The Battle Continues (Caitlin)

The Ender Dragon must be vanquished by its own, an ancient prophecy had said. This is why Vivienne turned against the Ender Dragon after faithfully serving all her life. She wanted better for us, even for Alisha, who hated her for showing kindness to me. I don't want to be tied to a dragon, she said to me. I thought she meant this literally, but now I understood her words. I kept folding the same paper over and over again. Grief and uncertainty roiled inside me like a stormy sea. I saw Steve out of the corner of my eye, like a light in the distance. He may have slain the physical dragon, but my soul still wrestled with its raw hatred and darkness. I would vanquish it when the time came and now was not the time.

The anti-seizure medication tried to make its way up my throat, yet I kept it down. I had no appetite and suffered excruciating pain from having fallen without Steve around to help me. He left, presumably to see Andrew, but he left me to suffer. I lost my balance on the hardwood floor and couldn't breathe for a minute. Paralyzed with fear, I lay there helplessly.  Fear clamped its hand over my mouth; I couldn't speak. Perhaps he didn't really care about me.

I tried to breathe deeply as I did when panicked, but I couldn't. It felt like an eternity lying here. When I regained some breath, I slowly struggled to my feet and walked normally (read: painfully slowly) to bed. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't. Pain lingered in my limbs. I examined them and found several bruises on places where I fell. Upon regaining the ability to breathe normally, I fought the pain. As an old Minecraftian proverb read, there was no point in losing a battle before it began. Steve came through the door with papers in tow. He sat about a foot from me.

I pulled out my clarinet to play right as Steve eyed the bruises on my right arm. Knowing that it was not good to play after I fell, I dismantled it and safely set it in my case. He opened his mouth to speak and proceeded.
         "What happened?" Before I set the case in a drawer next to another instrument case, I tried to read his expression. He wanted to read me, but just wasn't sure how. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me: a good, obedient housewife, a refugee, or something else entirely. All I knew was that I am free, but lost and confused. I still hurt from falling, so I told him about that. However, I didn't tell him about the dragon that I still wrestled with. The dragon must be vanquished by one of its own. He appeared shocked and concerned to say the leased. "Did you have another... atonic seizure?" He pursed his lips with fear. "Or worse?"
         "No. I just lost my balance on the floor and got the wind knocked out of me. It still hurts, but I'll be fine." Or would I? He left the room and returned with an ice pack. I placed it on my back, which apparently, suffered the most damage.
         "Would you like a hug?"Steve spread his arms, inviting me in. I went limp when he embraced me. I wanted the moment to last forever, just us, safe with each other. We didn't want to worry about seizures, meltdowns, or asthma attacks. We just wanted to exchange our warmth in a cold, cruel world. After letting go, my fear and anxiety melted like ice next to glowstone. The waging war's fires inside my soul cooled like lava changing into obsidian. He kissed me on the cheek and said "You're beautiful." This was different than all other compliments to my appearance. Other people said I was pretty, cute, or nice, but Steve said I was beautiful. The word was all-encompassing. Those two words made me certain that he loved me not only for my appearance or my personality, but for me.

Of course, as with anything good, it didn't last. I smelled something acrid and burning, which turned out to be a brewing stand going haywire. I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't a pre-seizure aura. When I went back, Steve handed the stack of papers to me. I examined each one carefully, then plucked out a self-examination packet. It resembled the emotion tests I took at school. Later, I would go to Andrew for a gait analysis and to discuss the test. Steve left, saying he had to get his dog back from the boarding center.

I got started on the test, quill in hand. Some of the questions caught me off-guard, some of them made me cry, and some left me confused. I had always thought something was wrong with me, but I was never sure what. This would help me to give whatever I suffered. It would have a name and I could inform people of that name. People understand labels as it is human nature to categorize. It only served to hurt me as a non-human, but now it will help me. After completing two hundred questions about what I did, I came to a checklist titled "Please check off and explain anything in the list that is applicable to you." I checked off "asthma", "severe allergies (shellfish, latex, and any antibiotic that ends in -cillin), "epilepsy", and "incontinence (Can't hold it for more than 5-10 minutes due to strong urge)". Seeing these things, the problems that plagued me stared me in the face. I folded more cranes. and hung them with string as I saw fit. I named them Lorelai, Marcinia, Samantha, and Alisha. Strangely enough, the cranes I left in the End weren't important to me except for one: the lapis lazuli crane. I tried to teach Steve how to fold paper cranes when we were in high school. He was proud of having finally folded that one crane and let me incorporate it into one of my hanging crane flocks.

        "I'm home!" Steve announced his presence. "Did you miss me, Hutch?" He turned to Hutch and scratched him behind the ears. The dog licked Steve's face in response and approached me cautiously. Hutch sniffed, cocked his head, and then wagged his tail. Hutch had shiny, soft gray fur, gleaming eyes, a bushy tail,  and stood slightly less high than a block on all fours. I had always liked dogs hearing about them, but I rarely saw them. Hutch stayed faithfully at Steve's side. "And I can never forget Caitlin!" He embraced me and handed me a piece of meat for Hutch. The dog gently accepted the meat and I scratched him behind the ears. "You have MRI and CAT scans scheduled for next Friday at 2:00 pm. Then, you will have meet a neurologist at 4:00. If you need me, I'll be rehearsing with the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra from 1:00-3:00 pm. I have "
        "Okay. How are MRI and CAT scans conducted? Do they hurt? Are there needles involved?" I had horrible needle anxiety for absolutely no rational reason. I had to work up all my courage just to get a flu shot and, having almost had a meltdown, I didn't plan on getting one again. Since Steve would not be with me at this time, I felt more nervous. What if I had to interrupt his rehearsal because  I couldn't do the test? Anxiety gripped me like a vise. My heart beat faster. The nausea from the anti-seizure medication worsened. I flapped my hands to clear my head.
         "Caitlin, stop. You'll worry yourself sick."
         "I know, but I can't help it." I went to fold cranes. I named them Alexa, Andreas, and Barrett. They flew in the back. I folded more cranes. I turned to a wastebasket thinking I would vomit, but I didn't. Steve headed to the kitchen to make dinner. I cut vegetables and apples and he prepped the chicken. After removing the gizzards and some other internal organs from the chicken, he set them aside. Unexpectedly, Hutch strolled in with a wagging tail, stood up on the counter, and wolfed them down. "Is he allowed to do that?"
          "He's trained to do that. That's his dinner. Who uses chicken gizzards anyway? It'd be like eating poisonous potatoes." I laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time in forever. Steve's sense of humor swept my soul off its feet. I showed a timid grin while he beamed with delight. "You have a pretty smile. You should show it more often."
          "You do too." I caught a whiff of cooking chicken. "Let's see if the chicken is done."
          "It'll be ready in an hour according to the recipe."
          "Right. What will we do in the meantime? Do you want to play a duet?"
          "Sure! Just let me get my trumpet." We hurried into the bedroom to get our instruments (clarinet and trumpet respectively) and sat down on two chairs with music stands. "What do you want to play?"
          "I don't know. What do you want to play?" The selection of selected study books overwhelmed me. I selected a clarinet duet book and flipped to a passage in E. Steve looked uncertainly at the key signature. He volunteered to play the bottom part, but I insisted that I play it. Clarinets can play the low E, but trumpets cannot. We stumbled through the first page of music. Something about my reed was off, yet I couldn't quite identify what it was. Steve played the high C about five cents sharp. We stopped at measure 75. He rubbed his temples afterwards. I asked if anything was wrong and he gave no answer. He took the chicken out of the furnace.

          "Um...can you carve this chicken for me?" Steve looked embarrassed at his inability to carve a chicken. I did so, as I have carved many chickens in my lifetime. We sat down to eat the dinner we prepared. In my water glass, I saw a reflection of myself. The scars had mostly faded, yet were still there in my head.