Sincerely, Aurora [completed]

~Seventeen~

Jude Christopher Brahm,

Today when I was walking through the lobby to see you, I ran into this little girl. Or, I didn't really run into her. I just stopped to talk to her.

She's seven and her name is Georgia. She was in a car accident, too, like you. Her legs no longer do what she wills them to do.

She's paralyzed from the waist down.

It was nice to get to talk to her. She's a sweet little thing.

I told her about you, and she smiled a little bit.

"He'll wake up, I know." 

That's the first thing she told me. I asked her why she was so sure. (Even though I'm determined to believe the same myself.)

"Because I always know," she replied, smiling wider. "Just ask my mama."

So I'm not sure what to think, Jude, because her dad told me that his wife died in the car accident Georgia was paralyzed in.

What does it mean?

~ ~ ~

We'd been living in our little house for over a month, and I was starting to heal.

I was starting to relearn basic things, like smiling and laughing. I was unlearning some complex things, like emotional breakdowns and crying over everything that happened.

I was coming back to life.

It was partially the house, I think.

It was pretty empty, but that was okay. I knew it would be filled eventually, and then it would be happy.

That little house knew what I felt like, and I liked that. It made me love the little house even more.

You had gotten a job as a sales associate in a little antique shop downtown, so you were gone for part of the day during the week.

This allowed me to realize just how much I truly needed and wanted you around.

I swear, Jude, I went from believing that I could live by myself to knowing that I needed you for so many things--the main thing being opening jars.

Just kidding. I needed you for much more than that.

When you got home, it made me happy. It truly did.

And you, you'd come home and catch me and bundle me up in your arms, until I felt warm inside, and all of my broken pieces started to pull back together.

You loved me, Jude. I appreciate how much you loved me.

And I was relearning how to love you back.

"Hey," I said one evening, trying to get your attention.

Since I made dinner, you had volunteered to do the dishes. The trouble was getting you to hear me when the water was running.

"Jude," I said louder.

You turned your head, shutting the water off. "Yes?"

"When you're done, do you want to watch a movie?"

"Maybe," you replied.

"Okay." I turned away and walked toward the living room.

You continued with the dishes.

My hands were all knotted and shaky as I picked though our movie collection, trying to decide which one to watch.

It was less the movie I wanted and more you, though. I really wanted things to go back to the way they were, before the pain and before you were afraid to hurt me.