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A few times those first two days, his eyelids fluttered. Both times, I leaned in close to him and whispered to him, kissed his cheek, and told him how much I loved him. They still had him on painkillers, and after the fourth day, everyone had realized something was wrong. Maybe his old brain injury had flared up somehow. Maybe something with the painkillers. So they cut back on those. They took him for imaging of his brain, and Cleo, Kellan, Dove, and I all sat together, terrified. (Michael had to go back overseas). But everything looked fine.
And still does.
The trach is gone, and he can breathe. As of last week, every single medicine they had him on, the anti-seizure meds, a sedative, a sleeping pill… All, gone. And still, he sleeps.
I’ve heard the nurses talking about moving him out of this hospital. Somewhere designed for longer-term care.
Cleo and Kellan are still here, and they come every day, and we watch movies, eat dinner, talk—so Barrett knows he isn’t by himself. No one is more empathetic than Cleo. She knows exactly what I’m going through. In the mornings, Cle and I go for a run together. It was her idea, or rather her insistence. She tells me it will keep my brain chemistry balanced so I don’t get super depressed. As if…
Midday, while I’m here, they watch out for the bears and do their Cleo-Kellan things. They ride our bikes sometimes, which I know Barrett wouldn’t mind. And in the afternoon, when I leave home to run errands, they go sit with him. I come back at dinner, and we’re all there, and then “we” leave. I think it’s funny they don’t know I spend the night most nights. I guess because I leave the hospital at 5:30 every morning, drive back home, and shower, they wake up and see my car and think I stayed the night in my own house. I know when Cle finds out, she’ll be on me about how I should stay at home in my own bed, but I’ll call her a hypocrite.
Today, I watch Fifty Shades of Gray and giggle with Bear’s nurses as they come in and out. When it ends, I pull the covers down and climb in bed with him. I can’t always do this, but one of my favorite nurses is on, and she doesn’t care. There are some tubes and wires, but I know how to rearrange them so there’s room for me. Right after Shayna checks on Bear and leaves, I duck under the covers and rub my finger over his pig tat. Dove told me that he got it two weeks after New Year’s: a pig flying through a snowflake storm. It’s done in gorgeous color, just over his left pec. The tattoo means a lot to me, because without it, I’m not sure how I’d have known for sure that Barrett really wanted me. Not out of guilt, or out of loneliness, but out of love.
I try not to think about what Dove and Michael told me, about how Barrett only had some bear spray and the throwing star because he’d moved all of the knives and guns out of his house. And why he did that.
I like to imagine when he wakes up, all of that will be forgotten. He will say my name first thing, and we will hug. I’ll get under the covers with him and we’ll snuggle. I can give him water, wash his hair…
I’ll shave his beard and kiss his lips all night. And I won’t care that we’re still here. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this man beside me. His warm skin, his old familiar scars and tattoos. I know everything about him now, every mark and curve of muscle. I will see him sleeping in my dreams for all my life and think how beautiful he is, and want to wake him up and see his eyes.
How much have I fantasized about that moment? Seeing his eyes open, focus on me. God, I want it more than life itself. Barrett wakes up, and we can talk. We can move forward. We can heal together. I know things like walking will be hard because he’ll be weak, so I can take him to my house since it’s a one-story. I’ll do what his physical therapist here does to help his muscles stay active. He’ll regain his strength, and I’ll cook all the best foods for him. They’ll take out the tiny yellow tube that’s threaded through his nose into his stomach, because he’ll eat my food. He won’t need that. In my fantasy, he won’t need anything but me.
And so, of course, it has to happen that he wakes up on a Wednesday night—the first night I’ve been booked to sing at the Bluebird in almost five years.
I get the text when I dig in my purse for my car keys, after. I’m already sweaty and exhilarated, so when I see Cleo’s words, I nearly pass dead out.
Barrett’s awake!!!!!!!! Don’t come back yet though. They have to do a few things first. I’ll keep you posted!!! :D
What the fuck?
Just…what the fuck?
I drive straight to the hospital. Cleo can sit on a cactus. When I get near his room, I bump into Kellan on his way out. I know something’s wrong the second his gaze touches mine.
“…Gwenna.”
My knees are so shaky, I’m forced to grab his arm. Compassion overtakes the weirdness in his eyes. He leads me not into Bear’s room, but over to a hallway chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down! Kellan…”
“He’s okay. He’s doing great. Ray the PT was in there and Barrett didn’t like the way Ray moved his left hand.” Kellan’s eyes widen. “He could feel it.”
“His left hand?”
He nods. “Not sure if it’s all the way or what. He’s pretty sleepy, but he said some things to Ray and asked ‘What’s this shit in my nose?’ and tried to pull the NG tube out.” Barrett chuckles. “He did pull it out. It’s gone. He’s drinking juice.”
My pulse surges. “What’s the catch?”
Kellan’s eyes dart down to his feet. I see his jaw flex. “Gwen… He asked where Lyon was. He remembered when I told him. He asked how I got cleared to come to Germany.”
“He thought he was at Landstuhl.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a problem? Does that mean—”
“After a few minutes, he remembered what happened. With Nic.”
