Ash and Cinder

37| My Name Is

Three weeks later

They don't give me nearly enough medication to stave off the combined pain of the injuries with the fibro. They say it will get better with time, they also say it would get better faster if I slowed down but I can't stand sitting still.

I sit on the edge of the bed in Amiah's guest bedroom, grimacing to myself as I wrestle with the straps of the back brace. It's a tight, unforgiving thing that keeps my lower back steady as I move around. I'm not supposed to take it off, but I needed space last night. Today we're holding a memorial for Elle, and all I could see until the sun came up was her face.

"Need some help?" Yana appears in the door, she doesn't even try to hide her exasperation. This is the third time I've taken the brace off. The third time she knows of anyways.

"Yes, please," I say, pretending not to see her narrowed eyes. These braces aren't designed for accessibility, one-arming it is like gluing water to a tree. Yana walks over and kneels to adjust the brace.

"You shouldn't be taking this off," she scolds, cinching the straps.

"I know."

"It could damage your back."

"I know," I repeat, watching her fasten the final Velcro seal. "It's hard to do breathing exercises when I'm wearing it."

Yana frowns but doesn't argue. The breathing exercises are from therapy. I started last week, one-on-one with a doctor twice, and a group talk once. Some of the therapy helps, some of it doesn't, and maybe that's as far as it will ever go. I'll keep trying though.

I grab the curved handle of the silver cane beside the bed. It takes a little help from Yana and a big push off the bed, but I manage to get to my feet. I pause, balancing on one foot to fasten my borrowed button-up shirt, then, with my cane acting as a third foot, I head for the door. Unlike the back brace, the cane is a permanent installment. The numbness in my right leg never went away, and it never will, courtesy of the crack in my spine. Technically I'm advised against walking until my back heals more, but I hated the wheelchair with a passion. It all hurts the same anyways.

"You look nice." I say as Yana and I round the corner into the hallway.

For today, her usual gaggle of hairpins is missing, leaving her curls loose to frame her delicate face. Her dress is long and indigo to match the paint on her nails.

"Thank you," she says, reaching up to straighten the collar of my shirt and ruffle my hair. She does that a lot lately, "you do too."

"Thanks for coming today."

"Of course."

Delilah, Amiah, Sky, and his parents are all waiting outside, gathered around the doorstep. Arin and Justine Jones are lovely people if I've ever met any. They flew in mere days after the first global news report came out with a list of surviving Experiments and a call for relatives to rejoin their missing family members. I doubt Justine has let go of her son since they first hugged at the airport, and I don't think Sky minds in the least. Arin dips his chin at me as I step out the door and I return the gesture. He's a man of few words, unlike his son.

"Ready to go?" Delilah asks, skimming me as she speaks. The scar on her temple is thin and pink, no longer in need of stitches, and the wound on her side is healing well, too. She follows the doctors' orders much better than I do.

"As I'll ever be," I answer.

We all clamber into the van Amiah rented and buckle in for the trek to the bitsy church where the pastor giving the memorial resides. Elle's ashes are in a sealed urn, wrapped in a scarf in the middle front seat. The idea of locking her body in a box and hiding it underground seemed wrong. One day I'll take her home.

The people in the van lapse into silence, listening to the music that filters through the ancient radio. I, for one, think about the future. I'm looking for a job, but not many people are keen on hiring a disabled liability. I'll find something, though, and in the meantime Amiah has agreed to let me stay at her place under the condition that I no longer, in her words, mope around.

Skyelar is headed back to England with his parents, he promises to visit often, and I plan to hold him to it since it's a day's run for him to get here. And Delilah got herself a job at a nearby library. It's a peaceful job and she's not the first soldier to pass through. The other library staff are very understanding, from what I hear.

We pull into a tiny parking lot as the final refrains of a soft song play out. I ease my way onto solid ground, thankful for the anti-nausea meds that come with my painkillers. The soft green buds of spring are beginning to erupt into bright summer foliage, the last remnants of snow are running off into the ditches and the trees that line the parking lot drink in the warm sun. High above, the oceanic sky is dotted with triangles of white birds, migrating home. Once steady, I lean over and take Elle's urn from its place. I unwrap it delicately, place the scarf on the seat of the van, and settle the urn in the crook of my cast so I can carry it in.

Delilah appears at my side, holding a necklace in her hands. "We went by the jewelers this morning to pick it up." She reaches up to fasten it around my neck. It's a heavy oval locket on a simple beaded chain. Inside, safely behind a seamless glass seal, are the tips of Elle's horns and a thimbleful of her ashes. A final, preserved piece of not only her, but our home that will be safe no matter what happens.

"Thank you," I say as she tucks it under my shirt. The cool metal locket rests on my skin, right above my heart. Sky slings his arm over my shoulders, throwing his other hand out to stabilize Elle.

"Looks cramped in there," I say, nodding at the squat white building at the end of the parking lot.

"Yeah," he agrees, "it's one big room inside though."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

We all turn towards the church.

My name is Hendrix Sanchez-Fernandez. I am nineteen years old. Today is the day that I rebuild my world.

the end