Lucky B******s

          You’d think that they would be right. You’d think that their word would be good enough and that it could not be any other but what they said. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But here’s the secret that they never tell you: They can be wrong. They can make mistakes. They are just like you. They screw up occasionally like humans should. And even though it goes against everything that they tell you, they are not perfect.

          “They aren’t perfect…” she whispered to herself, sitting in corner of her room just as she was able to control her tears.

          Twenty or thirty times a day she would tell herself this. You’d think by now that it would sink in. But it hasn’t. It never will, no matter how many times she utters these three words under her breath when no one is looking at her and pitying in that way that they all do.

          They can be wrong. They make mistakes. They don’t know. They can’t remember. They don’t relive it every night when they close their eyes to enter a world far from the world you live in now. They punish you for it, but they can’t feel it the way you. They could never in a millions years know what it feels like. To know the things you know. To remember the things you remember. To have seen the things you saw.

          “Even now I can feel it sliding down the back of my throat. Even now I can see their faces.”

          She sometimes catches herself saying these sort of things aloud, unaware of anything around her.

          “I may not have done it, but I didn’t stop it either.”

          You’d think after all this time their words would mean something to her, but they don’t. After all that they’ve done for her since that night, you’d think she’d find some sort of closure. Wouldn’t you? You’d think that after what she went through, what she saw, what she heard, you’d think she would accept any and all kinds of help just for one instant of peace from that nightmare that won’t dissolve into the dark where all others do when their effects have taken over and they’ve found satisfaction. This nightmare would not leave her though. You’d have to know this sort of nightmare to know that it never leaves; it never gives you peace.

          They don’t know. How could they know? They weren’t there that night. They didn’t see their faces. They didn’t hear their screams. They are perfect. They are unbreakable; untouchable. Their skin does not bleed they ways yours does. Their skin does not bleed at all. Their hearts do not break with the sound of their voices. Their spirits do not shatter with the visions of each of their faces. Hers does. Yours would too. No matter what you think, yours would too. They can’t know. They are gods amongst insects in this world of yours. In this world of hers.

          “They don’t know. But they aren’t perfect. No matter what they say, they aren’t perfect. They’d cry too. They’d feel. They’d feel it all. Every single emotion, they’d feel it. They may deny it, but they’d feel it all. Yes, they would. They just don’t know. But I do. I know and I know that they would. They are not perfect.”

          Are you perfect? Bet you’re not.

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          She sits in the corner of her room. No matter what you say or do, you can’t make her move from her little spot on the ground. Sitting in her corner, legs tucked in tightly to her chest and head resting on her knees. You’d think after all this time, she would stop retelling that same tale. You’d think she’d have memorized by now and would not have to keep repeating it aloud for the emptiness of her room to hear. You’d think she would want to forget instead of keep reminding herself. But you don’t know what she knows. You don’t feel what she feels.

          “It made a horrible noise. Metal versus wood, you’d think we’d win. But we didn’t. We lost. Wood was stronger that night, and nowadays I’m told that it always wins in those situations. But we didn’t think so that night. We didn’t think anything that night. Except for the celebration of course. That same celebration that came around every Saturday night. We weren’t even planning on this battle. We entered it without knowing we had. This age-old battle of machine versus nature; metal versus wood.

         “And then it just happened. They battle begun and we fought to the best of our ability. We had lost even before we entered that epic battle. The noise it made was horrible. The screeching tires; the busting metal; the breaking of glass; the screams of them all; bones breaking; blood flowing. Even the silence that followed made the most horrible noise. The silence was the worst of it all. The screams I could one day move passed, but that silence will stick around forever. The silence is what haunts me.

          “When I opened my eyes, I was blinded by the white light. All around me I heard people rushing about, the sound of a machine heaving loudly, and the strangest beeping sounds. It felt that tube coming out of my throat move about and I nearly vomited. I spent days like that. Days turned into weeks. Two months I spent in that bed with different wires and tubes connecting me to machines that were keeping me alive.

          “They never had to feel those tubes down their throats. They never had to feel those wires and tubes poking and piercing their skin. They never had to watch another’s blood being forced into their bodies by yet another tube. They never had to hear those voices. They never had to hear those voices utter those words. Sympathetic words; scolding words; loving words; hateful words; agonizing words. They never had to feel any of it. It was all saved for me. They didn’t feel any of it.

          “Lucky b******s.”

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          You’d think that they would be right. You’d think that their word would be good enough and that it could not be any other but what they said. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But here’s the secret that they never tell you: They can be wrong. They can make mistakes. They are just like you. They screw up occasionally like humans should. And even though it goes against everything that they tell you, they are not perfect.

          They are not perfect, but for now they are. They don’t feel like you do. They don’t know, so how can they tell you what to know? They don’t feel, so how can they tell you how to feel?

          You do feel guilty even if it wasn’t you behind the wheel.

          She does feel guilty even though it wasn’t her behind the wheel.

          And they’ll never have to feel that. That’s saved for her and her alone.

          Lucky b******s…