New Balance

NB| 2

AMARA tossed and turned—her face frowning as the memory taunted her in her sleep. Her body was covered in sweat—mixing with the saltiness of tears that owed down her face. Her body began to shake violently, as she abruptly forced herself out of sleep.

The room began to close in—Amara felt as though the walls were brushing against her skin as she screamed for her parents. Her breathing was quick and hollow; Her chest suered sharp pains as she cried louder. Her ears were ringing and she'd lost sense of everything around her.

"Amara," Simone guided herself onto her daughter's bed, "Listen to my voice, Nani."

"I-I—" Amara stuttered, as she became light-headed.

"Focus on your breathing," Simone coached, gently holding her daughter's hands, "I'm here with you, Anandi."

"Deep breaths," Simone guided, inhaling deeply. She repeated this act, allowing Amara to take her time, "Good," She raised Amara's hands and placed them on either side of her face, "Tell me what you can feel, Nani."

"Eyes," Amara began to list as she tried to continue her breathing, "Nose."

"Good," Simone smiled, as she could see Amara beginning to ground herself, "What else?"

"I-I don't know, Mama," Amara began to panic, "I-I can't—"

"Come here," Simone opened her arms, swallowing the lump in her throat. Amara leaned into her mother's chest, crying softly as her hands grasped her Mother's robe, "It's okay, baby."

"I'm sorry," Amara managed through her tears.

"No, baby," Simone reassured, "You do not have to be sorry, Nandi," She swayed slowly, cradling Amara, "I'm here, baby. Always."

Amara couldn't understand. Her experiences with sexual assault was traumatic—it haunted her each time she closed her eyes. She couldn't understand how she was the only one suering, yet the people who violated her—who lowered her sense of self-worth and self-validation—had not suered at all. She had no sense of normalcy, and she wasn't sure if she was capable of getting it back.

"Do you want me to stay?" Simone asked, kissing the top of Amara's head. She nodded in response, as her mother grabbed Amara's scarf and secured it to protect her locs.

Simone helped Amara into the bed before climbing in behind her. Simone opened her arms, allowing her daughter to rest on her chest as she wrapped her arms around her. Easing Amara into sleep, Simone mimicked a hymn her grandmother used to sing to her. In no time, Simone could hear her daughter's light breath—nally allowing tears of her own to fall. Silently, she prayed over her daughter until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

"Bust rap tunes on flat spoons, take no shorts like poom pooms," Amara rapped aloud as she sat beneath the large oak tree, The small canvas planted into the grass as Amara created art without direction.