Help Me Heal

     “A-Are we…? C-Can we…? Really…?” The hesitancy in his voice almost broke your heart, terrified to trust, hands tightly grasped with yours. You could feel the pressure of him pushing against you, struggling to maintain his balance as his legs refused to support them like they were born to. They shook, careening at an angle that was awkward to move with. You shifted, shuffling as you guided him from the shade of the door, down the steps, and onto the sunnied, cobbled path. His eyes were bright as they gazed ahead, awed by the everyday natures.

     He was slow, leaning into you with every step. You braced yourself for the push-and-pull rhythm you had to maintain for him. His walker was left in the house, his confidence rising as he waltzed further from it. His nails dug into your hands and arms, his shoulder pushed into yours to support his weight. Feet drug across the stones with each move, catching on every crack as he tried his best to walk alongside you. You’d always right him when he keeled forward; the dandelions pushed through the paths, tickling his soles. 

     It was a slow maneuvering dance, past the fence, past the brush, past the gravel, and onto the sand lining the beach. 

     "We’re outside!” An incredulous shout, as though discovering the secret to life itself. His voice rang clear and echoed across the ocean’s waves. The seafoam and mist reeked of freedom from the musted dust of the house. He staggered, steel grip leaving your arms as he stepped away from you. The sand shifted under him, but he shakily pressed forward, free.

     His cackle was loud, head thrown back in joyous peals. His knees wavered, a newborn fawn wobbling forth. With the wind on his skin and the sun on his face, Zylafae laughed uproariously into the exposed air. The breeze caressed his hair, fluffing his bangs away from his sweaty forehead. His legs burned.

     He was the happiest you’d seen him in close to a year. His smile scarred his face, in bliss from the world's beauty. His arms stretched out as he swayed forward. His chest heaved, overexerted and exhausted, but here.

     “I’m really outside!” He cried to no one, “It’s so–” A cough wracked his frame, curling him inward, “--nice,” he huffed, another bout of hacking bringing him to his knees. The sand cut into them; you rushed forth too late to break his fall. 

     Even on the ground, knelt, hurt, his eyes were wide, labored wheezes unbarred. He took in everything: the sights, the smells, the air. Another ragged gasp tore through him, a whine, before his vision blurred with tears. His arms drew themselves inward, clasping over his eyes as he sobbed, overwhelmed. Curled into himself, hands drawn together.

     “P-Please,” he shuddered, “D-Don’t make me go b-back,”

     With your gentle hand on his back, he cried his prayer.