Her bracelets are not just jewelry; they are memories of a lifetime.

Each a ticket like the ones won by tossing rings on bottles and throwing darts at balloons.

Only, cooking her own dinners, depending on herself, and spending nights alone was how she won hers.

She collects these­ bracelets.

At least ten on each wrist. She isn’t done yet. She chokes with regret saying she has only just begun.

She collects these tickets, waiting for the fulfilling moment to be able to cash them in for the most wanted prize. ­

As she rests each ticket on her slender white wrists, she feels the uneasy worry that haunts her mind.
Will she ever have enough tickets? Will she ever be fine?

Will she ever be able to show her wrists without these strands, the cold silver or the warm strings braided together?

This carnival she lives and breaths is a messy crowd dying of disease.

Vain agenda, selfish eyes, eyebrows rising at the possibility of their tickets adding up to an “A” on an essay or job offer or even a compliment from a boy.

she wasn’t delusional. She knew she had to be patient.

There were no magical erasers that could erase this from her past. She would collect her own tickets until she could gain control of her life at last.

She wears over twenty bracelets. Never takes them off.

Not to shower, eat or sleep.

People smirk when they see her wearing so many, or they make a joke to start conversations.

However, they don’t realize the true significance of her bracelets.

“Brace yourself,” she said as if I was not going to be able to understand her hands or what she knew how to do with them – how each one became a weapon.

As she began to weep on my shoulder, I grasped a hold of her, slid her tickets, allowing her naked wrists to see sun for the first time. The pale skin was able to breathe.

I pressed my lips against the rough texture bringing them b­­­ack to life. I needed to show her.

I wanted to show her how life could be lived without tension every time she walked down the woman’s beauty aisle.

 

 

 

 

Aisles lined with blades. These blades that braced her skin. Allowing a frightful escape from within that these bracelets let her hide.

How could they? Jewelry? More like accessory to suicide.

What a daunting word, suicide.

In this day and age the thought that comes to mind is which side will sue, Mom or Dad?

The ramifications of Bad Parents.
The explanation of Unexcused Absences.
The connotations of Prescribed Guidance.

I was going to show her that she did not have to collect these tickets anymore.

Why? Why did she collect these bracelets as if each one were her best friend? Why did she feel safer with these plastic, metal, rubber, and beaded strings than with her best friend?

She said she does it to feel in control. Like a police officer with a pistol.

Her wrists are bruised and shredded.

Too afraid to raise her precious hand, she holds it back, and lets her brilliance contract.

Who or what creates such delusional control? What cause forces her to resort to control through suffering?

The mystery lies underneath what these tickets are covering.

When the thick-layered Mac concealer couldn’t do the trick, these sleeves of rubber could.

The slippery jade beads cooled the jagged ripples. The “I Heart Boobies” bracelets were just thick enough when all aligned to hide the muddied purple and blue pools.

However, two bracelets stand out against the rest. Two bracelets that do not cover these tortured wrists.

One, toothed bracelet raised to fi tight around her forearm. Leaving a tinted green indent, allowing the silver ring to always have a place to sit if it ever fell to the ground.

This collected memory is a ticket that has been ripped in half. The imperfect ticket will never be able to be cashed in. Instead, held onto forever. Only worth anything together.

But where is that other flawed bracelet, the worn down ticket that was once silver, but now bronze?

I wear it.

Secondly, the silver special ordered cuff, like a young child holding on to her mother but whose arms are two short to wrap fully around her.

Tight.

 

 

 

The ends of the cuff just stopped as her veins hid deep within, afraid of the hopeless moment when the world spun out of control. Underneath the pressed metal read a message that indented her gentle skin.

“With brave wings she flies”. This bracelet let her insecurities shine.

Allowing her problems, mistakes, and regrets be a part of her but not all of her.

This shiny, silver, delicately sturdy ticket is an inseparable memory, worthless to anyone else.

She texted me about her horrible day, just like the rest.

Broken promises from blood relatives, migraines with no end, and imperfect body images. 

She was stressed.

Venting to me through text, until she said this is the worst it has been.

I typed with hands that I took for granted. Comforting words that I soon realize were never read.

No reply.

No reply for over 30 minutes.

I had been working, focused on time sheets, resumes, and homework until,

no reply.

My stomach began to revolt. I found chills crawling over my body imagining her body. Fingers that just typed with confidence, now seized as my mind worried.

No reply.

I couldn’t avoid the inevitable now. It was time. I pressed the call button, ringing in my ear that went on for centuries until I heard the click form the other side of the line.

I only heard breathing. It was relieving however; my heart knew it could not be too excited. I could taste the regret in her breath through the phone. Her words shook as she said hello.

All I wanted to do at that moment was rip each ticket off and burn it. Those bracelets give her safety. Safety that I wanted to be able to give her.

I want my family and her family to be her safety, not her cause.

We spoke in long silences and few words. Reassurance and love is all that I could send across the 95.3-mile distance.

Before we said goodnight, I heard the jingle of the tickets,

one more added bracelet.

She has become a wizened old collector.

Her bracelets have become a part of her.

As she plays the ivory keys or drives with her arm out the window,

no one would notice they were there if it weren’t for how many consumed each her.

She collects these tickets,

waiting for the finale 

the fulfilling moment

to cash them in for

the most wanted prize.