Deborah had tried to talk me into staying at the hospital a few extra days, “Just to be safe.” I wouldn’t have it. A Fruit Loop out there somewhere able to crush buildings with air wasn’t a good thing, and I couldn’t let such a being run wild. Besides, they’d dinged me up, and tried to kill Deborah. Even though everything still hurt, I got out of the hospital. They made me sign a waiver, not for the first time.
Of course, she knew. She knew I was angry, and worried about her, and about air being used as a sledge hammer. Just like she knew she’d never talk me into staying in the hospital until the doctors let me out.
She drove. I knew better than to demand I drive. I knew she sensed every ache and pain I felt. It was that empathy thing. Something about her I could never figure out.
After we got home, she made me take a nap on the sofa, with the TV playing some random program, hoping I’d sleep. I remember I did drift off to dreamland, but the dreams didn’t go well. Something about watching a solid wall of air crush people that made me wake up.
She was right there, next to me when I woke. “Here. I know what you need.” She helped me to my feet, and led me to my piano. “Practice your music.”
I did. Like I said, she knew. That empathy thing, you know. She understood the music healed me in more ways than medicine ever could. It even cleared my mind, so I could see the pictures, hear the words my brain wanted me to. So I could understand what I needed to understand.
“Practice your music. I’ll bring you dinner in a bit.”
It’s Week 73 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.