The System Can’t See Me

The stitch went.

Nia felt it through her fingertips before the sound reached Kai. The wet side seam opened under her hand in a short, ugly pull. Her fingers slid into the gap. The fabric gave them nothing to close around.

Kai's hip turned away from the wall.

Nia pressed harder with the scraped heel of her other palm. Pain flashed through her hand and up her arm. Her palm held against his hip for half a breath, then slipped on wet denim and blood.

"It's tearing," she said.

Kai had felt the turn already. His right ribs found more of the floor. The wrist under them took the change first. Pressure drove across the numb hand and up through his forearm. He tried to keep his shoulder still, but the lunch box was wedged against the left side of him and every small movement dragged its cracked edge into the damaged joint.

"Let it go," he said.

Nia looked at the open seam in her hand. "And then what?"

He did not answer. The wall was no longer pressed to his cheek. It was a few inches away now, close enough to see the paint curls along the base, too far to give him anything. The space between his face and the wall felt larger than it was.

The side seam tore another inch.

Nia's fingers caught on a loose thread. She tried to pull her hand free before the thread tightened around them. Kai shifted at the same time. The thread bit into the scrape across her palm.

She made a sound and yanked back.

Her hand came free with a thin line of blood across the heel of it. The seam hung open at Kai's hip. His jeans had not fallen away, but the cloth no longer gave Nia even the little edge she had been following.

Kai rolled farther.

The movement stopped when his right side settled into the concrete. His chest turned partly away from the wall. The trapped wrist stayed beneath his ribs, folded at an angle that made his forearm burn from elbow to fingertips. His good knee dragged across the floor and came to rest bent in front of him. The bad ankle followed last.

Blue water covered his ankle and soaked through the torn cuff.

Kai watched it spread around the torn cuff and over the swelling. Cold tightened the skin around the joint until even the loose denim hurt against it.

He could not pull the ankle clear. The knee in front of him had no push left. The shoulder under the lunch box could not take his weight, and the hand under his ribs was trapped too far beneath him to reach for anything. He let the foot stay where it had fallen and watched the water move around it.

Nia's scraped palm found his outer hip again.

This time, she did not try to hold the opened seam. Her fingers stayed flat against the cloth, spread wide as if a larger hand could make up for the weakness in it. The other hand came down beside it, both palms against his side and hip.

The pressure slowed him. It did not keep him from moving.

Nia knew that. Kai could tell from the way she kept looking at her hands instead of at him.

Her left foot dragged through the runoff as she leaned after him. The scrape at her ankle left a dark smear in the blue water. Her right calf slid down the wall behind her. The torn denim at the score had gone nearly black with blood.

"Don't put weight on that leg," Kai said.

"I don't have another one."

He looked past his own shoulder, trying to find a place where she could move without pulling the leg or her hands. There was only wet concrete, the wall, and the mouth beyond the red pipe.

Something moved behind the pipe.

A wet gleam slid across the black plates, then disappeared. Kai caught the outline of a hooked edge and looked away before he could decide where it was pointing.

Nia saw his eyes shift.

"What?" she asked.

"The hook."

Her mouth tightened. "It's too close."

"I know."

The words came out softer than he meant them to. His wrist hurt too much to turn away from it. He could feel the shape of the floor through his palm, grit pressed into the skin. Every time his body settled, the pain ran farther up his arm.

Nia moved one hand from his hip to his side, closer to his ribs. The jeans gave under her fingers. Her other palm stayed where it was. The new position bought her a moment before his weight shifted again.

Then her right calf buckled.

Her hands slid down his side.

Kai's shoulder turned toward the floor.

The lunch box took the first contact. Its cracked lower corner struck the concrete beside his left shoulder while the rest of the box stayed wedged in the bend. It stayed shut. The impact still jarred through his collarbone and into the arm that could not move.

Kai's face hit the floor a second later.

His mouth filled with the taste of dust and old water. He coughed once. The movement drove his right ribs down onto the trapped wrist. The pain was so sharp that his vision went white at the edges.

For several breaths, the floor pressed so hard against his chest that he could barely draw air. When he tried to draw more, the lunch box pressed into the left shoulder and the trapped wrist bit deeper beneath him.

His cheek stayed against the concrete. He pulled air in shallow draws through the narrow space beneath his mouth. Each breath sent a hot pull through his neck and ribs without lifting any of the weight on his chest.

Nia's hands landed on his back.

"Kai."

He heard her, but his answer took a moment.

"I'm here."

Her palms were shaking against the wet fabric. One left a faint blood print between his shoulder blades. She did not try to turn him back. There was nowhere to put the weight if she did.

Her scraped palm moved carefully over his back, then stopped near the torn shoulder of his shirt. Kai felt the hesitation in her fingers. The left arm was still folded under the lunch box. The right arm was still trapped beneath his ribs. There was nowhere she could touch that did not pull on something already wrong.

"Can you feel your hand?" she asked.

"Enough to know it's there."

Nia went quiet. Her fingers lifted from his back before she could put more pressure on him.

The bad ankle lay in the runoff behind him. The water had spread around the side of his foot and into the torn cuff. His good knee pressed against the concrete near Nia's left shin. He could not feel whether it touched her. He did not try to move it.

Nia's right calf dragged down the wall again.

She caught herself on her right knee, then stopped. The motion pulled her left foot deeper through the runoff. Her breathing changed. Kai heard the effort in it, short and uneven, but she kept both hands on his back.

"You need to get your leg under you," he said.

"No."

"Nia."

"If I move my right leg, you roll toward the mouth."

Kai shut his eyes. The floor was cold against his cheek. He could see the red pipe only as a blur at the edge of his vision. Beyond it lay the dark mouth.

"Then don't," he said.

Nia did not answer.

For a while, water moved around their feet while Kai tried not to cough again. His chest had no room against the floor. Each breath caught at the ribs before it could fill him. The lunch box pressed against the left shoulder and kept the arm folded under the wrong angle. His right hand remained trapped where he could not see it.

He tried to lift his head.

The shoulder refused. Pain locked through his neck and down his left side. His forehead came back to the concrete.

Nia's palm pressed once between his shoulder blades.

"Don't," she said.

"I was trying to breathe."

"You're breathing."

It was blunt, not cruel. Kai let his head stay down.

The hook made a wet scrape beyond the pipe.

Nia's hands tightened on his back. Kai felt the pressure through the torn shirt. Neither of them moved toward the sound.

The open side seam brushed the floor at Kai's hip. Cold water touched the torn edge of the jeans and crept under the fabric. Nia's fingers were no longer near it. There was nothing there for them to take hold of.

Her right calf slipped again.

This time, her right knee struck the concrete beside Kai's good leg.

Nia caught her breath before the sound could become a cry. One hand left his back and planted against the floor beside his ribs. Her scraped palm landed in the wet grit. Blood washed from the heel of it in a thin red line.

Her other hand stayed on his back for a moment. Then her fingers slipped across the torn shirt, searching for cloth that did not shift under them. Kai felt the contact move toward his side, then lose him as his body settled a little farther onto the floor.

Nia leaned after him. The effort dragged her right calf along the wall and pulled her left ankle through the runoff again. Her planted palm shook in the grit. She held it there anyway.

"Don't put that hand down," Kai said.

"It was already down."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes."

She did not take it away.

Kai felt her weight leave his back.

He started to turn.

Nia reached for his side with the other hand.

Her fingers closed on the opened seam.

The torn edge bunched in her fist for less than a second. Then the fabric separated beneath her fingers, and her hand went through the opening.

Kai's hip shifted again.

The jeans tore farther.

Nia's bleeding fingers closed again, but the opened side gave them nothing to hold.