“You can hear it”
Laying in the sheets, I hold my knee and hear the metal click beneath my skin. It has been four months now since metal was meticulously placed in my body. My body, mended with metal, which will take another four months to comprehend. There is a faint click when I bend my right knee back and forth. I do it a few more times before I had you convinced the metal won’t pop out. With hesitancy, you place your fingertips overtop where I instructed you to.
This is the only audible reminder of my accident. I will keep the 28-inch titanium rod and metal screw securing it in my hip indefinitely. The metal screw, that creates the soft click, will be taken out in the summer. I know it will end, that thought becoming my focus. I listen to the sound with curiosity, while you listen with apprehension. It hurts you to know my story. You have listened to me replay my story for four months. Each time I share it, I see your hurt eyes. You show me patience when you listen to my hurt.
I have spoken to many, but been heard by few. When I want to be comforted, I go to my father, as if there is a portal to our late-night car rides. It brings me serinity, just as when I was a child. If I need a plan crafted with caution, I will reach my mom. When I want to laugh, I talk to share my thoughts with Jason. Knowing I want to be heard and understood, I seek your time, My words do not go to waste when told to you.