Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Sav,” Ida cried, gripping tighter on to my waist. I held Ida close. Held her as I stared at the bed. Stared at Poppy’s hand. Her hand that lay unmoving on the bed. Her empty, still hand. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, like some camera trick used in the movies.
But this was real life. This was our house. And that was my beloved sister on the bed. On the bed with no one beside her.
Mama reached for Ida. My little sister fell into our parents’ embrace, but I was moving forward like a magnet was drawing me close to Poppy. Like some invisible force, some transparent thread, was beckoning me to where she lay.
On a stuttered breath, I rounded the bed. And I stilled. I stilled as I stared down at Poppy. No breath came from her mouth. There was no rise of her chest, no flush to her cheeks. Yet, she was as beautiful in death as she was in life. Then my gaze dropped to her empty hand again. It was upturned, like it wanted to be held, just one last time.
So I sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped my hand in hers. And as I sat there, I felt something in me change. In that moment, I lost something in my soul that I knew I would never get back. I brought Poppy’s cooling fingers to my lips and pressed a kiss to her soft skin. Then I lowered our entwined hands to my lap. And I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t let go.
I wasn’t sure I ever could.
Lost Breaths and Moving Clouds
Savannah
Age seventeen
Blossom Grove, Georgia
THERE WERE PRECISELY FORTY-TWO CRACKS ON THE LINOLEUM FLOOR. Rob, the therapy leader, was talking, but all I heard was the tinny drone from the heating system whirring above us. My gaze was unfocused, catching only spears of daylight slicing through the high windows and the blurred outlines of the others in the circle around me.
“Savannah?” I blinked my eyes into focus, glancing up at Rob. He was smiling at me, body language open and an encouraging smile on his face. I shifted nervously on my seat. I wasn’t blessed with the skill of talking out loud. I struggled to put words to the turbulent feelings stirring inside me. I was better on my own. Being around people for too long drained me; too many of them made me close in on myself. I was nothing like my sister, Ida, whose personality was infectious and gregarious.
Just like Poppy …
I swallowed the instant lump that sprouted in my throat. It had been almost four years. Four long, excruciating years without her, and I still couldn’t think of her name or picture her pretty face without feeling my heart collapse on me like a mountain caving in. Without feeling the shadow of death’s unyielding fingers wrap around my lungs and starve them of air.
The knowing pangs of anxiety immediately began clawing their way up from the depths of where they slumbered. Sinking their teeth into my veins and sending their poison flooding through my body until it had captured me as its unwilling hostage.
My palms grew damp and my breathing became heavy. “Savannah.” Rob’s voice had changed; even though it echoed in my ears as everything around me tunneled into a narrow void, I heard its worried inflection. Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares on me, I jumped up from my seat and bolted for the door. My footsteps were an arrhythmic drumbeat as I followed the stream of light in the hallway toward the open air. I burst through the door to the outside and sucked in the wintery Georgia air.
Dancing spotlights invaded my vision, and I stumbled to the tree that sat in the grounds of the therapy center. I leaned on the heavy trunk, but my legs gave way and I dropped to the hard soil. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the wood, the rough bark scratching the back of my scalp. I focused on breathing, on trying to remember every lesson I had ever been taught about coping with an anxiety attack. But it never seemed to help. The attacks always held me hostage until they were finally willing to release me.
I was utterly exhausted.
My body trembled for what felt like an age, heart sputtering and lurching until I felt my lungs begin to loosen, my windpipe finally granting my body the oxygen it so badly craved. I inhaled through my nose and out through my mouth until I sagged farther into the tree, the smell of grass and earth breaking through anxiety’s sensory-blocking fog.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the bright blue sky, watched the white clouds traveling up ahead, trying to find shapes in their structures. I watched them appear, then leave, and wondered what it looked like from up there, what they saw when they looked down upon us all, loving and losing and falling apart.