The Hands of Ella DuJardin
What seemed like darkness to everyone else was the brightest spot I knew
Watching her die was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.
Most would dismiss her as ‘troubled’ or ‘disturbed.’ Her life was too messy to want to be involved, too chaotic to touch. Men would have gladly touched her body, but they wanted no part of the deepness that came with touching her soul. I wanted both.
Most would say it was the madness of the world that drove her down, but I knew differently. It was madness she chased. She chased it because she knew the world was dark. And some people can only make sense of their own darkness by feeling how dark the rest of the world is. Most people thought her darkness was as black as night, but I knew differently. Her darkness was nothing more than a storm cloud compared to the nighttime sky she chased.
But what most never discovered was if you were willing to get close enough to her, you’d be showered with a life-giving rain.
Saturday nights we would sit on her father’s screened porch, drink Mountain Dew, and share a joint. It was a spiritual ritual we’d practiced for years.
“Do you think there’s a God?” she asked.
