Page 69 of Salute, To Bravery

Violet

T he morning felt rushed. I could barely get out of bed before my phone blew up. I loved what I did, but at the same time, once you became a big name, the work never ended.

Since I’d finished Sarah’s website, my business had been booming. I loved it. My name was getting out there; my business and my skills were emerging into society. It was . . . electrifying.

It was as if I were a machine. I was making my clients’ websites in no time.

I was making each one unique, yet in my style.

It was great to be so creative. I was thinking outside the box for transitions, templates, and layouts.

It was exhausting yet freeing. I felt almost complete. The only thing missing was Ophelia.

I missed Ophelia so much. It felt like a piece of me was missing, which was strange. We barely knew each other, yet she was an enormous piece of my life, of my heart, and of me.

My phone rang, and Ophelia’s profile photo appeared on my screen. I answered immediately. Butterflies erupted in my stomach, but they disappeared when I heard sniffling instead of the energetic voice that I was used to.

“Hey,” I said quietly and softly, “are you okay?”

“No.” Her voice wasn’t strong; it sounded like she had been crying. “I miss everyone. I miss you. It feels like I’ve been on autopilot and not living. I feel numb. I hate feeling numb.”

I looked for the words to say, but there were none. I just sat there and listened to Ophelia complain about how hard life was without her support group. It was devastating to see how broken she was. My heart broke as she started to cry again.

“You’re safe,” I continued to repeat.

A strong urge to bring her home, hug her, and comfort her came over me. I wanted to do something, but I couldn’t. I felt helpless.

“No, I could be dead at any moment. We both know how China feels about Japan. We both know how Russia feels about Japan. It’s a mess. Politics is a mess, and here, I’m surrounded by it, and I hate it.”

I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t make it about myself, but I wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone in this. I needed her to know that she wasn’t alone in her feelings.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

“Just sit here with me and listen. You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to be here with me.”

“Okay.”

I sat on my couch and listened to Ophelia empty out her feelings.

I knew I couldn’t do anything, so I just sat and listened.

She didn’t want advice; she didn’t want a fix to the situation.

Ophelia needed someone to listen. I was willing to do anything to help her, even if it meant reliving my days in the Air Force, even if it meant triggering myself again.

I wouldn’t allow myself to be triggered while she was on the phone.

I would allow myself five minutes of freak-out time after this, but then I would get back to work.

After about thirty minutes of mourning the people she missed, she relaxed. She wasn’t crying anymore. She spoke with confidence again.

“I miss you,” Ophelia whispered.

“I miss you, too. Everyone misses you,” I breathed.

Ophelia laughed softly. “I bet they do.”

We stayed on the phone for a few silent minutes. It was comforting to hear her breathe normally, to know she was there, knowing that she was okay. All of it was reassuring that we were going to be okay.

“I need to get some sleep,” Ophelia said. “It’s three in the morning here.”

“Goodnight, my rose.”

“Goodnight, my daisy.”

Ophelia hung up the phone, and my entire demeanor changed. My breath became shallow. My eyes were darting in-between two objects on my coffee table, trying to focus but failing.

I wish I could do more. I wish I could be more.

The feeling of helplessness fell over me. Tears pierced my skin, leaving a trail of irritation.

After about five minutes of crying, I got up and went to the bathroom. I splashed some water onto my face and wiped my tears. Redness mangled my appearance.

I walked out of the half-bath and went back to my sage green couch. As I got back to work, my mind kept wandering back to the helpless feeling. A paralyzed, forlorn feeling sank into my stomach.

“There goes my grind,” I said to myself. “I can’t get behind.”

I grabbed my remote and turned on the TV.

I turned on some music, mostly instrumental and video game music.

I tried to put all my attention back into my work, but my mind gravitated to the unprotected world that Ophelia must be living in.

She must be so scared, so exposed. I would hate to be in her position.

I couldn’t stop the feeling of guilt and shame from colliding in my stomach. Tears threatened to appear again, and I pushed them back. But it was holding a tsunami against a door. The guilt and rage paralyzed me.

I needed meditation.

I turned off the focus music and turned on a guided, five-minute calming meditation. As I was instructed, I started to visualize my safe place, the music store, and breathed deeply.

Relaxation demolished the guilt and helpless feelings in no time. After about five minutes, I was able to work again. I was able to get into the flow of things, answering emails, asking clients questions, and building their dream websites.

For the rest of the day, I sat on my couch and continued to design.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. I took a quick shower and did another meditation, sent a quick goodnight text message to a few people, and fell into a deep sleep.