Written in the Scars

by Adriana Locke

“I love ya, E.” He squeezes my hand. “I know I’ve said it a million times, but I do love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re everything to me.”

Maybe that’s what love is, something so beautiful and perfect that you can only feel it.

Snuggling as close to him as I can, I reiterate my words from before. “I love you, Ty. For better or worse.” “Til death do us part.”

Ty nods, running a hand through his thick black hair that’s spiking up every which way. His angular jaw is dotted with stubble, more than a day’s worth. I know what it would feel like if I ran my hand against it, how his head would cock to the side just before a playful smile kissed his lips. I can imagine the feeling of the scars marring his sculpted back from the mining accident that changed our lives in such horrible ways last year. I can envision his crooked smile, telling me everything would be okay. Clearly, that’s a lie.

Life doesn’t care about feelings. It couldn’t give a shit about who you love and want to be with. It keeps tossing crap your way, trying to break you until all you know is the chaos of it all.

“Bruises go away, Tyler. Scars stick around to prove you showed up for life. That you lived. That you fought. That you loved.”

“You can’t expect a relationship to succeed based on the love you felt at the beginning. It succeeds because you continue to build on it until the end.”

“Your heart will be more scarred than your back by the end of your lifetime. That is, if you live the right way.”

She takes my hand, the offer of her small fingers in mine crushing me. She tries to pull me towards her, but she’s too cursed by the alcohol. Instead, I hold her hand, stroking her knuckles with my thumb like I would do while we watched a movie or drove down country roads. Her hand was always in mine . . . just like this.

“I love you,” I whisper, choking the words out. She doesn’t react, too asleep and out of it to hear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

The urge strikes hard, much harder than before, to slip into bed beside her and pull her into me. Before I can do that, I turn away and head back down the hallway leaving my heart beside her.

“You think you can just walk in here in the middle of the night and I’m going to be expecting you?” “I hope you’re not expecting another man to be walking in here in the middle of the night,” he says, a gravel to his voice that just incenses me.

His eyes glimmer, distracting me, and I don’t see the kiss coming. But the feeling of his lips against mine sends a zip of energy screaming through my veins.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he whispers as the light in the bedroom flickers and the power goes off. My hands shake as I reach for him in the darkness. He takes my hand mid-air, like he knew where I’d be, and guides me to him. Our bodies press together, skin to skin, our hearts thumping at the same frenzied pace.

She tightens around me in every way, and I push into her as far as I can go and let myself fall over the edge with her. It’s an execution we’ve perfected.

I want to hold her in my arms forever, feel our naked bodies touch in every way. Damn, I’ve missed this. More than I even realized.

My hands itch to pick her up and carry her down the hallway to our bedroom. I want to pull her on top of me and show her how sorry I am, how much I love her, over and over again until she understands.

“What are you doing here?” Lindsay asks, sipping on a strawberry milkshake. “It’s sixty-degrees outside,” I say, pointing at her glass. “Why are you drinking a milkshake?”

The foundation of a marriage is love. The walls of a shared life are built with trust, loyalty, and respect. Once those are torn down, there’s nothing left standing.

“The only two-on-two that will happen around here if you don’t leave is two fists hitting you in the face,” Cord promises.

“You’re everything to me, Elin. You’re my lover, my best friend, my partner in everything, the mother of my children someday.”

“Don’t make decisions because you just want to end the pain. Don’t lose Ty because you’re mad or hurt or confused. Be the smart girl I know you to be.”

Every part of my life is touched by Ty, wrapped around him, incorporated in him in some way—all the way back to junior high. Every memory I have, he’s in it. It’s his face I see when I’m scared, it’s his voice I hear when I need comfort, it’s his touch I crave when I feel lonely.

“I promised you for better or worse, until death do us part. This is the worse part. I’m aiming for the better now.” “Ty . . .” The words are stolen by the look on his face. “Even if it takes me until the death part, I’ll try. I love you, Elin. I’m going to remind you of that until you believe it.”

“You are impossible. I’m mad at you.” “I figured that out. You can stop being mad now.” “No, I can’t.” “Then think of how much fun it’ll be being mad at me when I’m in the same house. You can be mean to me all day and night. It would be much more cathartic for you.”

“And think of the makeup sex when I convince you to stop being mad.” His eyes twinkle in the sunset. “But I’ll tell ya something, E. I don’t think I can wait very long to get inside you again.”

“I’m going in to eat leftovers. You can come if you want.” “Only if you come first,” he chuckles.

“Well,” I say, smirking, “if you don’t want a pet and want to go straight for the baby, I’m game to try. Just come over here.”

“You won’t try to make out with me or anything, right?” she teases. “Because I know that look in your eye, Tyler Whitt.” “Only if you ask,” I wink, opening the door to my truck and watching her climb in. Before I shut it, I lean in and whisper into her ear. “Hey, E.” “Yeah?” “Please ask.”

“All this shit will only make us stronger, like a scar that has healed over. That skin is stronger than the area around it. It’s been to war and won. That’s us.”

“We have to trust each other, lean on each other, communicate with each other. We’re no different than a team. We are a team,” I say. “If we don’t talk, if we sit the bench and refuse to play, we can’t win. And, Elin, baby,” I say, squeezing her for good measure, “if I don’t have you, there’s nothing to play for.”

She nods as we reach for each other, the only other person that feels the pain we do, the only other person that can heal us from that very hurt.

“You ready to go?” she asks. “Yeah.” “Ty?” “Yeah?” She reaches for me with a shaky hand. “Will you kiss me?” In the midst of the fireflies, under the bright fall moon, I kiss my wife with everything I have.

This is how it should be. My friends giving each other shit about life, a game on the television, and my wife sitting at the table with her best friend, talking babies while she wears my shirt and her hair is still ruffled from the quick make-out session we had in the garage.

“Hey,” Cord says, rustling us out of our thoughts. “We need to save these lamps.” Our lungs all fill with air as we realize what this means. Total. Darkness. One at a time, our lights go off. First Cord’s. Then Jiggs’. “Here we go,” I whisper, raising my hand to my helmet and flicking my lamp off too. The pitch black settles over us on the cold, wet floor of hell.

I see his eyes in the sea of darkness as I ascend. I collapse into a heap on the floor of the makeshift elevator, trying desperately to hear his voice. “Thanks for everything you’ve ever done for me, Ty,” he shouts as he slips out of sight. “I love you, man!” “Cord!” I shout, slumping against the back wall, sobbing.

A man in a black business suit comes into the tent set up with a look of defeat on his face. “Mr. Whitt?” “Did you get Cord? Tell me you got him. Please . . .” “I’m sorry. We hit water.” “No!” I wail, covering my face with the towel. “No!”

“Ty!” I scream and he looks up. I run to him and he stands, catching me as I nearly leap in his arms. “Oh, baby!” I cry, running my hands through his hair, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

“Are you okay?” I ask, wiping the muck off his face. “Tell me you’re okay. Talk to me, baby. I need to hear your voice.” “I’m fine,” he says. “But Cord . . .” My heart stops. “Cord?” “He didn’t make it.” “No!” I gasp, my legs threatening to go out from under me. Lurching forward, my heart splintering into a million pieces, I reach for my husband.

Pulling my husband as close to me as possible, I soothe him the best I can in the midst of my own suffering. Just as I feel myself start to go over the ledge, I feel him. I feel Cord. Like a rush of warmth from a mid-afternoon sun, I know his spirit is here.

We cry together, our hearts mourning the loss of one of the best people to ever walk the earth. To a sweet boy, a sweet soul, that maybe didn’t realize he knew how to love, but loved more than anyone I’ve ever met.

“But we aren’t . . . I mean, I’m not his family,” I say, picking up the envelope again. “Not by blood.” “Sometimes family isn’t made by blood, Mrs. Whitt. Sometimes it’s a choice, and Mr. McCurry chose you.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think down here. I’ve thought about a lot of things, but I keep coming back to what you said about everyone’s life having a purpose. I’m sitting here in this hole the size of a small room with water freezing my toes off and your husband and brother making me crazy with their bickering and I’m wondering—how in the hell did I get here? Maybe my purpose in life is to be tormented by them assholes. Both of them.”

“It was Cord that reminded me to fight for what I wanted, even when I was scared. To live and love bravely. It takes courage to love. But to have someone to love and to love you back is worth every bump in the road.”

“Life isn’t easy. Love isn’t for the faint of heart. You have to just put your fears aside and go for it.

Love fully, even when it gets hard. Give forgiveness, even when you aren’t sure the other guy deserves it. And in every friendship you’re in, don’t forget to actually be friends.”

It’s the little things. I knew that before the accident, but I know it more now. It’s not about money, it’s not about cramming in a week’s worth of work in one day. It’s not about getting from point A to point B and it’s surely not about getting irritated over the little things in life. As a matter of fact, that’s what it’s all about.

Life does pack a punch. But it’s the scars that make us who we are, that tell the story of the life we lived.