The Illusion of Bravery?
What do you think the importance of experiences is that we remember, but can’t possibly change? Do you think there is some benefit to them?
Obviously, some events like the poem Chamber Music are remembered with joy, but what about the dark memories? Do you think there is anything to be gained by going back to those on occasion?
For me personally, memories like the one that made up Chamber Music carry the appreciation they do because of memories like those in The Illusion of Bravery? below.
I remain curious though. What are your thoughts on this?
“The Illusion of Bravery?”
My dad refused the wheelchair the lady behind the window had offered. I wasn’t surprised. He had been telling hospital staff that we didn’t need one since we got here. He walked over to where I was s itting and said to me “Okay Tiger.” I raised my arms and he picked me up again laying me over his shoulder so we could head off to our next destination. I kept my head down in shame as my upper body dangled behind him watching the backs of his shoes peak out from beneath his butt and then disappear again with each forward step.
Our next stop was the lab and once we got there, the nurse had my dad set me down in a teal colored chair. I avoided eye contact with the nurse at first, as she maneuvered my arm to where she needed it on the armrest. I gave in though, because the way she talked to me, it seemed important to her that I was comfortable. I liked her.
“If you want, you can turn this way and we can talk while Anne takes your blood.” A second nurse in the room offered. She was standing on the other side of the chair from Anne. She seemed nice too.
“No. It’s okay for me to see.” I answered politely.
“Can you relax for me?” Anne asked, getting my attention again. “As much as you can, okay Hon?” I tried to do as she said. “There you go. Goooood boy.” I watched in silence as Anne stuck me with the needle-the bite of its tip caused my jaw to tighten. The vials didn’t fill with as much of my blood as I thought they would before Anne placed a cotton ball over the place she had given me the shot and covered it with a Band-Aid.
She smiled and told me with enthusiasm that I was brave and that most kids my age would have cried. Standing next to her was my dad, so my every word and reaction was measured and composed. I faked a smile and told her “Thanks”. Even as I wondered what she would have thought if she knew how scared I was.
The only reason I was even at the hospital was because I stupidly complained to my stepbrother about how horrible the pain was in both my legs when we got up for school that morning. If I hadn’t said anything, I would have been able to keep it a secret just like I did the previous day. I had managed to walk normally when people were around that might tell on me in spite of both my legs feeling like their were razors inside of them slicing up and down them until I could sit down again. Once my stepbrother found out how bad my pain was though, it was out of my control. He ignored all my desperate pleas and bargaining to do his chores and left our room to tell my dad.
While I waited, I fought back the tears. I was far more scared of my dad’s reaction than whatever was wrong with my legs, but I knew whatever was about to happen, crying would only make it worse. Somehow, within the duration of Anne’s proud smile at me, I thought of all this and didn’t feel very brave at all.
Our next stop was the lab and once we got there, the nurse had my dad set me down in a teal colored chair. I avoided eye contact with the nurse at first, as she maneuvered my arm to where she needed it on the armrest. I gave in though, because the way she talked to me, it seemed important to her that I was comfortable. I liked her.
“If you want, you can turn this way and we can talk while Anne takes your blood.” A second nurse in the room offered. She was standing on the other side of the chair from Anne. She seemed nice too.
“No. It’s okay for me to see.” I answered politely.
“Can you relax for me?” Anne asked, getting my attention again. “As much as you can, okay Hon?” I tried to do as she said. “There you go. Goooood boy.” I watched in silence as Anne stuck me with the needle-the bite of its tip caused my jaw to tighten. The vials didn’t fill with as much of my blood as I thought they would before Anne placed a cotton ball over the place she had given me the shot and covered it with a Band-Aid.
She smiled and told me with enthusiasm that I was brave and that most kids my age would have cried. Standing next to her was my dad, so my every word and reaction was measured and composed. I faked a smile and told her “Thanks”. Even as I wondered what she would have thought if she knew how scared I was.
The only reason I was even at the hospital was because I stupidly complained to my stepbrother about how horrible the pain was in both my legs when we got up for school that morning. If I hadn’t said anything, I would have been able to keep it a secret just like I did the previous day. I had managed to walk normally when people were around that might tell on me in spite of both my legs feeling like their were razors inside of them slicing up and down them until I could sit down again. Once my stepbrother found out how bad my pain was though, it was out of my control. He ignored all my desperate pleas and bargaining to do his chores and left our room to tell my dad.
While I waited, I fought back the tears. I was far more scared of my dad’s reaction than whatever was wrong with my legs, but I knew whatever was about to happen, crying would only make it worse. Somehow, within the duration of Anne’s proud smile at me, I thought of all this and didn’t feel very brave at all.
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