broken bones.

Do you remember when you broke your collar bone? We gathered our things and went to the hospital at the most normal pace. Unhurried. We drove the speed limit the whole way. Maddening. In the seat next to me, you were so small. The veins in your neck fed blue pallor into the rest of your skin. Your lips were the lightest possible shade of pink. You said you were cold. But I watched the sweat roll down your forehead, follow the line of your brow, and drip into your eyes; collecting in the thick clumps of your lashes. You were as still as I’d ever seen you. I talked. I joked. I tried to be gentle when I poured water into your mouth. We hit a pot hole in the same moment and I spilled it over your face. Sweat and water mixed and gave you the shakes. I couldn’t stop looking at you. Do you remember how small you were? I worried the sharp bone would poke through the skin at your neck, making a deadly incision. Blood and sweat and water mixed. But the bone remained rooted in place. Your skin stayed clean, intact. Blue and purple blotches formed around the swelling beneath that smooth skin. And you sat so calm with that broken bone. And I was so frantic with my broken heart to match.