Chapter 14
2:17.
Mark it: at 2:17 on April 19 my world exploded.
The bright, brilliant colors colliding in my eyes and black fuzz slowly taking over my vision. For a long time I lay there-- blind-- the unrecognizable sounds of despair pushing past my lips.
In my mind, I could see the scene replayed a thousand times-- and every time I'd envision myself as someone else-- someone who could handle this-- every time, I'd reply with some new dramatic, soap opera-like line-- play the scene out like it should be-- the way I've seen it on TV or read it in books.....
But never once in the act, has the female lead responded to the male romantic's revelation with such....
.... stupidity.
I swallow against the lump in my throat, but it remains strong and painful, and the lack of surprise comes with a realization that it's not going away. Maybe it'll never go away-- maybe I'll spend the rest of my life unable to swallow--
I can see it now-- myself at eighty: Still here in this bed, my mouth open and drool coming out the sides-- explaining to the nonexistent grandkids how I told the love of my life not to go by dropping my jaw and almost vomiting on my hospital gown.
Maybe I should ask Felicia to write my memoirs next-- there's a romance story for the ages.
I can't breathe past this knot in my throat-- I need to get out of this bed.
I sit and turn so my feet dangle over the side of the bed. I really can't even remember when the last time I stood was. I know in the back of my mind, that I probably shouldn't be doing this-- I'm sure the hospital staff wouldn't endorse this activity. I'm probably not going to myself-- I'm stiff and dizzy and I have tubes coming out places I don't even want to think about--
But doing the wrong thing just sounds so good right now....
I shift my weight, and let myself slowly descend to the floor. I ache all over, and I know that not all of it is from laying still in a hospital bed for an extended time.
I let myself just stand-- no intention of moving except the swaying that's out of my control. Back and forth, back and forth...... I can see myself like a tree outside-- the wind blowing me like the strength I have in my trunk is all an illusion-- Like I'm as pliable and weak as the weeds around me. The feeling makes me want to crumble to the ground and never get up.
My knees begin to give out, and I back myself against the bed. I feel so pathetic. So very pathetic. I was so close to being new. Awakened from my sleep like Pinocchio-- bright and shiny-- no longer a puppet, but maybe a real person.
Half an hour with Lucky and I'm already as toy-like as you get.
I slide back up on the bed. I can't do this now. Not that there's anything I feel like I can do. I feel like the emotions are flashing past me-- not allowing me enough time to figure out what I'm even feeling before I am something entirely different.
Apathy. Why me?
Doubtful. Maybe I was reading too much into things.....
Anger. That son of a bitch.
Indifferent. Who even cares anymore? Screw it. Screw it all. Screw him, screw happiness, screw the world--
Wait-- I guess I'm back to anger again.
I lie back down on my oh-so-comfortable hospital bed and rearrange myself. Not ready. Not ready-- that's all I can think with any degree of clarity. Prematurely born again--I'm too underdeveloped to be in the 'real' world-- to have possession of a body. I'm just safer as a detached voice-- a non-present spirit-- a name, a memory, nothing physical, nothing tangible--
a ghost.
I imagine my family back at home-- mentioning me in passing-- 'Have you gone to see Emily lately? Too bad Em's missing this-- Do you think Emily wanted this skirt washed?' Just a name mentioned among the trivial comings and goings of daily life-- another word in a vocabulary I have no desire for anymore. God, I don't even think I truly believe that! I can hear a nagging voice reverberating in the temporal portion of my brain-- *How do you even know they mention you?* Maybe they've forgotten-- oh, excuse me-- let's use the correct euphemism here-- *moved on*. Maybe the occurrence of the utterance of my name is as common as a solar eclipse there..... Can't tell me it doesn't happen. I know it does-- I've done it....
Or not done it as the case may be.
Oh god. I've turned into my mother. My real mother. My dead mother.
I feel sick to my stomach, and I try to control my breathing to calm myself. I've learned how to effectively control my body when it starts to run away from me now. And normally I'm pretty good at it, but for some reason I can't get the feeling out of the pit of my stomach.
And my mind is in innocent places now.
I squeeze my eyes as a wave of nausea knocks over me. My head begins to spin. I feel cold. Really cold. And hot. Burning--
My flesh feels like it's burning and freezing at the same time.
For the first time since-- I feel a real panic--
I'm dying.
2:17.
Mark it: at 2:17 on April 19 my world exploded.
The bright, brilliant colors colliding in my eyes and black fuzz slowly taking over my vision. For a long time I lay there-- blind-- the unrecognizable sounds of despair pushing past my lips.
In my mind, I could see the scene replayed a thousand times-- and every time I'd envision myself as someone else-- someone who could handle this-- every time, I'd reply with some new dramatic, soap opera-like line-- play the scene out like it should be-- the way I've seen it on TV or read it in books.....
But never once in the act, has the female lead responded to the male romantic's revelation with such....
.... stupidity.
I swallow against the lump in my throat, but it remains strong and painful, and the lack of surprise comes with a realization that it's not going away. Maybe it'll never go away-- maybe I'll spend the rest of my life unable to swallow--
I can see it now-- myself at eighty: Still here in this bed, my mouth open and drool coming out the sides-- explaining to the nonexistent grandkids how I told the love of my life not to go by dropping my jaw and almost vomiting on my hospital gown.
Maybe I should ask Felicia to write my memoirs next-- there's a romance story for the ages.
I can't breathe past this knot in my throat-- I need to get out of this bed.
I sit and turn so my feet dangle over the side of the bed. I really can't even remember when the last time I stood was. I know in the back of my mind, that I probably shouldn't be doing this-- I'm sure the hospital staff wouldn't endorse this activity. I'm probably not going to myself-- I'm stiff and dizzy and I have tubes coming out places I don't even want to think about--
But doing the wrong thing just sounds so good right now....
I shift my weight, and let myself slowly descend to the floor. I ache all over, and I know that not all of it is from laying still in a hospital bed for an extended time.
I let myself just stand-- no intention of moving except the swaying that's out of my control. Back and forth, back and forth...... I can see myself like a tree outside-- the wind blowing me like the strength I have in my trunk is all an illusion-- Like I'm as pliable and weak as the weeds around me. The feeling makes me want to crumble to the ground and never get up.
My knees begin to give out, and I back myself against the bed. I feel so pathetic. So very pathetic. I was so close to being new. Awakened from my sleep like Pinocchio-- bright and shiny-- no longer a puppet, but maybe a real person.
Half an hour with Lucky and I'm already as toy-like as you get.
I slide back up on the bed. I can't do this now. Not that there's anything I feel like I can do. I feel like the emotions are flashing past me-- not allowing me enough time to figure out what I'm even feeling before I am something entirely different.
Apathy. Why me?
Doubtful. Maybe I was reading too much into things.....
Anger. That son of a bitch.
Indifferent. Who even cares anymore? Screw it. Screw it all. Screw him, screw happiness, screw the world--
Wait-- I guess I'm back to anger again.
I lie back down on my oh-so-comfortable hospital bed and rearrange myself. Not ready. Not ready-- that's all I can think with any degree of clarity. Prematurely born again--I'm too underdeveloped to be in the 'real' world-- to have possession of a body. I'm just safer as a detached voice-- a non-present spirit-- a name, a memory, nothing physical, nothing tangible--
a ghost.
I imagine my family back at home-- mentioning me in passing-- 'Have you gone to see Emily lately? Too bad Em's missing this-- Do you think Emily wanted this skirt washed?' Just a name mentioned among the trivial comings and goings of daily life-- another word in a vocabulary I have no desire for anymore. God, I don't even think I truly believe that! I can hear a nagging voice reverberating in the temporal portion of my brain-- *How do you even know they mention you?* Maybe they've forgotten-- oh, excuse me-- let's use the correct euphemism here-- *moved on*. Maybe the occurrence of the utterance of my name is as common as a solar eclipse there..... Can't tell me it doesn't happen. I know it does-- I've done it....
Or not done it as the case may be.
Oh god. I've turned into my mother. My real mother. My dead mother.
I feel sick to my stomach, and I try to control my breathing to calm myself. I've learned how to effectively control my body when it starts to run away from me now. And normally I'm pretty good at it, but for some reason I can't get the feeling out of the pit of my stomach.
And my mind is in innocent places now.
I squeeze my eyes as a wave of nausea knocks over me. My head begins to spin. I feel cold. Really cold. And hot. Burning--
My flesh feels like it's burning and freezing at the same time.
For the first time since-- I feel a real panic--
I'm dying.