In the morning, Sana was exhausted. He'd woken up several times in the night, panicking again. It was as if he were dreaming of it. We went over it, and he told me again and again that it was a matter of being treated differently.

"I don't want to be treated differently. I want to be normal."

That phrase. I want to be normal.

It made a wound on my heart. Like it was raw meat, a huge gash on the front made by a knife.

This panic he had. It almost wasn't like panic. It read more like fear. Utter terror. Like it really was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. That, no matter how many times he woke up in the night, he couldn't really wake up from that dream.

I wanted so badly to help him, but I was powerless. Not even any words to say, there was nothing I could do to make it better. How do you solve that? You can't. You can't say, "it's going to be okay", because it isn't. And he knew it wouldn't be. That's what terrified him so much.

Then came something unexpected, which filled me with fear, too. A squirming fear.

I rolled his wheelchair to the bed after I'd gotten him dressed. He made no protest to this. He was wearing a pretty yellow dress, something long and elegant, but still casual. His hair wasn't done yet, and I wanted to fix it while he sat in his wheelchair like usual. We'd go to the mirror. I wanted to curl it like a 1930's screen vixen today. I thought it would look pretty with that dress, which reminded me of a 1930's kind of silhouette. His hair was the right length, too, and the right tone to look like Jean Harlow. I was excited.

We were smiling with each other, but I saw his expression change when I brought the wheelchair close. It fell and got serious, and his eyes were huge, staring at the chair. I made to pick him up to walk him the couple of steps to it. But, instead of bringing his arms up to meet mine, they crossed in front of him tightly. His chin went down, and he stared down at his knees.

I didn't know how to react to this. It was such a change from yesterday. I did the only thing I could think of.

I knelt down in front of him, peering up at his downturned face. Trying to see him. His long bangs were over his eyes, not yet curled to be out of them. The extra length, hiding him from me. But, I didn't need to see his eyes to observe his reaction.

He pitched forward a little, curling over himself. My hands rose to catch him, but he wasn't falling. Instead, I heard the same whimpers. Just like last night. As he leaned over, I saw his face. It was full of tears again.

I wanted to take him to myself immediately, but it wasn't over. It was barely beginning.

"I don't want the wheelchair anymore," he said bitterly, but appeared to stop himself. His face became one of shock. My eyes were wide, and I was frozen in my pose of reaching for him.

I didn't know what to do. No idea.

"Burn it," he said. His hands went over his face.

Like this, he sobbed. Rolling sobs, so tight in himself, that I couldn't pry his arms away from his sides. He was shaking, trembling like he was in physical distress. I got on my knees, and wrapped my arms around him anyway, whole. No need for reciprocation. Slowly, I slid him onto the floor with me. He was in my arms, and that's all that mattered. To somehow make him feel better, that's all I wanted.

I had no answers. His refusal of the wheelchair. I had no idea what to do. This helplessness. His crying and despair.

I was trying to reason with him silently to myself, trying to do something. I tried to see it from his side, and thought about what I would do in his situation, but just the edges of it brought hopelessness. My eyes went wider, thinking this, in shock. Myself, not being able to dance anymore. Not being able to sing. Worrying that I might not ever again. Physically, not being able to. Not a choice. It brought a black hole that seemed to chase me on the periphery, no matter where I'd try to go, it would be there trying to swallow me whole. That black hole was death, me wanting to take my own life. No need to live anymore, because for what reason was there to live if I couldn't dance? If I couldn't sing?

Seeing that black hole. An unsettledness creeped up over my shoulder.

Having to use a wheelchair instead. It was an immediateness, like I was tied down in ropes. Wanting to scream, fight it. But there'd be no fighting it, just an inevitability.

I realized my breath was quicker. My eyes almost wild, just thinking about it. My chin was on his shoulder as I hugged him close. I was brought back to reality, needing to get rid of just the thought of it. But, what if it were my reality?

This was his reality. I'd never realized it fully before, and here it was now staring me in the face.

Like a rushing of air coming into me, I suddenly understood. And the fear in my chest was so thick. Like a terrible smoke that I couldn't get rid of. Fear that has no start or end, it just keeps coming.

If he felt like that all the time? No wonder he was panicking. Refusing the wheelchair. Snapping at Yokohara-sensei and the physical therapist, everything. Not wanting to be treated differently than others. I would, too. I'd refuse it all for as long as I could. Trying to avoid that black hole following me.

I decided to talk to him about it. Maybe, it wasn't a good idea. He was so quiet, acting so differently. He wasn't his usual, easy-going, cute self. He wasn't even acting as I knew he did when sad. He was entirely silent, unmoving. Just like that time in the bathroom, when he'd told me he wanted to die. Scaring me, because if he was acting like this now...

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it, surprising me.

"I don't want the wheelchair," he whispered into my ear.

I just nodded, understanding. His fear. "Okay, honey. Okay." I held him closer to me.

He sniffled, coughing a little. He seemed more relaxed now. Slowly, his arms unfolded, and I made space for this by moving away a bit. I came closer as they wrapped around my back. He was holding me, too, and we held each other like this for a long time.

When Sawai-san came, we were asleep on the couch together. She didn't wake us, just tidying up the house, what little she could, considering my mom kept the house spotless. She made lunch, and then moved my shoulder to wake me.

I woke up immediately, always on high alert. I jumped awake, like she was an attacker. Instead, I was met with a smiling face.

"I made some chicken stew," she explained. "Let's go eat, huh?"

Seeing her there was such a relief. "Okay, that sounds nice," I agreed. I made to wake Sana. She looked around the living room.

"Where's Sana's wheelchair?" She asked. "I'll go get it."

My eyes went wide again like they'd been in our bedroom. "We decided not to use it today."

"Not use it?" She asked, incredulous.

"Yeah."

"That's a little dangerous. I always haven't minded that you carry him, but I have wondered what would happen if you were to trip." She said this almost off-hand. She walked back toward the kitchen. "I'll get some bowls out. I was thinking we could go to the house this afternoon. Yuuhi wants to look at the gutters."

Oh no. Why did she have to say that? The image of myself holding Sana, tripping and falling down stairs. Such fear filled me that I was momentarily not here anymore. Just that image.

No, no, no.

I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly, exhaling just as measured. Trying to compose myself.

Suddenly, I didn't want to wake Sana up. I didn't want to move him. It all seemed so dangerous. The whole world. I didn't want him to have to experience it. I wanted to shield him from it, let him sleep. Have a dream that wasn't this, an away place, where he didn't have to deal with it. Where he could escape his own black hole.

He was completely safe asleep, in that way. Not thinking despairing thoughts. Not telling me he wanted to die, not feeling that way at all. For a few hours in his sleep, he wouldn't have to feel that way. He wouldn't have to feel scared and panic. He wouldn't have to worry about others thinking he was different, or use his wheelchair, or anything.

I didn't move from our spot. Just holding him like this. Watching him dream. His completely relaxed face.

But. No, it wouldn't work. The more I looked at him, the more I knew. He had to eat. It was dangerous for him to sleep like this, also, for too long.

Fear was radiating through me, bouncing around my body, in my limbs and my heart, my belly.

Too much.

In the end, we decided to eat together in the garden. A picnic. I sat behind him, supporting him. I fed him stew until he was full. Slowly, showing all of my love. He was a lot more calm, more so than I would have been.

It made me think of how well he was actually taking this. This realization, this panic, this fear of mine. How much I'd be out of control, not myself. It reminded me of something Yokohara-sensei had told me once, and the gravity of her words hadn't permeated into me until now.

She'd said, "I know if I were in that situation, and so young, that I couldn't have smiled. I knew then how strong Sana is. He's the strongest person I've ever met."

How true that was. Just, how true that was.

The breeze went through my mom's gingko trees, the fan shaped leaves tickled by the wind in front of us. The easy wind went over our skin, cooling us off. I set the empty bowl on the blanket, and held him fully. My chin went on his shoulder, and I closed my eyes. Gently, I started to rock him back and forth, needing him.

Loving him, finally understanding. My patience was an ocean. If he needed to cry, I'd wait. If he needed to yell, I'd listen. If he needed to process this, and not speak, I'd sit with him. It was okay.

I'd do anything for him, because he was doing all he could. Every day, he was doing all he could. I understood that now, and more than ever, I wanted to make it easier for him.

His grief. It was deeper than I knew. Grieving for himself, a terrible worry. Wanting to be normal, seen as normal. I wanted to support him in this. If that's what he wanted, I wanted to help him one hundred percent.

As we listened to the trees, and a colder wind blew in heralding afternoon rain, another thought entered my mind, and I kept rocking him back and forth, dreaming.

This want of mine was an image. This time, welcome. Of the both of us in Hawaii, wearing flowers and white dresses. This desire, to tell him I'd support him no matter what. That I understood now, and I wanted to be there for him forever. To show in front of the others he feared so much, that even if it was scary, that I'd love him no matter what.

A close memory of him wandered into my mind, of him saying he wanted to go to Hilo after the tour. Him saying he wanted to marry me again. We'd do that.

I suddenly held him closer to me, and he looked up a little bit, his body a little startled. Was he in thought, too? My shoulders bunched up, as my hands slid up his body, adoring him. Lost in him.

"Let's go to Hilo," I whispered into his ear. "Let's get married. I want to tell everyone I love you, no matter what."

I hugged him tighter as he began to cry. Small at first, but more intense as it went on. A flood of tears. I rocked him back and forth just like this morning, loving him. I kissed his cheek, and pressed my cheek to it, never stopping in my rocking him.

I knew he was in despair. He was too quiet, though calm. That same type, from that time in the bathroom. But, no matter what, I would support him as surely as I was physically now. Holding him up, always behind him, the strength he needed if he couldn't find it. This I knew surely.

With this, my fear drifted away for a while, like the breeze in the trees. Off somewhere else, maybe not far away, always there like a promise, surely to come back again. But, for now, I could focus on things more important than fear. Being there for him, loving him. That was the only thing on my mind.