The Transformation Of Amy Lunaro: Chapter Seventeen. {fiction}
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Leanne picked her up from the hospital in the morning; the air had gone cold for the winter, and when they wheeled her out in her chair, she could see her breath.
An attendant loaded her into the back of Leanne’s old silver Subaru. With Amy’s plastered legs laid out gingerly in the back seat, Leanne laid an old red and yellow crochet blanket over her.
The car pushed out into the November frost, and Amy watched her slowly take the turn onto Main Street. On the dash, Leanne had collected a small altar of seashells and crystals. Leanne pressed in an old cassette tape. A buttery rich voice of a deep and fiery angel floated into the car. Leanne took in a huge gulp of air then sighed with an ahhhhh.
“You know this shit?” she looked up at Amy in the rearview.
“Um, just that it’s opera,” Amy said.
“Carmen,” Leanne said. Then she shook her silvery head.
“Ooooh, dog,” she said.
“What?” asked Amy.
“The Goddess sure knows how to ground a girl to her room so she can get some things done.”
“I guess,” Amy said meekly.
“Well, I know.” she said. “When you’re on the wrong path, She’ll stop you in your tracks. It’s time you stayed in one place and didn’t even think about running. Because you literally can’t!”
Leanne indulged in that guttural laugh. Amy was in no mood for the guttural laugh.
“You writing that book,” Leanne continued, “that’s some real self-actualization right there.”
“What’s that?” Amy asked, watching the harbor glide by out the window.
“Becoming the person you were meant to be,” Leanne said. The opera singer’s voice soared through the tinny old speakers like a woman on fire, singing for her life.
“Living your truth. Putting your inside dream on the outside. Becoming whole.”
“Mmm,” Amy said, closing her eyes and resting deeper into the seat. She thought about the doctor’s warm touch on her arm, and the way he’d held her gaze.
“What do you know about Dr. Weaver,” Amy asked.
Leanne was quiet. Amy opened her eyes and looked up, she saw Leanne’s strong wrinkled fingers squeezing the steering wheel tight.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, just that he’s so nice,” Amy said.
Leanne sighed. “And handsome. You gotta be blind as an old bat not to see that.”
“Well, yes,” Amy pulled the blanket up a little defensively.
“And the whole island knows Jack Fletcher’s horse is what landed you with two broken legs,” she said.
“Forget it,” Amy said.
Leanne didn’t.
“Just like getting bucked off of the love rodeo,” Leanne snorted. “You ignore too many red flags, and that’s what happens.”
Amy thought about that. There were, she realized, there had been a lot of flags she had blazed right through.
“That’s the running I’m talking about. Running to men to save you. Looking for it all outside of you.”
“You’re just not ready. You’re healing,” Leanne said. “And when we ignore the signs to heal our soul, the body stops us until we do it. The inside always creeps on out to the outside.“
Amy had an itch on her right thigh, and stuck a finger under the plaster, helplessly. She gave up and tossed her head back. She rolled down the old window and sucked in the autumn air like a deep sea diver coming up for air.
“Listen kid, you gotta fall in love with yourself first, like the way you dive headfirst in with men and give them everything, it’s gotta stop. If only you loved you the way you loved men, so absolutely, with abandon, so curious and forgiving. Fall in love with you like the way you fall in love with men.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Amy said.
“Well, you’re in my car, so we can talk about anything I want.”
Amy sighed.
“Here’s some breaking news, kid. Love doesn’t have to hurt. Love can heal. I think you’ve been looking for the hard kind. But there’s a soft kind too. And I’m saying until you love yourself, you’re going to be looking for love outside of you for the rest of your life. And you’re never going to find it. The kind that sticks and stays, anyway.
If a woman can’t be her own best friend, it’s a long and lonely road, take it from me.”
“Okay,” Amy said.
“I know you don’t wanna hear me right now, but I’m quite fond of ya. I was happy by my fire this morning, but here I am, picking your broken butt up. Anyway, what are you going to do, get out and run?” Leanne howled again as Amy let herself float away to the opera music.
She had never heard anyone sound so passionate in her life, it lit something deep within her. Her heart swelled with the crescendo.
Leanne was tuning in, too. She tapped the speakers where the music poured out.
“You write from this place. You strike where you’ve been struck. You write from the place that burns. And I think you know a thing or too about things burning.”
Out the window, the cliffs crashed into the grey sea, and a flock of seagulls soared over the car.
“You know what she’s saying?”
“No,” Amy said. “Just that it’s beautiful.”
“She’s saying that love is like a wild bird.”
“And it’s true. You can’t control it. So stop trying to choose it. Let it choose you. When you choose love, you’re in control. And love isn’t about control. No, it’s the ultimate ‘Let Go’. When it chooses you, you’re terrified, you have no control. And that’s how you know you’re onto and into something real.
But no, it’s a wild fucking bird and you can’t chase it. But just when you’ve given up all hope, when you’ve finally stopped looking for it, it will land right on your shoulder. But first, girl, find you. To find your true love, you’ve got to find your true you. And don’t stop. Don’t stop until you do.”
This is an ongoing series from a forthcoming fiction novel by Sarah Durham Wilson of DOITGIRL.
Tune in weekly for the next chapter in ‘The Transformation of Amy Lunaro’.
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