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Jameson
I feel like I’ve been run over by a tractor and then stomped on by a herd of cattle. Everything in my body aches. I open my eyes, and the entire room spins, so I snap them shut again. If someone would have told me that this is how it feels to be shot, then I wouldn’t have stood in front of a loaded gun.
Images of last night’s events begin to flash through my mind. Millie standing in front of that madman with the gun, trembling in fear. She had my baseball bat as her only weapon. She’s either insanely brave or has a death wish. What was she thinking, facing him like that?
I would step in front of her again, even if I knew the man had better aim. I’d step in front of a thousand bullets for her. I thought I could be patient with her and let her take her time figuring things out. But after last night, I have to tell her how I feel. She has to know that I would do anything for her. I’d move mountains for her. I’d lay down my life for her.
I wish she were in this room with me right now. I can’t wait another minute to tell her all of the things going through my mind. I open my eyes again, and hazy light filters in through the window. It must be early in the morning. A rustling on the other side of the room captures my attention, and I turn to see Millie curled up in a chair that was not designed to be slept in. Her leg falls from the chair and startles her awake.
Her eyes lock with mine, and she hops out of the chair and crosses the room in half a second. “You’re awake,” she says in a breathless voice.
I nod my head because my throat feels dry and scratchy. She watches me with concern before calling for the nurse. I want to talk to her, but it seems it will have to wait. The nurse comes in and checks all of my vitals before deeming me well. She helps me into a seated position and places my arm in a sling to keep me from moving it and disturbing the wound.
After she gets me situated, she offers me something to drink, which I accept with immense gratitude. My stomach feels queasy and could use something to help settle it. She leaves with a promise to come back and see how my stomach is feeling in a few minutes.
Finally, now is my chance to tell Millie my feelings for her. But then there’s a knock on the door, accompanied by the actual words, “Knock, knock.” It’s Mama. I’ve never understood why she does that.
Millie rushes over and meets her at the door. “He just woke up about fifteen minutes ago, and the nurse says everything’s looking good,” she tells Mama. She looks relieved and comes to sit next to me. She’s restless, and I know she wants to ask me five million questions about what happened.
I never told her about the threats or the person parked outside Millie’s house watching me. I didn’t think it would ever come to this, and I didn’t want to scare her. Mama’s a constant worrier. I’m going to give her all the details, just not right now. I’m exhausted and still a little dizzy, and I’d like to give her some time to calm down.
All I want is some privacy with the pretty woman across the room. The one with the long, honey-brown hair and big brown eyes. The woman watching me with love and gratitude etched all over her face.
However, I don’t get a moment alone with her. The next few hours at the hospital are filled with nurses checking vitals, checking my wound, giving me care instructions, setting up follow-up appointments with my doctor, and discharge paperwork.
I’m hopeful that Millie will drive me home, but Mama insists on taking me. “I’m your mother! It is my God-given right to fuss over you after YOU’VE BEEN SHOT!” she shouts at me when I protest.
Millie, Nana, and Pops stop their chatting in the corner of the room and watch the two of us warily. I decide it’s best not to argue with Mama at the moment. As soon as she’s done with all of her doting, I’ll get my chance with Millie. She does live just next door.
