Only I will remain.

Pain gives greater breadth to space. I take a long slow breath. The cool morning air fills my lungs. The world comes sharply into focus. Getting from the car to the building seems like a daunting task. I try to focus on the destination, but the journey keeps getting in the way. The parking lot is nearly empty, which makes it seem larger than it is. I breathe out. “Is the sun unusually bright?” My hand, resting on the roof of my car grasps involuntarily into the void.

“You can do this.”

I rest one toe on the curb, the heel falls on the pavement; it has the unexpected consequence of stretching the muscle. It feels good. Pleasure gives me confidence. Cautiously my legs change positions. Like a runner preparing for a marathon, I find my self warming up for the long journey ahead.

Yesterday. Sitting at the computer I head a noise and turn to find S. morosely stalking up behind me.

“Pick me up.”
“Do you want to sit on Papa’s lap?”
“Unhungh.”

She climbs into the seat and snuggles in tight. Her body feels warm. Seconds later, there is no time to react, I watch as she releases a torrent of vomit over my chest and lap. I leap to my feet and run to the bathroom. We are both covered in her sick. Quickly I rinse off in the shower and then begin to pour a bath for her. G. is singing in the other room. I need to get dressed for work. I slip quietly into the bedroom where J. and baby are asleep on the bed. A pile of clothes lay neatly stacked and folded on the floor next to the closet door. I bend over to grab a shirt. I am on automatic pilot when suddenly I feel the all too familiar pulse shoot across the middle of my back. I straighten out, but I know it is too late. I’ve pulled something.

There is no use in standing here. I cannot go backwards, only forwards. I begin the long walk across the parking lot. My own short mincing steps make me think of a geisha with wrapped feet. I imagine myself in a kimono with a painted white face. The comical image makes me smile.

In some ways I am disappointed. The pulled muscle is a return to an earlier way of life. 48 days without incident. 72 days without incident. 81 Days without incident. 0 days without incident. I try to remember what it felt like to be without pain, but the pain does not allow this. I take small sips of air as I approach the door. “I am not going to fall into fear.” This sounds familiar, I have heard this before. My mind reaches out into the ether of remembrance, pulling gently on the golden strings of the past. In my mind’s eye I can see the passage, the litany against fear:

"I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."

My hand reaches out for the door way. I remember to position myself closely to the door so that my weight, and not my back, is doing the work. The handle feels cool in my palm. I have made it. Confidently I lean back on heels and let the door swing wide. Only I will remain.