I wondered if this did just that.
Eased his conscience.
His eyes met mine and darted quickly away.
Probably.
I took the last step, a thousand words swimming around in my head but none of them good. I took one last breath and squeezed my eyes shut as I asked God for some sort of miracle. When they opened, I found a piece of paper waiting for me on the podium. But not just any piece of paper. A speech. I turned to Jake, and he gave me a brief nod.
He’d known.
He’d known I’d struggle, so he’d taken care of me, just as he’d taken care of me out there, in the water, on that night, saving my life when a piece of debris had severed my arm clean, causing me to nearly bleed out right there, in the middle of the ocean.
I cleared my throat and began to read the words he’d prepared, “The artist, Aiden Fisher, who was commissioned to create this memorial was selected from an incredible list of talent. After interviewing him, many of the families involved in this endeavor said he had a certain quality that made you feel as if he were walking this journey with you rather than behind you. His understanding of grief and remembrance goes far beyond his years, and I am so honored to share his monument, memorializing the thirteen locals and tourists lost to the sea. We will never forget. Their memories will live on forever.”
There was no applause, but I hadn’t expected any. This was not the occasion for such. The crowd stood silent as I walked toward the covered statue, waiting for my signal to remove its covering. Several local newspaper and television crews took their places, wanting to get the perfect angle for the unveiling.
And, of course, they all wanted an interview with the amputee survivor afterward where they’d all expect me to rehash my harrowing tale of survival.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
