Imperfections
Amberlyn holds the dusty box in her trembling hands. The smell of tattoo ink still lingering on her clothes overpowers her and she finds herself leaning into that smell, hoping it will ground her. She has always been a person of confidence; even when unsure of her next move, she knew that whatever path she chose, there would be no doubt in her decision. But now it feels as though the ground beneath her is unsteady, like being in the center of an earthquake. She rocks back and forth on the heels of her shoes and paces the walls of her New York City apartment, unable to sit still. She stares at those same walls, the gigantic paintings from her favorite artists fill the space, a mural of magnificence. She recites the artists from memory, then the style they used. She fixes her gaze on her favorite and is struck by its beauty as if it’s her first time seeing it. The mirage of colors pop out at her, their elegance calling her name. She tries to envision a world where her art is framed in someone else’s shitty apartment and smiles to herself, because above all else: she craves a space where her passion can live. The box, carefully placed on the coffee table, entices her and she attempts to take a deep breath, but can’t quite remember how. The oxygen her body searches for gets lost in a place of uncertainty. She puts her hand to her heart without thinking, unsure of what to do next. Ever since she was a child, she’s stood on her own two feet, able to solve every obstacle the world threw at her; she did this with pride. She has never needed anyone, but there is one person she’s always wanted—still wants. One person she loves more than anyone. Loved. Her grandmother. As she thinks of her, she can feel her entire body ache at the absence of her. She feels she’s being pulled toward where her grandmother should be. Like gravity. Nothing in her being has accepted or even understood the loss. There’s always a moment before she wakes when she forgets she has to live in a world without the person who kept her whole. Like her brain cannot comprehend that she no longer adds to the space of Amerlyn’s world. She still goes to call her when she’s created something new, or a client leaves a good tip. At random moments, the paralyzing agony of that loss punches her in the chest, and she feels as though her heart’s exploding from the emptiness. In those moments, she reaches for her grandmother to hold her up, like she always did, and has to endure losing her all over again. She squeezes her eyes shut so tightly that she sees colors. Her grandmother loved colors, so much so that she could never choose a favorite. When she found the box containing her grandmother’s old letters, she was unsure if she would be able to read the words she’d written, knowing that those words were all that was left of her. But she can barely breathe, she misses her so much, and she needs to hear her if only the echo of her.
