Ficlet - Wild tigers I have known - Original Fic
It's a ficlet about how scars fade but they don't heal.
She was independent and fearless with a trusting innocence that made you want to be everything she believed you could be. She liked to run barefoot in the warm spring rain and compose poems about the smell of rain and the sound of thunder. She hated to wear gloves, always insisting that touch was a healer in its own right. Smiles and hugs and touches, she was always there to listen and lend a shoulder if you needed to cry. An infernal optimist who never ceased to remind you that the sun would come up tomorrow and that no problem was ever too big or burden too heavy that a friend couldn’t help. That infectious smile, the delighted laugh. She never met a stranger, just friends she hadn’t made yet. That is what I remember best, not the wild-eyed shell that screamed in fear when anyone tried to touch her. Not the broken-winged, scarlet angel pinned to the pavement by a knife through her ribs. Always the dark-haired pixie sitting on the edge of the roof and watching with a delighted smile as the autumn leaves circled down.
It’s our fault she’s broken, dying. We laughed when she said she was afraid, we said the monster wasn’t real and there was nothing to fear. We were wrong.
Please make it stop
Stop
Stop
Bowling For Soup - 1985
The name catches my attention. There are thirty-two names but this one stands out like it’s typed in bold. Ten years and I haven’t heard that name. It has to be her though, the combination of names, the unique spelling, it can’t be someone else. I look down the hall at the line of waiting people and hope to see a familiar face. I don’t see her. Still, I have to tell Robert that I know this person and I can’t be the one to test her so I head toward his office past the waiting people. Someone catches my arm and calls my name. It is her. She’s put on some weight and her hair is longer, a little grey at the temples. It’s funny as we simultaneously ask “What are you doing here?”
She looks happy, excited as she tells me she’s here like everyone else, getting her state accreditation. She raises an eyebrow when I tell her I’m one of the testers.
“Gonna pass me?” she asks.
“Gonna have to pass you,” I reply, “to another tester.” I can’t help but notice the thin scar just below her collarbone . “How are you?”
“Up here.” She laughs, but I can tell she knows I’m not admiring the view.
Robert calls to me and impulsively I hug her, “I have to go, but I want to talk to you before you leave.”
“I’ll find you.” She hugs me back and it’s like old times.
I tell Robert about her and he agrees to switch stations with me when it’s her turn.
I finish up with all the students I’m testing and I slip into the main auditorium. To keep everyone relaxed and occupied while the testing is going on they’re showing a movie called Mother, Jugs and Speed. I’ve seen it a hundred times, it’s depressing to think that most of the people in here watching right now weren’t even born yet the first time I saw it. Every now and then the paging systems calls someone to report to the practical station across the hall for their final test. I wait by the door until I hear her name called and we leave together. Out in the light, she recognizes me. “Not letting me get away huh?” she asks.
“Just wanting to admire the hands on work of the student with the second highest grade in her class.”
“You talked to Mr. Barrett?”
“He said you were his best student and that’s saying a lot considering out of twenty people, seven of whom are currently EMTs.”
She blushes, “Shouldn’t I be the one sucking up?”
“You’re a natural, you’d pass this with one hand behind your back.”
“Thanks.” She says and I can tell she really means it.
I stop at the door and watch as she walks over to the final station. She seems a little nervous, but I doubt there is any student in the room who isn’t. There are too many people talking at one in the room for me to hear but she looks confident as she listens to the instructor and then nods. She turns to find her ‘patient’ lying on the floor and for a moment she looks unsure. I find myself mouthing silent encouragement and then instinct seems to take over and she grabs her supplies. Her hands fumble with the straps on the traction splint as she crouches on the floor. She shakes her head, saying something I can’t hear over the dull roar of the other people. Her ‘patient’ sits up, reaching for her and she screams. Suddenly it’s completely silent. I can hear my heart pounding, hear the sudden intake of collective breaths of over a dozen startled people. She’s crying, rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Some wounds never heal.