Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 22

There is something extremely unsettling about the Emma being in surgery for Elliot. The unsettling seems to start at his toes making them dance in their shoes and leads up to his knees bobbing. It makes his intestines both crave the almonds he's been plowing through and then his intestines twist and he wants to vomit them all up. The unsettling goes to his morphed heart as it beats its unsteady beat so loud he can almost feel the vibrations as it echoes through his ribs and to his chest. Finally, the unsettling goes to the mind, sending out all these little neurons telling his body these things, and then at the same time rapid firing thoughts that sometimes are prevalent, sometimes aren't, that he cannot connect to one another.

There is something unsettling, indeed. 

Emma's mother lost her relaxed ways when she left her daughter to go to surgery. It's funny, Elliot imagined seeing Emma's mother lose it like that - he'd expected it to feel like superman lost his cape, but it wasn't like that at all. It was as if she became ten times more human in those moments where she lost it. The hiding behind iron glances and sturdy nerves came down: it reminded Elliot of a house. Those houses where on the inside the second floor has lost so many planks in it that it's too dangerous to walk on and the downstairs is trashed and rotting - yet the people who own it still take the time to groom the outside of it. Giving it fresh paint and cleaning the windows, even though the curtains are always drawn close. In the moment Emma's mother collapsed, it seemed as if you got a glance at the inside of the house because suddenly the curtains to those windows were pulled, and then in that moment of opening up it all collapsed in on itself, like a dying star. 

Emma's father stepped up then. He seemed to know what to do, when to do it, and exactly how slow he should go. He grabbed her and set her up on a chair, kissed her on the forehead, and got her a glass of water. He said nothing as he did these things, as if they were an instinct. He gave her a glass of water he knew she would not drink and rubbed her back. He grabbed the cup when her fingers began to shake and when she wanted to wipe her eyes. Then, he took her by her arm, linking it with his, picked her up, and led her to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee that Elliot supposes will be cold by the time she actually finds herself to drink it. 

That's what got Elliot wondering, what would he do if Emma lost it? Truly collapsed like one of those houses? He supposes Emma will, in fact, he's positive she will at one moment, and as disturbing as it sounds he wants to be there for it. 

Elliot wants to be there for the moment Emma falls apart. He can't decide why. He doesn't want to be the hero that saves her, he doesn't want to be the "person to pick up the pieces", Emma doesn't need that. Emma insists on picking up her own pieces, Emma is the person who puts pieces together - Elliot is more like a bridge. Elliot bridges gaps, he connects, he leads people from point a to point b and that's how it's been for a long time now. 

What will he bridge for Emma when she inevitably comes apart? Will he be able to connect anything? Or will he make a bridge to a ruin, to something no one would ever want to cross to get to, and therefor a bridge wasted? 

That's what really got his nerves jumping. That's what got him to pound nearly two-thirds of a bag of almonds in less than an hour. What was he going to do?

And then it clicks for him, and he smiles, because he should have known already. This smile bubbles in chest and brings light to his eyes and makes his eyes burn from tears. The laugh becomes audible and his body begins shaking and he begins wiping away the tears that come to his eyes. 

Elliot always likes putting people into neatly stocked piles. People are bridges, houses, picker-uppers, and the kind that sweep you off your feet. There are people who are bad for bad reasons and bad for traumatic reasons and good for bad reasons and good for great reasons. Always profiling, always shoving into neat little boxes so that he can organize. 

Some things though, cannot be described. He learned that today, not hours ago: he got to feel what it was like to be an observer, and it was the most different experience. He thought he would know exactly how it would feel, and he didn't. In fact, sitting here now, it nearly drove him mad with jitters. 

He has broken down countless times, he's seen his mother and he's done the best he could for her; but he has yet to see another friend, another sick person and a friend, lose it. 

That is uncharted territory. There are no maps, no landmarks to find. It's something that you must explore to see the reaction. 

And Elliot cannot stand that.