Memory Lane

Chapter Thirty Nine

"There was never any heart truly great and generous that was not also tender and compassionate." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Thirty Nine

Jesse and I make it back to the house a short fifteen minutes later. I had to go much slower due to the thorns digging into my skin and unfortunately limped most of the way back. Jesse, despite having every reason not to, let me lean on him for support and partially carried me the rest of the way.

The pain in my leg wasn't the worst part though. It was the silence. Jesse was silent. I was silent.

There's something unspoken between us; hanging in the cold night air. Some sort of understanding that our conversation is far from over, but also that it can't be finished right now.

We are the only two at the house when we get inside. Of course, concern over Allen, Kendall, and Quinn began rotting my brain the second I didn't see them all sitting on the couch and laughing about what a rush it was to run from the cops. Instead, I'm standing in the entryway next to only Jesse yet feeling so far away from him. The TV is on from when we left it earlier in the afternoon, playing some Judge show on low volume. The aching, stinging in my leg demands my attention.

I begin to wonder where the first aid materials may be (bandages, gauze, tweezers, medical ointment), then recall Aunt June pulling it out when she burned herself cooking a few weeks ago. There's a small box of medical supplies in the cabinet to the right of the microwave. I direct my attention there, limping over and grabbing the small red box. Meanwhile, Jesse stands by the front door. He's still silent. He stands there, unsure of whether to sit or leave, to speak up or to remain quiet.

I want to change this. Want to say something and ask him to stay so that we can talk once I've dealt with my legs. But they hurt so bad that I can't place my focus on him right now.

Carefully, I lift myself up onto the counter and turn to the side so that I can rest both legs up here with me, bent at the knee. My dress is torn and muddied. Once so beautiful, now just completely ruined... says a lot about the night.

With a frown, I move it to the side and examine the lower portion of my injured leg. From my shin and wrapping around nearly to the underside of my calf are a multitude of tiny thorns sticking angrily out of my skin, causing oozes of caked blood to draw various paths down to my ankle. It's really a disgusting sight. But, what's new?

My hair stands on end in nervous anticipation  when I begin moving the tweezers closer to my leg. My skin jumps at the thought of having to dig into my scarred legs to pull these vicious thorns out. I bite my lip hard and bury my face into my knee, afraid to even look as I grip the first thorn. I've never been great with pain. Dealing with it every day hasn't helped my tolerance. As I begin to tug at the tiny but mighty thorn, a bit of blood starts seeping around where it's sticking out of my skin and I instantly bail with a pathetic whimper.

I close my eyes and try to will myself to just grip the thorns and tug them out- reminding myself it'll feel so much better once they're all safely removed and my leg can be wrapped up. Instead of hyping myself up, tears start to burn behind my eyes. The events of the night are threatening to crash down on me and prove me incapable of doing anything but cry.

Then, a fresh laundry scent appears around me like a warm hug. I peek my head out from where I had it buried in my knees and see Jesse standing next to me, jaw set. I open my mouth to question him when he gently takes the tweezers from me. Body tense, Jesse frowns and gently grips the underside of my calf to examine the tiny barbed wounds all over my skin. My skin jumps at his touch. It's been so long since anyone but Dr. Collins and myself have touched my legs.