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Is any of this talking even reaching him? Can he hear me?
“Your mom is even nicer the more time I spend with her. We held hands for a long time. She thanked me for making you happy. It seems funny to thank someone for that. Did I, Eli? Do I really still make you happy?”Please answer me.I slide off the bed from his left side, shuffling over to the windows. It’s nearly completely dark outside. There’s still a sliver of light left on the horizon, but that’s quickly fading to black.
“Your father has been the one holding me and everyone else together. I don’t know how he does it. He has this strength and conviction about him. If he says something, I know it will be true. He keeps telling me you’ll be all right. He encourages me to hope. You know that’s not who I am, Eli. You know I’m the realist. What is real here, huh? Tell me.
“All I want is for you to talk to me. If you don’t want me in your life, if you want to be done, I can handle that. What I can’t handle is a world without you in it, and I know your family can’t handle that either. What do you want?”
I watch his body from afar. His chest rises and falls. The beat of his heart still moves on the monitor. Don’t expect himto be the same, the doctor basically said. Does she know what that means? Eli’s spent so much time in recent years pleasing everyone around him.
He’s happy to do it, and it's a major part of who he is and who he wants to be. But he’s finally found himself again. He knows who he is outside of work and outside of pleasing people, including the woman he’s attached to. He’s feeling and growing and changing and you can see him stand taller.
Does that have anything to do with me? I don’t know. “You promised me fun, Goose. This isn’t fun. It isn’t fun worrying if I’m good enough, strong enough for you. It isn’t fun to have your heart ripped out by anything other than art. It isn’t fun for you to tell me you love me then never give me the chance to see if I can say it back. If this is a dance, you left in the middle.”
Fucking dance with me.
As much as Wes is his wingman, so am I. He let me learn how to be a part of a couple, without labeling it in a way that would scare me. He asked for my opinion constantly, instead of telling me what it should be.
Eli has given me so much. That first night, his hands gave me fire. In class, every challenge he dropped at my feet gave me a new way to look at things. His honesty about relationships built a new perspective. He gave me an additional safe space to explore my dreams without fear or having to hide.
Talk to me, Goose.
My fear of never saying what I told Wes I need to say to Eli is greater than the risk of a replay of before. I poke my finger through the knit of Eli’s sweater to unlock my phone. Another thing he’s given me is the poetic appreciation for the music of U2.
I’m going to try again. When I explain my love of dance, I tell people it’s an outward expression of your scariest, rawest, inward emotions. It’s the things you don’t dare say becausethey’re too real. I have something to say. It’s as real as I can make it. I refuse to say it unless he can hear it.
There’s one song I can’t get out of my head. It’s us.
The lyrics show a push and pull. It shows what one person wants and what the other person wants. Sometimes they meet and sometimes they don’t, but at the end of the day all the other person wants is their other half.
All I want is you.
Eli’s said that to me a million times. I feel like I’ve said it between the lines of I choose you, but I need to be sure he knows. I’ll give him what he wants in time. I will. He just needs to be here for it.
I turn the sound up loud enough so it covers the little bit of noise from his machines. The beat vibrates next to my heart for a bit before I set my phone down on the table near his head. I want the lyrics to be clear and in his ear.
I’ve never wanted to dance more than I do right now, with his arms on and around me. I wait for Bono to really begin digging into the lyrics. Staring at Eli’s lashes, I pull his right hand into mine. The tape has been changed from before. I can see more of the top of his hand.
I want a mental image of his palm. The imprint is in several places on my body and never leaves, but this time, I want the burn in my eyes instead of my skin. My fingers slide under his IV tubes and press his weak hand against my chest. The tips of his fingers rest over the smallest bit of skin on my collarbone. The usual warmth of them isn’t there, but the feeling I get from his touch is.
I close my eyes to let the music fully into my system. I don’t just hear it with my ears. I feel it vibrate between my body and Eli’s. I let the visions of color the music always creates flow through the bright and dark hues. With my eyes closed, I canremember all the other dances. Just a simple sway with his hand on my chest is enough.
I begin whispering the lyrics to myself. Some words stand out to me more than others. You say. Promises. Love. Through the night. Talking about cradles to graves and begging for love not to grow cold.
His hand is cold, and I never got to say the words.
“Keep dancing with me, Eli. All… I want… is…”
“You…”
A low, dry throaty single word breaks inside me as the fingertips that were once tensionless are now slowly moving against my skin. I gasp as a single tear slides down my cheek. “Say it again. Tell me I heard it.”
The pads of his fingers pulse and tug at my skin. “You. Vi…per.”
He hears me. He knows me. “Eli. Oh my God. Keep talking.” I don’t know how many times I press the red cross button, but his nurse rushes into his room within a few seconds. “He spoke. He’s awake.” She tests a few of his vitals and makes a call out to the nurses’ station. She’s asked for Dr. Collier to come up right away. “Eli. Do you still hear us?”
“Shouting. Loud. Too loud.”
“Okay. Okay. Shhh. Calm down,” I whisper and quickly lower the volume of the music. “Are you hurting anywhere?”
