By Richard AA Pulis
When I think of you, I always see blue. The soft soothing sapphire of the ocean. Fitting, wouldn’t you say?
Murmurs pulled me up from the blackness of unconsciousness. Like swimming up from the depths of the sea, like that time we went scuba-diving in Jamaica – do you remember? The sunlight streaming through the teal water like adamant columns. This was like that, but sinister; I was swimming towards a small shimmering light and all around me was darkness – cold and oppressive. Shades of midnight blue draped around me and pulled at my mind.
Panic wormed its way in.
The light wasn’t getting any closer. I struggled and screamed, terrified that I was drowning, but whatever it was around me, it wasn’t water. It had no taste, no weight, nothing to it other than its dull numbing grip. I reached towards the light, screaming, and strained with all my strength.
It rushed towards me and the world came crashing in.
Something is in my throat!
I can’t breathe!
I tried to reach up to pull whatever was in my mouth out, but I couldn’t move. There was a blazing white radiance right above me and dark shapes moving through it, looming close. I tried to scream but whatever was in my throat prevented me. I moaned and tried to turn away from the closest leering shadow.
“Holy shit! She’s moving!”
“Fuck! Push another unit.”
Cold flowed through my arm – ice followed by numbness. The blackness reached up, wrapped itself around my mind, and dragged me screaming into the abyss.
Dark blue embraced me.
More murmurs, this time they were softer – worried. Awareness seeped into me like the tide rising up the sand of the beach. There was a strange whirring and a hard pressure on my chest – like someone was sitting on me. My eyes wouldn’t open all the way. All I could see of the world was through the narrowest slits of my eyelids. Everything around me was a bright yellow and shapes moved near me – the one on the right smelled of Old Spice – smelled like you.
Roland!
I reached for you, or at least I tried, but nothing seemed to happen. My mind commanded my hand, imperious in its expectation, but the traitorous limb didn’t move. I tried again. Then again as panic began quivering in the back of mind – I refused to acknowledge that I couldn’t feel anything below my neck.
“When will she wake up?” Your voice quivered with that strange twang you always get when you’re anxious.
“I can’t give you an estimate. Perhaps a few days. Or weeks,” someone else said. It was a woman, her voice familiar. After a moment, I recognized it as the second voice from before – the one that had ordered another unit. “Mr. Jagger…”
“Jäger, like Yay-grrr. It’s German,” you said out of habit – there wasn’t even a trace of annoyance in your voice. Just fatigue.
“Sorry. Jäger.” There was a slight pause. “Your wife suffered catastrophic injuries. She might not wake up. You need to prepare yourself.”
I am awake!
There is nothing worse in the world than trying to do something and have your body not obey you. It is a betrayal so deep that it frays your soul.
You moved, shifting from one foot to the other, before replying. “Is she going to live?”
The woman, doctor I suppose, didn’t reply.
FUCK!
You moved towards me. You were probably holding my hand but I couldn’t feel it. That made my soul ache. Someone was singing outside the room. I tried desperately to squeeze your hand. The weight of the failure pressed down on me. Shapes moved and a bright light, golden, flooded through the door. The voices muted and my attention shifted to the singing – it was a choir or something. Perhaps one of those groups that goes to hospitals and retiree homes to lift spirits.
It was beautiful.
Someone opened my left eye and a flare of blue-white agony lanced through my mind. It drilled into my head like a burning rod and drove away the singing. I tried to scream, to thrash and pull away, but nothing happened. Agonizing seconds later, the light vanished leaving swirling dancing motes of green and yellow. Then other eyelid was peeled back and the light burned in that one.
“Pupils are fixed and dilated,” the doctor said. I heard the scratching of a pen on a clipboard. I couldn’t see anything through the swirling mass of phantoms in my vision. “No response to pain stimuli in feet or hands.”
I think I’m paralyzed. God, please no.
Ice cold gushed into my left ear making me scream but my body didn’t react. It didn’t move an inch.
“No response to aural cold stimuli.”
“How bad is that?” you asked.
“Mr. Jäger, it’s still early but your wife is in a coma.”
“But she will wake up.”
“Perhaps, but right now she isn’t responding to anything. We’ll keep watch and repeat the tests every day. But the longer this goes on the less likely it is that she’ll wake up.”
“What do I do?”
“Sit with her. Hold her hand. Talk to her. Be there for her.”
“That… I can do.”
The doctor moved away. My eyes had cleared and I could see the room a bit better through my half-closed eyes. You pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat with a grunt. Then you reached out and took my hand with both of yours, looked at me, and smiled. That God-damned charming grin of yours that had made me fall in love with you almost as soon as I met you. Now it was strained – stretched with pain and concern like a drum. Every part of me wanted to reach out and touch your cheek.
“Susan,” your voice warbled like an out-of-tune violin. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. Please, wake up.”
I am awake. I’m here!
You stared at me. Pain and despair twisted your face into a mask – that bleak look you get when you’re afraid. I used to make fun of you when you looked like that watching a horror movie, but it isn’t funny now. I’m scared too.
***
A nurse pushed a cart into the room, a friendly smile on her face, and wheeled it over to the side of the bed. “Hello dear, how are you feeling today?” Not waiting for an answer, she opened the top of the cart and pulled out a basin, soap, and a couple of wash cloths. Humming to herself, she filled the basin in the bathroom and dropped one of the cloths in it. Working quickly, she shut the door and pulled the sheets down. The bath was quick, warm, and gentle. The entire time, she hummed and her voice was soft like the cloth. It soothed me. “There, doesn’t that feel better?”
Yes.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Perhaps then you’ll tell me how you got here.”
I wish I could.
“Goodbye Susan. Rest well.”
What’s your name? You’re so kind.
“Mary.” She smiled at me as she opened the door. “My name is Mary, by the way. Thought you should know.”
Did she hear me? Don’t go!
Humming, Mary pushed the cart out of the door. She paused in the doorway, turned to me, and smiled. “See you soon, Susan. Tell your husband I said ‘hello’.” Then she was gone, vanishing into the brilliance of the fluorescent lights of the hallway.
I am so lonely.
A little while later, you came back with a sandwich. You paused at the end of the bed, a bemused look on your face, then you shook your head and sat down. Pulling open the sandwich wrapping, egg-salad, you grinned at me. “I know, too much cholesterol. But, babe, the only other options were some limp thing that said it was corned-beef but I have never seen corned beef that colour of green and some vegan thing. Not sure what that was, but didn’t want to risk it. You know how I get.”
Yes, I know.
Turning to your meal, you ate it quickly like a homeless man trying to consume it before someone could take it. You always eat so quickly, no matter how many times I tell you to slow down. Right now, I don’t care. The smell of the egg and mayo is making my stomach clench and ache. God, I’m hungry. This bullshit IV stuff doesn’t dull the burning agony in my gut. Perhaps it will, in time, but I don’t want to be on it long enough to find out. When you are done, the wrapping in the trash, you take my hand again. “I called Sam again. Her flight’s delayed. She should be here in four hours.”
You shouldn’t have called her. I don’t want her to see me.
Pulling out the damn book you had bought in the hospital gift store the previous day, you flip it open with one hand and clear your throat. “Okay, where were we? Ah, yes…”
My mind wanders as you read. The words flow over me like waves on the beach but they don’t stay. I’ve heard them too many times. I need to get better. I focus on my free hand. Concentrating on it, I visualize each part of it. The joints of my fingers. My nails. The crinkles of my knuckles. With it firmly in my mind, I will it to move. To clench into a fist. It’s like trying to crush a rock; futile exertion.
After minutes,(hours?) I give up and lay there screaming inside my own skull. Grief overcame me, and I silently cried, unable to manifest it into the world – like a photograph of someone caught in mid-shriek – a frozen artifact of terror unable to release the emotions caught in it.
The choir group was back.
I could hear them singing out in the hall. Their voices joyous and pure. Those bastards.
Shut up.
I wanted to jump up and throw open the door to scream at them. The need was visceral. My mind vibrated with it. They just kept singing their stupid happy song.
SHUT UP!
Those words were so loud inside my head that they tore something inside me. I got up from the bed and took two steps across the room, my hand reaching towards the doorknob, when I stopped. Staring at my outstretched hand, a cold sick feeling filled me. Slowly, I turned back towards the bed.
Oh God.
My body lay there. You were still reading but your voice was muted like it was coming through a thick wall. A warm golden glow surrounded you, a vibrancy, but my body was dull grey. The singing was louder now – here. It pulled at me. A part of me, deep down, wanted to go out there and join them. Another part wanted to scream at them. The largest part of me was afraid. I walked over and touched you. Your skin hummed, like the song outside but fainter, and it made me feel warm and safe.
“Roland, look at me.” I cupped your cheek and tried to get you to look up, but you didn’t. You just kept reading. Your voice a soft murmuring lost in the singing.
Susan…
I turned towards the door. Golden sunlight poured through as it opened. The singing swelled. A host of uncountable voices uplifted.
Come. Join us.
No! I turned away from the light and knelt in front of you so that you could see me over the top of the book. Gripping both sides of your head, I looked for some sign of recognition in your eyes – some indication that you were aware of me. There was nothing.
“Please Roland. I’m right here.”
***
Evening had run into the late hours of the night when Sam arrived. She burst in through the door, her hair a half-tamed hurricane bunched in a loose ponytail. She dropped her carry-on as she gasped and covered her mouth. I was standing by the window, staring at the shimmering lights of downtown, and when I turned towards her my heart ached. You got to your feet, arms wide, and Sam moaned and ran into your embrace.
“Oh! Papa!”
You squeezed our daughter like you were drowning and she was a life-preserver. “My girl.”
I turned away, unable to stand the agony of it.
Behind me, my family wept.
After a while, Sam sniffled and wiped her nose. “Has she moved at all?”
“No. I’ve been here the entire time. Not even a blink.”
I turned back to see Sam sitting in the chair on the far side of the bed. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Mama. I’m here. I came as fast as I could. It took so long. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.”
***
Mary came again in the morning. You and Sam had gone to get some breakfast. Humming, she walked in with a tray which she set on the rolling table beside my bed – she didn’t look at me as I stood by the window. Instead, she ran a hand over my body’s forehead and brushed back my hair behind one of my ears. I could feel it. My hair moving over my skin, but it was faint.
“Hello Susan. How are you this morning?” Mary lifted the lid of the tray revealing a shallow basin, washcloth, and a brush. “How bout we freshen up?”
I looked out the window as she started washing my face. It was like someone rubbing me through a thick layer of rubber. There was pressure, and motion, but it was so faint it was almost indistinct.
“There, doesn’t that feel better? Yes, nothing too wrong that can’t be made right with a bit of effort.”
I scowled at that.
“Why don’t we talk about how you got here? It might help to get if off your chest. Lighten the spirit, so to speak.”
A flash of memory flooded my mind. Rain hammering against the windscreen. Blue headlights burning into my eyes. Squealing tires and the thundering drumbeat of my heart. Then a white flash and pain.
“No, I don’t want to talk about that.” I said as I focused on the city outside the window. The morning sky was the deep sapphire that only comes after a winter thunderstorm. It was clear and perfect – a dome of pure colour. It reminded me of the sky by our cabin on the lake.
That brought happier thoughts. Lazy afternoons fishing or sitting on our lawn chairs reading. Sam standing on that rickety dock holding up the first fish she had ever caught, a bass, and grinning ear to ear with her hair standing out around her head like a red halo. God, she was such a pretty child. So filled with life.
When had she lost that?
My heart clenched.
I knew exactly when.
“Well, it’s all right, my dear. Perhaps tomorrow.” Mary stood and put away the brush. I lifted my hand to my hair – I hadn’t felt her brushing it but it did feel better. “Oh! I almost forgot. I brought you a present,” Mary said.
I turned, startled.
She pulled out a tissue-wrapped tube and pulled back the end revealing a rose – its petals golden in the center and turning to a deep crimson red at the edges. A deep harmonic tone leapt from the rose and made every part of me move in time with. I was drawn to it, like a moth to a candle, and I moved across the room and stared into its blushing face. Peace seemed to flow of it like a gentle breeze.
“This man was selling them outside. I thought you could use it. Something alive and beautiful to remind you about the good things in life.” She put it into the plastic vase on the side table and poured a bit of water in the bottom. Then she patted my hand, picked up her tray, and left.
I kept staring at the rose.
***
That afternoon, you and Sam were sitting on either side of me. Each holding one of my hands. I was over by the window again. Somehow it was easier to look out across the frost-covered cityscape than look at you two. The tension had been growing bit by bit.
“Why was she even driving?” Sam’s voice was strained and the quiver of anger in it made my stomach sink.
Please, don’t fight.
“You know better, papa.”
“She’s been better. You haven’t seen it, but she has been.”
“It still wasn’t safe.”
“This isn’t anyone’s fault, Sam.” Your voice was becoming flatter. That warble in it you get when you are angry. “Don’t you think I wish she had called me? That we had decided to go out downtown for dinner? Anything that would have put her someplace else other than on that street? I wish it every second.” You stood up, eyes hard and jaw clenched. “But I can’t change it.”
“Now she’s worse.”
“How dare you say that to me. I am not a fucking idiot. She’s my wife and I would give anything to have her back. I am here, dying inside, and you throw that in face. How could you?”
Sam recoiled. “Papa, no, I didn’t…”
“You did.” You sat down, took my hand again, and hung your head. “You did. And it’s okay. I blame myself too.”
Turning towards you, I felt like screaming. Grabbing you and shaking your stupid silly head. Don’t fight with our daughter now! Don’t do this!
***
Samantha sat in the chair by the window. You had gone home to sleep and shower left her to watch the vigil. She was reading something on her phone, her thumb scrolling the pages up with simple flicks as her eyes darted over the glowing text. I stood over her shoulder trying to catch the words but their shapes were strange and wiggled in my head – like they had ever since the stroke.
I had been so confident. So sure I could do it on my own again. It was just a quick jaunt, fifteen minutes down the road, and I would have been in and out of the grocery with the eggs. Simple.
Only it wasn’t.
I had driven down the hill, taking our normal route, but the road was closed. Big orange cones and a metal gate blocked it off with a sign slick and blurry in the rain. I was trying to read it, to grasp the words as they twisted around in my head. Some clicked – like keys sliding into locks and turning with understanding. ‘GO’ and ‘March’ and ‘16’ – I felt so proud. Just needed to get a few more.
A car came up behind me, squealed to a halt a few feet back, and the driver laid into his horn. The shrill sound dug into my head making me panic. I glanced in the rear-view mirror, mistake, and saw the man driving his F-350 give me the finger and slam his hand back onto the horn. His face was twisted with anger, red, and a vein was bulging in his forehead. Panic flooded through and I started crying.
Forgetting about the sign, I turned left and started driving. The pick-up turned too, hit the gas and ran up two wheels on the sidewalk as it passed me on the right. Then, giving me a second finger as he pulled in front of me, he floored it. My heart was racing, my eyes filled with tears, and my head confused.
I didn’t see the red light.
***
You came back in a new set of clothes. That worn blue shirt that I hate, but you say it’s your favorite, and jeans. Your hair was still damp from the shower and you’d shaved. You always looked better like that, instead of the two-day scruff you like to keep around. Samantha looked up when you came in, then back at her phone. I saw the hurt in your eyes as you sat down in the other chair and took my hand.
Stop this, you two!
I paced around the room feeling powerless.
The silence in the room stretched and I felt like I stretched with it – becoming thinner moment by moment. With each step the room grew darker. The shadows grew thicker in the corners and crept out into the room. They pooled around the bed, like an oil slick. All colour and light in the room started to bend down and flow into the shadows turning everything translucent. You and Sam looked like actors in an old black and white movie – silhouettes of living people captured as memories on inanimate objects. Lifeless and sterile. I could feel myself being drawn into that whirlpool.
I resisted it.
Kneeling in front of you, I took your head in my hands and kissed your forehead. “I wasn’t your fault Roland. It was mine. Forgive yourself. You were an excellent husband. It’s okay to let go now.”
Tears started rolling down your face. Did you hear me? I hope so.
Sam looked up when you stared sobbing. I stepped away when she came around the bed to stand beside you. Then, hesitantly, she reached out and touched your shoulder. You took her hand and met her eyes. She started crying too.
“Oh papa, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Sam hugged you, tears streamed down her face, and you hugged her.
The shadows snapped away into the corners as golden light flooded into the room through the door. My heart ached as light and colour flowed back into everything. You two became alive again. Real people not just memories. Outside the window, the city glowed beneath the winter stars. The streets were arteries, one side red, the other yellow. The cliffs of the buildings formed a man-made mountain range that shimmered with fluorescent stars. I ran my fingers down the glass of the window. It felt normal – like countless other windows, but my fingers left no mark or evidence of their passage. No smear of sweat and oil. The only marks I had left on the world were you and Sam.
I think that is enough.
The doorway glowed with sunlight, beckoning me. I turned back to look at you two hugging, your eyes closed as you clung to each other.
“Goodbye, my loves.”
You looked up, like you heard me, but didn’t let go of our daughter. Good. Don’t ever let her go.
With a smile, I stepped into golden sunlight.