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Rated: 13+ · Documentary · Biographical · #1376904
Recovering from being scared
The Healing
By
Frank Harper

I was so tired, I knew I couldn't make the drive back home. Amelia and I had stayed out too late. Her back was swollen and sore, but touching it made me want to touch her even more. I wasn't exactly sure what my intentions were. Yes, I had been scared, but not as bad as Amelia, whose scar was on the inside and deeper. The heat of the day had been replaced by the cool night air. Purple skies disappeared behind a blackness full of stars, and the air was soft. Her face was not visible to me most of the evening, but her voice was strong and meaningful. Earlier, the two of us had sped down the street with the wind blowing through our hair. I could barely see her bright blonde hair fluttering from the cool winds that shot through the car window. I thought Amelia was glad to have some time off from being a mom, but in truth, I was happier to get away from my life. I could feel her smile the whole time and it electrified me. "Ahhhh," she let lose a sigh of relief. Now I continued to massage her hardened back muscles. Slowly, I worked my way up her spine and to the back of her neck where I gently massaged her scalp.

"You have such thick hair," I noted with envy while pulling strands of the thick, blonde hair out of the way.

"I hate it," she shook her head as if to shake lose the thickness. "It's so hot."
"I can cut it off..."

"That's okay," Amelia laughed in her high, soft voice. She was nice, and I was having a good time. She lowered her head while I continued to massage her scalp. A long time ago, I learned how to give massages from having gone through physical therapy myself for my own back problems. Amelia sat in front of me on a reclining lawn chair in her back yard. I grinned thinking about our little outing. I didn't expect to have so much fun. Amelia had drank herself to a stupor, and was quite possibly the most amusing little lush I had ever met. Strangely, however, it seemed as if Amelia's face was obscured to me the whole time. Maybe I was distracted. Her clothing seemed to snug on her tight, firm body. Long legs poured out of tiny shorts that hugged her hips, and a soft white skin radiated from behind a pink blouse. She was painful to look at. I was still not sure what my intentions were. But now we were in the quiet darkness of her back yard, and I still could not see her face.

"I had a great time," I confessed.

"Good," Amelia took another swig of her strawberry wine cooler. "You see," she looked back at me, but her face was covered by a dark shadow, "You knew what you wanted to do all along...And you had fun."

"Yea," I nodded in agreement even though she could not see me nod. It was a force of habit. Slowly, I lowered my hands and firmly rubbed the bottom of her back. "Thank you," I added.

Amelia laughed, "I didn't do anything," she leaned back towards me. As she did her blouse wrinkled up against my hands, I didn't mean to put my hands under her shirt. But it happened and it delighted me. She didn't pull away. It was as if she was wanting touched. My heart pounded and I lost my breath as I touched the smooth, bare skin on her back. I felt a tingling sensation run through my body that aroused me, and I froze for a moment. Quickly, I continued to massage her back. "You...you chose where to go, and what to do." It was hard for her to find the right words after drinking so much alcohol.

"Well, you made me choose," something I was not accustomed to, "Thanks." I continued to massage her hurting muscles, moving upward and out towards the sides. I suddenly felt hard lumps and wondered what they were. Strained muscles, I guessed. Unable to tell, I returned my attention to our conversation. "I'm not used to doing stuff like that...I don't get out that much...." My work and college degree had consumed all my time and resources. I moved my hands towards the center of her back. "I'm a loser."

"You are not a loser!" Amelia protested loudly. She seemed angry and offended. I thought she might be overreacting because of the alcohol.

"I am."

"Bullshit!." Amelia swung around, and I finally saw her face. Her high cheek bones sat under hurt green eyes. Her face was beautiful and compelling, but sad. Thick tears rolled down her soft cheeks leaving transparent lines. "You are not a loser...I'll tell you what a loser is," she lowered her head and looked away. "A loser is someone who beats a woman, and throws her...you up against a wall! A loser hits you with his fist and belt buckle." She raised the back of her pink blouse revealing a series of deep scars that were large and made by what I guessed was a belt buckle. "A loser is someone who steals your confidence. A loser is someone who doesn't give a damn, and never does anything for anybody." She leaned over and held her head in her hands and wept. "You are not a loser," she whispered. Her crying was loud and painful to hear. Gently, I rubbed her back and leaned in to her. We hugged each other and rocked back and forth as she continued to cry. It was soothing. After a while, we laid down in her lawn chair and I held her tightly. It was the best nights sleep I had in a long time. My scar had healed.
© Copyright 2008 franksharper (frankharper at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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