Surgery on An ordinAry girl

They cut her open on a cool afternoon in May about 30 minutes after the accident. Usually it wouldn’t have taken so long to begin the surgery on such an urgent case but the driver who hit her ran from the scene, the ambulance was held up by a train passing, and the surgeons were short-staffed due to a flu outbreak. By this point, it was too late.

Her lungs were punctured, her limbs bent in opposite directions, and half of her face was unrecognizable because of the dried blood coating down from the open wound above her left eyebrow, deep enough to see the brain. It took 2 hours for authorities to identify her and alert her parents, but her dad did not believe them until the 3rd hour. Her mom came home from work right away and they broke down together while the dog slept peacefully on his bed, unaware of the gravity of the situation. News spread quickly. It was a small town. She was known.

She was known in the way that she was seen but not thought about. She had friends, yes, but none of them really considered her their best friend. She was on the track team, but she wasn’t very good. She was in the musical, but only in the ensemble. She wasn’t really special in the ways that mattered to people. They mourned quickly. Well, except for her parents.

Sometimes I wonder what the surgeons thought when they took the knife to her skin. Did they, too, think that she was just an ordinary girl? Did they even really care? And what about everyone in that town who knew her? Did anyone really see her, see her the way she so desperately wanted to be seen? When they held the assembly to commemorate her death in school, did anyone shed a tear? I know the answer. But I don’t like it very much.

I wish people knew her the way her mother knew her. A soft-spoken girl who would do anything to make someone smile. Or like her father, a stubborn young woman who always had a plan. Even like her dog, a companion, a comfort, the center of the universe.

She wasn’t special, but she deserved better than passing glances. She was more than just a tragedy, a story to be forgotten. For God’s sake, she was someone. Shouldn’t there be something to be said for that?

I like to imagine when they cut her open it felt like they were cutting open themselves. That it carved into them like stone. Permanent. I want there to be roots in everyone’s hearts that harbor some connection to her. But that isn’t the case. She was simply an ordinary girl who died during surgery on a cool afternoon in May. Nothing more.

sick, dying, dead

Mixed Media

Hannah Gupta

remember you must die

Acrylic

Hannah Gupta

new year’s resolution

Audrey Nguyen

hey, i can’t tell if i still miss you or if i’ve just been wanting you so long that it’s the only thing i know how to do these days. the only thing i’m good for. it’s been months and the paper cuts have yet to close, new year’s being yet another marker of my inability to change. i’ve tried mending myself like patchwork. stitching the pieces together with self-help podcasts, books, hobbies, journaling, and any goddamn thing that’ll convince me i’ve moved on. watch comedy because horror used to be your thing. listen to r&b so you don’t think about that rock playlist you shared. but every time i’ve finished sewing, spent enough evenings swimming in matcha lattes and candle-lit baths, they rip open once again. it’s in the little moments. like passing you in the hall and your cobalt eyes briefly color with longing. so brief i tell myself that i imagined it. or when it gets to be 2 am and there’s nothing else to do but stare at the ceiling fan, wishing i could hear the familiar buzz of your voice against my sheets and the static of poor cell service crackling like a fireplace. it’s in those moments you hit me like mood swings, like a bad habit i thought i overcame. everything that had been tucked in my pocket spiraling uncontrollably. i’m not surprised. growth isn’t linear, as they say, and time moves in revolutions. it’s somewhat pitiful though because i don’t think there was ever a time when i truly did forget. if every action i’ve taken was to spite you, if the glow up was nothing but a facade, when have i ever done something purely for me? how do i, if you’ll always be the thought in the back of my mind? maybe there’s nothing to do but accept it until it no longer dictates my life. maybe i need to recognize that as much as i would like to believe i’ve grown up, i would come running back to you like a child in a heartbeat. maybe then will i become just a teenager again. I’m not sure what you’ll make of this random jumble of words, but i just thought i should let you know that it’s new year’s and i’m still the same person, still making the same mistakes, and still madly in love with you.

Read 12:01 AM