Fighting For Normal

A Shift in the Air

The thin blue paper gown crinkled beneath me as I shifted, its rustle contrasting with the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air like an invisible cloak. My fingers curled loosely at my sides, trying to steady myself.

Dr. Giacherio snapped on his gloves, the latex making a sharp sound in the sterile room. He looked at me steadily and asked, “Are you ready?”

I gave a small nod, though my mind drifted away. I focused on the pattern of the ceiling tiles, each square a tiny escape, then on the dull drone of the lights. Anything to avoid the moment. My heart beat nervously in my chest.

Nurse Kerrie unfolded a sterile surgical drape with practiced ease. She carefully placed it over me, smoothing the edges before revealing an opening at my left thigh. A cold breeze brushed my exposed skin.

Cool antiseptic spread over me, stinging briefly before turning numb. The numbness spread quickly, offering a welcome relief.

Dr. Giacherio picked up the biopsy needle, its metal shining under the lights. He aimed carefully, his focus complete. “You’ll feel some pressure,” he warned quietly.

The needle made a quick, sharp prick. I stared at Kerrie, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed - a quiet anchor amid my fear. Silence filled the room.

Then came a sharp snap, a hollow mechanical sound as the device took the first sample. Kerrie moved swiftly, placing it in a small container. The click of the lid was another sharp note. Dr. Giacherio checked the needle, nodded, and repeated the process. Another snap. Another sample. A brief shiver passed through me.

I watched, detached but alert - aware of their careful, quiet work. I noticed Kerrie’s eyes flick to me sometimes, worried. I avoided her gaze and stared past her shoulder at a safe, empty spot.

Three stitches followed. The tug on my skin was the first real feeling since the numbing. Adhesive strips went on, then a bandage. It was over.

Dr. Giacherio peeled off his gloves, the soft ripping sound signaling the end. He tossed them in the bin and turned to me, looking more relaxed. “You might feel soreness or bruising,” he said. “Take it easy for a few days - no hard activity.”

No volleyball. The thought hit me hard, disappointing me more than I expected. I’d miss tomorrow’s game. It seemed small compared to everything else, but it still hurt.

Kerrie stepped closer, giving a small, comforting nod. Her eyes crinkled kindly. She spoke softly, “You can get dressed. I’ll take you to your dad and Pops when you’re ready.”

A soft knock at the doorframe startled me. I was halfway into my other sandal, the cool leather straps resting against my arch. The first sandal, a black flat with silver studs, already felt secure on my foot.

Kerrie peeked in, her voice low. “You ready?” she asked.

“Almost,” I whispered, fumbling with the buckle. I slipped on the second sandal, the leather softly brushing my skin. I flexed my foot, feeling the stiff bandage under my light-wash denim culottes. My white eyelet top felt airy and comfortable, a sharp contrast to the stuffy gown I’d just taken off. I stood up as the fabric rustled quietly. The hallway was silent except for the soft tap of my sandals on the linoleum.

Turning the corner, I saw Dad and Pops in the waiting room. Relief washed over me. Dad stood with his arms crossed over a dark blue polo, his eyes quickly scanning me. Pops leaned against the wall, thumbs in his faded jeans pockets. A silver chain glinted just below his light-blue t-shirt collar.

Dad’s eyes shifted from my face to my legs, noticing my hesitant steps. “You’re walking. That’s a good sign,” he said, relaxing slightly. He turned to Kerrie. “How’d it go?”

Kerrie nodded, adjusting her clipboard. “Everything went smoothly. The biopsy site is clean, no complications. She’ll be sore, but that’s expected.” She glanced at me, smiling gently. “Just watch for redness or swelling. No heavy activity for a few days.”

Pops tapped his fingers softly on his leg. “Anything else we should know for aftercare?” he asked calmly.

Kerrie looked at us both. “She can shower tomorrow but no soaking - no baths, pools, or hot tubs. Keep the bandage dry today and replace it tomorrow. Call us if there’s unusual pain or signs of infection.”

Dad listened closely, arms still crossed, expression serious. “Understood,” he said firmly.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension. The silky fabric of my top shifted against my skin.

Pops noticed and looked at me with concern. “You doing okay, sunshine?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I mumbled, feeling a knot in my chest ease a bit.

Dad studied me, his bright blue eyes searching mine. Then he nodded slightly and motioned toward the door. “Let’s get you home,” he said, his voice softening.

As we left, Pops placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “We’ll stop for milkshakes on the way,” he said with a playful sparkle in his eyes. A small smile finally appeared on my lips.

At home, I slipped off my sandals at the door and felt the cool hardwood under my feet. Dad followed me, arms crossed casually. Pops came in last, dropping his keys on the console with a soft jingle that echoed in the quiet entryway.

“You should stretch out,” Pops said, nodding toward the sofa. I didn’t argue. The soft cushions welcomed me as I settled in, shifting to ease the pressure on my thigh. Pops handed me a cold, sweet raspberry milkshake, thick with ice cream. Then he gave me a warm throw blanket, which I wrapped around myself.

The TV turned on to a familiar comedy - light and easy, just what I needed. Dad sat on the loveseat, and Pops joined him, his eyes softening as they looked at me.

“You need anything, sunshine?” Pops asked gently.

I shook my head, sipping the milkshake slowly. “I’m okay.” The words were small, but true.

The front door swung open, followed by the familiar thud of backpacks hitting the hardwood floor. Stetson and Chandler burst in, their voices overlapping as they talked about the latest Valorant match and a wild play. Stetson was sharing a near miss, while Chandler broke down the strategy.

Stetson headed straight for the sofa and dropped down beside me with a soft thud. Chandler paused, glanced at me, then at the open loveseat. He chose the spot next to me, close enough to make me more aware of his presence.

Stetson stretched out, resting his arm on the couch’s back. “Alright,” he said with mock seriousness, “give us the medical update. Did you survive?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes to show I was fine. “Barely,” I replied half-joking. “It was... weird. Cold antiseptic, a too-bright room, a needle, then snap - done.” I kept it simple, but the sharp click of the biopsy tool still echoed in my mind.

Chandler frowned, studying my face like he was trying to figure something out. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” I shrugged. “Mostly just sore.”

Stetson leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You sure?” His twin instincts picked up on something I was hiding.

I gave him a look - one of those silent twin messages that said, I’m fine. Stop worrying.

He understood but didn’t back off completely. “Well, you still have all your limbs, so that’s a win.”

Chandler smirked, tapping his sneaker against the coffee table and shifting to face me more directly. “You’re still coming to the game tonight, right?” he asked, watching my reaction closely.

The question hit me unexpectedly. I’d been distracted by the procedure and the stiffness in my thigh. Now, the game felt important - a link to normal life. My heart raced quietly, fluttering in my chest. Chandler kept waiting.

“Of course I am,” I said, trying to sound casual and hoping the warmth in my cheeks wasn’t obvious.

His expression softened, relieved even though he expected it. “Good,” he said, tension easing from his shoulders.

Stetson groaned. “If she’s going, you better not mess up, dude.”

Chandler grinned. “She’ll be too busy watching me to notice.”

I scoffed, nudging his shoulder - not hard, just enough to hide how hot my cheeks felt. “Please,” I muttered, pretending not to care, though my pulse was racing.

Chandler laughed, a low, easy sound that sent another shiver down my spine as he leaned back into the sofa.

Dad’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “Stetson! Snacks are in the pantry. Don’t forget your homework!”

Stetson groaned and pushed himself up from the couch. “Always the homework,” he muttered, but headed to the pantry anyway. Food was more tempting than complaints.

Chandler stood, pulled his keys from his pocket, and twirled them once. He reached for my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine. A warm feeling spread through me. I looked down at our hands as he gently helped me up.

With a playful smirk, he tugged me closer. “Come on,” he said softly. “I need the wind before I focus.”

I blinked, trying to steady my breath as excitement fluttered in my chest. I nodded and followed him to the front door. His thumb brushed lightly against my palm - a small touch, but it sent a shock through me.

Outside, Chandler opened the passenger door as usual. This time, he looked at me a little longer, a silent question in his eyes.

I slid in, fingers brushing the cool seat fabric, trying to calm my racing heart. Chandler got in, started the engine, filling the quiet with its familiar hum - a comforting sound before our escape.

He tossed his phone on the console and flipped through music casually. “Windows down?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

My throat went dry. “Yeah,” I said softly.

The windows lowered with a gentle whir. The warm evening air mixed with the fresh scent of pine. Chandler tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel as he pulled onto the road.

The bass thumped softly through the speakers, a song I loved, but now it was just background noise to the tension I felt. I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of Chandler’s gaze.

“Alright, princess, where to?” he asked, fingers drumming, his voice low and easy.

I leaned back, a small smile forming. “Anywhere but here,” I said quietly.

He nodded and focused on the road. Then his hand reached across the console, resting just beside my leg. Close, but not touching - a silent offer.

I stared at his hand, heart pounding. Slowly, trembling slightly, I slid my hand next to his. My pinky barely brushed his skin. A tiny spark passed between us.

He didn’t pull away.

I swallowed hard and looked up at the open sky, breathing in the warm breeze.

We drove without a clear direction, familiar streets fading into the highway, the outside world becoming a soft, blurry scene. Soon, Chandler turned onto a gravel road I didn’t know, taking us deeper into the quiet countryside until we reached a small, hidden clearing overlooking a winding river. The air became cooler and carried the sweet smell of wild honeysuckle.

He turned off the engine, and the sudden silence was deep, broken only by crickets chirping and the gentle flow of the river below. After a moment, he reached into the backseat and pulled out one of his soccer jerseys - a bright teal with white stripes on the shoulders and sleeves. The fabric looked soft and well-worn, carrying a faint scent of him that I was beginning to find comforting.

“Hey,” he said, turning toward me with the jersey held out between us. His eyes showed a mix of nervousness and hope. “Will you wear this to the match tonight?”

I looked at the jersey, then at his face. The soft fabric, his scent on it, and the unspoken meaning all hit me at once. A warm blush spread across my neck and cheeks. It wasn’t just a shirt; it was a quiet promise.

“Yeah,” I whispered, reaching out to take the jersey, my fingers brushing his one last time. The brief touch sent a rush through me. “Yeah, I will.”

A genuine smile lit up his face and eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. He looked back at the windshield, but I felt the air between us change - a lightness settling in. We sat quietly for a few more minutes, the peaceful sound of the river mixing with the fast beat of my heart. The jersey, warm from his touch, felt like a promise resting in my lap.

Chandler glanced at his watch. “We better head to the soccer field,” he said, his voice a bit more lively now, “so I can warm up.”

I nodded and started unbuttoning my eyelet top. The small space in the Jeep made the moment feel awkward and private. I paused, fingers hesitating on the buttons. Chandler’s gaze stayed on me for a moment, a flicker of something hard to read in his eyes. Then he shifted his attention to his phone and began fiddling with the music - a quiet, respectful gesture I really appreciated.

I quickly pulled off my top, feeling the cool air on my skin. Then, with a soft rustle, I slipped on the teal jersey. It was large but comfortable, smelling faintly of his detergent and something uniquely his. The sleeves ended above my elbows, and the hem fell past my hips, almost reaching my culottes. It felt like a warm hug.

“Ready?” I asked, adjusting the jersey.

He looked up with a bright smile that reached his eyes. “Perfect,” he said. He started the Jeep, and as we drove out of the clearing, the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over everything. The jersey felt like a second skin, a quiet bond forming between us.