Author's Note: Maybe it's unrealistic (a tad) but there's a reason it's called "FICTION". Anyway I still need a title. They're both like 80 so just bear with me. All medical knowledge comes from intelligent friend and Wikipedia so sorry for inaccuracies.
I can't see him. But I know his voice. How could I ever forget it? When he first told me his name, I thought I was in a dream. Maybe I was.
"I'm John. Looks like we'll be stuck with each other for a while."
Anyone else might have had to see his smile and the way his eyes light up to realize what exactly he meant. I did see it. I never stopped seeing it. Not for the past thirty years.
I nodded and mumbled, "Yeah…"
I had gotten a glimpse of his face when I first came in and he was completely different than I remembered. But age has it's effects on appearances as well as memories. And sometimes on the heart.
"How do you feel about the violin?" I asked softly. "I don't play much anymore, but when I can't sleep at nights, I try to."
When I can't sleep at nights. Which means most nights. I laughed to myself. When I can't sleep it's because of him.
It's always him.
"The violin…" he chuckled. "I rather like it."
"I used to play fairly well, but the mind is failing me a bit now."
No. Shut up. You can't risk yourself like this. He can't know.
"I knew someone who could play like you can't imagine."
"Oh?... Who was it?"
He paused a moment and I could almost see him looking down at his hands as he fumbled with the hospital bed sheets. "No one important," he whispered with a touch of pain in his voice.