He usually looked so fatigued and disheveled. His sips of lunch room coffee and half-hearted smiles with fading laughs masked the exhaustion of constant responsibilities. The gradual downfall in his mental condition made her own improvement something to fear; closer she would be to returning to an unknown, insurmountable task.
As for her son, he was as lively as ever; the only one seeming to grow more pleasant as the visits continued. She'd send them home early, telling her man to get a good night's rest.
She laid her head on her soft pillow, listening to the timed beeps from her heart monitor. She could hear her regained health in the beat.
One more day. She heard the doctor say only one more day.
She'd attempt sleep a little later than usual tonight. She found herself wanting to stay longer; she wanted to stay away from her work at home.
She didn't really respond to the nurse that following morning. The lengthy slumber she went through only made her return inevitably closer. It wasn't what she intended, waking up sometime after 10 am.
"Mrs. Volt, this morning we had something special." The nurse finished slowly wheeling in the cart, filled with some returned trays of half consumed food. It was not too long ago that 5-Volt couldn't have understood how any of the leftovers on the cart were consumed at all; now, she was ever so curious as to what was for breakfast. For the first time since she arrived, her stomach wambled in desire.
The nurse placed the tray atop 5-Volt's table. "Warm eggs and bacon. Good food for a Saturday." 5-Volt sat up; enjoying the smell of a weekend meal she'd made herself many times before. It reminded her of home and her family, which lead to a reminder of what was to come.
She was allowed to wander the hospital as of late, the quiet family room a common choice. She had revisited an interesting book from the library there, the selection humble in number but sophisticated in its titles. The novel from her childhood was immediately spotted, a white piece of paper still wedged between the pages where she last retired. The makeshift book-mark was bent and worn, having been handled several times. There was little time to get far into the story; her son would interject himself into her reading quite literally. 'What are you reading?' and 'Where are the pictures?' made him the center of attention that a great tale could not compete with.
Her fingers softly tickled the top of the page, treating them as she had been taught when she first ever discovered the book. She slid her hand down slightly, encouraging the thin sheet to the left. To her surprise, the paragraph printed upon it was short and concluding. With the following paper being the back cover, she had completed the story.
She put the book down in her lap and waited. Her body braced itself for a full on attack from her 50 pound assaulter. That never happened.
It never happened when she had lunch. It never happened when she had dinner. It never happened when what felt like hordes of people came in and out of the room in front of hers. She heard something about a birthday. She couldn't help but try to peek, to mentally join them. It was no use; her view was far too obscured to even begin to pretend feeling involved. She could do nothing but vaguely listen to their pleasure until it gradually quieted to nothing but echoes of a good time. A chuckle here, giggle there. The increase in good byes were her signal to end her own day.
She leaned over to her right side, facing away from the door to the hall. She closed her eyes.
With some shock, she opened them. A wheelchair rolled in quietly, a timid 'oh' escaping the lips of the elderly visitor being strolled in.
She didn't want to jump up at first; the woman was evidently ashamed of bumping her tire against 5-Volt's bed. She'd pretend it went unnoticed. Additional voices filled her once silent space. Days of privacy were being concluded as it became obvious that the senior was going to be her new roommate, if at least for a night.
"The young nurse here is so caring." Soft words caressed her ear, this time causing her to move. "I'm sorry I bumped you, this thing is so clunky." Her brows furrowing, 5-Volt lifted her eye lids again. She realized she hadn't convinced the woman she was deeply asleep.
She finally turned around to face the new resident. "It's nothing, please don't worry." 5-Volt's small smile was unable to stay hidden, gliding across her face. "I suppose you are here to fill the room as I leave?" She sat up, supposing her joke would fall on good terms with the new lady.
"Oh, I see this place was a two patient room given to one? I'm going to like it here." Laughing, the old woman fluffed her pillow. 5-Volt supposed correctly.
She tore off the foil covering of her apple juice, the peeling making a sharp noise. "I usually save these for my son," she started, sipping her beverage, "but my appetite is back now. These little cups have some good juice!" It took no more than two swigs to finish it and this was only because she was trying to savour it. "A diminished appetite is no good." The woman's raspy voice replied. "What brought you here young lady?"
5-Volt stared ahead of her, the dim light in the room made it hard to really focus. "I ate something bad. A rotten root vegetable." She felt as though she had broken some kind of rule.
She thought of the girl her son seemed to know. While it was foolish, each day 5-Volt sat in this bed served as a reminder that the entire hospital could have had similar patients.
She kept this to herself, even though her roommate's lecturing laugh prompted her desire to tell the truth. "I didn't know it was rotten. You'd think as a homemaker for seven years I'd be able to tell." It killed her to say that.
To her surprise, the elderly woman shook her head. "I've been one for sixty-five. You don't think I haven't made my mistakes, even today?" She pulled off the elastic that tied her silver hair into a tight bun. "I should know better not to walk into a kitchen I just finished mopping." She lifted her blanket, revealing a deep bruise that trailed down her leg like a landmass on a map.
5-Volt visibly cringed, her hands covering her tiny mouth. With a muffled voice, she gawked, "Your husband must have been so scared!" She knew her own brave fire-fighting beau had been terrified when she was sent here; any other man would have to be the same.
Lifting the blanket to cover her injuries, the old lady waved a frail hand dismissingly. "He was useless. Fifty eight years a breadwinning engineer and unable to react when life became scary. I had to call 9-1-1- myself!"
5-Volt sat shocked; 4-Volt was apparently quite the hero according to her nurses. "But you know men," the woman continued, claiming full attention from 5-Volt, "they break their backs making money for us but when it comes to matters of the home and family care, suddenly we're the head of the household." She leaned in, as if to tell a blasphemous secret. "They just don't want to admit it."
5-Volt frowned, the growing darkness hiding it. Her husband had been struggling these past few days, with some visits being cut short. Those dishes were calling his name, he'd say.
The rest of the night felt so long. Perhaps it was from the snoring of her company or the hunger creeping up on her. Her body was more than ready to go home now; her recovery was done and every minute here was another minute where a domestic tragedy could strike.
The morning's breakfast was welcomed. As unordinary as it was, a meal was a meal nonetheless; a starving stomach would not reject a simple dish. She sunk her silver spoon in the bowl, milk running into it. She caught a few floating bits of cereal and started eating. She occasionally glanced at the window where she'd had days of mundane scenery. Sometimes, she'd have some entertainment with a squirrel or a sitting bird by the window. The best thing she'd ever see was always her son and husband walking toward the entrance, even if it was slowly and with obvious fatigue.
However this time, it was different. Her son was extra excitable, a small yellow dot dancing around the brunette man who was seemingly able to keep up. She squinted; if it weren't for the signature helmet of her boy she'd not believe those peppy people were her family.
"Well," her roommate huffed, coming around her bed from a trip to the washroom. Rosemary was her name. "Those two seem eager to come inside." She creeped back into her bed, mindful of her bruises. "Oh, cereal? I could make a better breakfast with my arms tied behind my back."
A grin slid across 5-Volt's face, not responding to Rosemary. Not even the most generic breakfast in the world could put a damper on what was happening. Something had changed her husband's energy. Whatever it was, she hung on to the idea that it wasn't just because she was coming home with them today.
