Outside Your Window

The Stranger

I've been paraplegic for six years now. This is the story of what happened the weekend before my legs started to go numb. I don't hold any resentments about that time in my life. It's hard going from walking to being dependent, but I know I hold some of the blame. The doctors did everything they could. They stuffed and stuck me with so many tubes I looked like a man-made millipede. But, nothing fixed me.

In between the tests, I just stared out the window. By Monday afternoon, I couldn't bend my arms or legs anymore. The muscle aches were too intense. And, the worst part was that St. Elizabeth's Hospital overlooked a playground. I watched those kids swing their bodies from bar to bar, their faces unfazed at the miracle. Freedom only mattered to those who didn't have it.

As I watched them, I longed for my last night of normalcy. Me and two friends hitched a ride with some older kids to the hiking trail in town. As they sat in the parking lot and drank beer out of a pickup truck, me and my friends wandered into the forest. We didn't have a plan. Dave was the one who suggested fireworks, and Ed was on board immediately. None of them knew what to do with the fireworks, but that wasn't the point. When you're 13 and your head feels like a balloon, explosions are the only thing that really make sense. It was the same reason those kids swung from monkey bar to monkey bar.

My window watching was interrupted by a voice at the door.

"Aiden?"

I turned to look, but the sudden movement sent shock waves down my back.

The woman was half as tall as the doorway with a back that arched above her forehead. She walked cautiously, like the floor would cave at any moment. She was wearing a robe made of a thin, purple fabric. It ran from the tips of her fingers down to her toes. She didn't speak again until she was sitting down next to me.

"Nice to meet you, Aiden," she said, "My name is Madame Green. Is this a good time?"

I nodded. Speaking required too much energy.

"Your Aunt Clarrisa called me," she said, "She told me you needed help."

I remember looking at my Mom in the corner, but she was asleep. I was on my own.

"I'm just going to hold your hand for a minute," Madame Green said. She reached over and laced her fingers through mine. Her hand was cold with sweat. She leaned over and put her forehead on my knuckles. I knew what this woman was supposed to be. My Aunt Clarissa had a knack for finding spiritual healers on Facebook.

As she transferred her invisible bullshit into my frozen body, I thought back on that night.

Dave, Ed, and I walked into the woods until the older kids' voices vanished behind us. At night, the hiking trail was too hard to follow, so we made our own path. We pushed through the poison ivy and pricker bushes as we exchanged a cigarette from Ed's sister.

When we arrived at the clearing, we stood at the tree line and stared at the strange patch of earth. The field, which swelled at the center, was the size of a football field. It was empty, except for the tree. It stood tall in the pregnant grass, shaped like a lightning bolt. It didn't have any leaves or flowers. It was all bark, dark and twisted like the hand of a demon.

Madame Green's voice broke me out of my trance. She sounded upset.

"No, please," she whispered. Her hand was shaking. I closed my eyes. I tried to picture that night again.

I don't remember whose idea it was. When you're that age, ideas show up like they had been around for a thousand years, bad logic strung from teenager to teenager since the beginning of time. We didn't mean to hurt anyone, or anything.

Madame Green's voice rose to a yell.

"We become what we destroy," she said.

I looked at my Mom for help, but she was still asleep. I wanted so badly to stand up and leave. Madame Green's voice and my memory of the tree became a single thing, like a snake eating its own tail. But, I couldn't move. I was trapped in that bed, my body like a sack of mud.

She repeated the phrase, again and again.

We become what we destroy.

Maybe I should have stopped Dave and Ed. As they buried the fireworks into the mud around the tree, I laughed. The sticks seemed to multiply inside Dave's backpack. There were dozens of them, all jammed beneath the roots. As Ed ran around and lit each fuse, Dave and I ran for cover. As the fuses burned down, Ed caught up to us and we dropped into the dirt like soldiers. The purples and reds and yellows lit the night as a bright line splintered through the trunk of the tree. Pops echoed through the empty dark. We watched as the color traveled through the branches then disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

When the tree toppled into the grass, I started to feel it. I felt the feeling again as Madame Green held my hand. It was a gradual feeling, like a chill walking from the small of your back to your neck. It was rich and red like anger. Laying in the grass beside Ed and Dave, I had become incredibly angry. But, it wasn't my anger. It was the anger of a stranger. The anger of someone lost.

"It's here," Madame Green said, "It's in you. It's here."

As she repeated it, my Mom woke up. Her body shot upward. She was on her feet before her eyes opened. She yelled for a nurse as she grabbed the old woman by her long shirt and dragged her to the exit. I watched her leave out the corner of my vision. She was mouthing the words as she slipped into the hallway.

It's here.