Disclaimer: I do not own American Idiot
I run my fingers over his scalp, his small, close-shaven hairs tickling my palm. For the first time, he looks peaceful. His eyelids are no longer weighing him down; a smile is twitching through to his lips. I was the last person he saw before they first put him under. I haven't left his side since.
They had to amputate his leg. I don't think he understood what was going on, and I'm scared to be here when he wakes up. I don't think I could handle the emotions that would follow. I've been doing it for months now, but it's different with him. I feel a connection, even though I don't have reason to. I want to protect him.
All of the sudden, I hear a moan from him. I train my eyes on his lips and he starts mumbling something. I think I hear the world "extraordinary," and he smiles softly. I perk up, watching him closely.
His eyes open, after a few moments, and he's staring straight at me.
"It's you." He says, still half asleep. "You're not… You're real."
At first, I don't know what to say. He's obviously a little out of it. And there's so much I want to say. The first words that threaten to roll off my tongue are I love you. I love you? We've never even spoken. My mind starts throwing the possibilities of fate and love at first sight around in my head. They always seemed foolish, unrealistic, impossible… But I'm looking at a boy I barely know aside from his name and I want to tell him that I love him beyond reason. What else could that be besides fate?
"I'm real," I repeat slowly. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel different," He says, pursing his lips. His eyes are closed again, but he's awake. "My leg doesn't hurt anymore."
"It shouldn't." I reply, frowning.
"I was shot." He says, looking at me for confirmation.
"You were. It destroyed your blood vessels and tissue in your leg." I reply, and he almost smiles, a distressed, tired, accepting smile.
"I'm no doctor," He admits, his lips still on the verge of that sad smile, "But that can't be good."
"Um, to prevent infection, you know, from spreading through your whole body… We had to, um. We had to amputate…" I trail off, not strong enough to finish the sentence. But he knows.
"I can't feel it anymore." He says, his voice cracking. "Were you there when it happened?"
"I stood off to the side. I'm a nurse." I tell him.
"Well, you're a very good nurse." He says. "I wouldn't be able to tell someone they just lost their leg."
"Are you upset?" I ask, moving closer to the bed.
His eyes open, and he studies me closely, intently. His tired eyes lazily trail from my head to my feet. They're watery and red. His hair is matted with sweat. He looks like hell. I love you swims around my brain again.
"No," He replies after he's finished studying me. "I'm fine."
We talk again the next day.
"How long will it take for me to heal?" He asks as soon as I walk into the room.
"Four to eight weeks, hopefully." I respond.
"Not like that." He says, his voice shaking and falling apart, fading into the room. "Not my leg." He says, but he doesn't let himself cry. "My soul."
I love you.
"You seem like a fighter." I say. "You're going to be okay."
"Am I going to feel it there, even though it's not? Like, phantom limb symptom or whatever it's called?" His eyes trail my figure, and I bite my lip.
"It's different with everyone. Do you feel it now?" I set the tray of food I've brought him in front of him. He cringes.
"I don't have much of an appetite." He says, sighing. "In movies and stuff, when they… When they get amputated, I always thought I could never do that. You just imagine how much it must hurt, but you know you'll never get it right. You'll never know how bad it is. I always just thought… Not that, you know? If anything horribly tragic should happen to me, I didn't want that. I'm surprisingly squeamish."
"You joined the army." I say. "You knew it was a possibility."
He shrugs. "I thought I was invincible. I thought I'd come home without a single scratch, like this big hero. I wanted to do something important. I saw this ad on TV, and they made it look so… Different. Like it was everyone's dream job. And like I said, I thought I was invincible. I thought these kind of things happened to other people. Not to me."
God damn it, I love you.
"Don't we all?" I say, turning around, so I'm not facing him anymore.
I see him every day after that. But it takes him a whole week to finally cry.
He's sitting up-right in his bed and I'm bathing him with a sponge, studying each tattoo as I come to it. He's more artwork than human. I want to leave my mark on his canvas. I want to paint him with love. But I don't say anything, and neither does he. I think this is the kind of moment that's harder to brush off for him. He's realizing how different his life is now. Every time someone has to help him go to the bathroom or get down into a wheelchair, I see the pain in his eyes. He's polite, but you can tell he's hurting.
I wash him slowly and thoroughly, and try to think of what to say.
"You don't have to keep acting like you're not hurt." I quickly blurt out before I have time to reconsider. "I know that you're hurt. It's okay. I see this all the time."
I lift his other arm, scrubbing it, focusing on it. I almost don't notice that he's started to cry. Tears are rushing down his cheeks, and he's taking deep, hard breaths. I feel like I'm watching him fall apart. He moans, because the crying isn't enough. It's not relieving enough pain. His sobs grow louder, and I feel a tear fall down my cheek. I wanted him to do this because I knew he needed it, but it's hard to see. Tears continue to run down my face as I pull him into a hug. He lays his head on my chest, crying into it. I gently rub his back, run my hand over his scalp. His hair is starting to grow in. It's dark, and it matches his thick eyebrows. I think it has a curl to it. I bury my lips into the small amount of hair, kissing the top of his head. He quickly pulls away, and I open my lips to apologize, but his are against mine now, softly, quickly. It's short and sweet and when he pulls away we're both still crying, but I almost want to smile.
The kiss is a strange thought. I don't know how to wrap my brain around it. For some reason, I know I shouldn't bring it up. And I don't know if I even want to. But I want to kiss him again. I want to fix him in more ways than my job entails. I want to hold him and stroke his hair and kiss his head.
But I don't. Today is the first day we're going to try the prosthetic leg. He's been in the hospital for fourteen days. Hopefully he will get to leave in fourteen more. I want to go with him when he does. I think this has gotten to be too much for me. It's so heartbreaking. And I'm attached to him.
"Dan?" I say as I gently touch his face, trying to wake him.
"My friends call me Tunny." He says, already up.
"Am I your friend?" I ask, biting my lip.
"I hope so." He says, sitting up.
I help him down, into a wheelchair, and push him out of the room.
He let me help put the artificial limb on, watching my fingers closely.
I let him use me to get up. He leans against me, his face looking focused.
"It's going to be hard at first." I say.
"Walking's like, riding a bike, right? It can't be that hard." He replies.
"You haven't been walking in a few weeks. Your leg's probably really week. And it's not the same. It'll take some getting used to. But you can do it. It's better than nothing."
"…What's your name?" He asks suddenly.
I look at him quickly.
"You know mine now." He says. "What's yours?"
"Jillian." I answer after a moment.
"Why do you spend so much time with me?" He asks. Not in a mean way. Like he genuinely wants to know.
"It's my job." I respond.
"You don't spend as much time with my… Roommates. And you're with me all the time." Still not mean.
I love you. So close. If I hold it in any longer I think it'll just fall out.
"I'm not complaining. You're beautiful, and I wasn't wrong when I said you were a great nurse. You're the best. I mean, I haven't really had a nurse before, besides like, when I got my tonsils out, but I was about ten, so, she was like, twenty years older than me and I wasn't into the whole erotic fantasy stage. She was a good nurse. She brought me more pudding than a ten year old boy should eat in one sitting, and of course I ate it all but – I'm sorry. That's off-subject. But no one's ever taken care of me like you have. Not even my parents. They're good parents, but I have two brothers and three sisters, and I'm in the middle, so I don't get as much attention as the rest of them. I think they'd like you, by the way. Not nearly as much as I like you though. I honestly can't wait for you to look me in the eyes. They're so big and blue, has anyone ever told you that? Your eyes are giant. They give 'getting lost in your eyes' a whole new meaning. I make the stupidest jokes just to see you smile. And sometimes I press the button so you'll come even when I don't need anything. And then once we start talking, you forget that I needed you." The words come out rushed, like he's been waiting to say them for hours. I suppose he does have a lot of time to think. "And would it be weird if I told you that even though we just barely met a few weeks ago, and you only hang around me because it's your job, I think I'm falling in love with you?"
"No." I whisper quickly, my voice hoarse and my eyes full of tears. "That wouldn't be weird at all."
Tunny has soupy dark brown eyes. They're rich and soft and light and they look happy when they meet mine.
The prosthetic was harder to use than Tunny thought it would be. He stumbled around for about an hour, frustrated, but still polite. He finally told me he was tired and wanted to go back to his room. I didn't argue.
Once I get him back in his bed, he looks me over. "Do you read?"
"I know how, yes."
"I've seen you carrying around this book, sometimes. When I wake up I see you reading. I'll pretend to be asleep until you come over and touch my face. I like that. I don't think anyone's touched my face since I was a little kid. Well, I've had girlfriends, but… Not serious girlfriends, but yeah, they've touched my face a little. It feels different when you do it. Anyway, it gets boring in here, when I'm not looking for ways to get your attention I'm kind of just… Sitting around. And then I get caught up with my own thoughts and it's scary. I think about how things will never be the same and it's honestly just too depressing. So I was wondering if you could read to me. When you aren't busy. Because I could really use a distraction and your voice is so easy to listen to."
"I could do that. I mean, you might not like this book. It's this sort of science-fiction/fantasy book but it's riddled with romance." I tell him, looking at him, enjoying the beauty of him.
"That's okay. I would like that." He hesitates now, then finally starts to speak. "I don't know how to tell my friends. Or my parents. I don't know what to say. Do you write?"
"I also know how to write, yeah." I bite my lip, watching him.
"This is so much to ask you, and I know I'll be making it up to you for the rest of our lives, but could you write them a letter for me? It doesn't have to be anything fancy. I don't think I can do it. It makes it so real."
"It would be better for you to do it. I know it's hard, but I can help you. I want to."
"Then what reason will I have to see you for the rest of our lives?" He asks, smiling slightly.
"I guess you're going to have to get a little more creative."
It's been four weeks, and Tunny has recovered perfectly. Better than anyone expected. And I'm almost mad that he's going to leave me. Because I love him. I do. And I've stopped denying it. To myself, anyway.
I walk into his room, for what will be one of the last times. At least, while the room belongs to him. He's standing up with his prosthetic leg on, leaning on his cane. He's gotten really good with it. And I haven't seen him cry since that first time, but I know he's comfortable enough with me that he would do it again.
"Hey," He says, smiling widely at me. "When are we leaving?"
I laugh at him, but I don't know if I want to. I kind of want to ask him to let me come with. Being parted from him seems so weird now. I think of Tunny, of his lost limb. Once he's gone, a part of me will be too, and I might never get it back.
"I love you," I say, and I almost wonder if I imagined saying it. I didn't think the words could come out of my mouth. I didn't think it was possible.
"I know." He says, grinning. "I love you too. It's been, what? Four weeks? Five? And I love you so much. I can imagine a day where you're not the first person I look at. And I know this is sudden. I've been meaning to ask you for a week now, but I get so nervous right when the words are about to come out so I stop. But, I have an apartment, back at home. And my bed could fit at least two people. Or I could sleep on the pull out couch, if you're more comfortable with that. I don't care where I sleep, as long as you're not thousands of miles away from me. I love you, Jillian. I feel like I always have. Like it's just who I am now. Like it's the most important thing about me. And, you don't have to come home with me. I'll understand if you don't. But I need you to. I love you."
I'm crying now. I nod slowly, and I don't know why.
"…When are we leaving?" I ask, and he pulls me to him with his free arm, and he kisses me gently, sweetly, lovingly,
I feel like I'm flying.