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And I wait.
- Becca -
“I understand,” the nurse says to Grams. Her voice is soft and warm, unlike the male nurse I had yesterday. She’s not my nurse though—I know this because she came in this morning, skimmed over my chart and just looked at me—right into my eyes. She smiled sadly and then left.
She comes in often but never checks my chart.
The other nurses check the chart every single time they come in. I wonder what they’re looking for—a note that proclaims I’m no longer crazy and they can go back to taking care of people who need it?
“Just think about it,” the nurse says, her hand on Grams’ arm.
Grams nods and waits for the nurse to leave before coming to me.
She sets her Bible next to my arm and slowly takes my hand. Her fingers skim the bandages around my thumb and I look away because the heartache in her eyes is too much to handle.
“I’ve been lost,” she says, and I can already tell she’s crying. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is here and I want to do the right thing, sweetheart. I want to protect you but I don’t know if that’s the best for you. I’ve been praying and looking to God for the answers but I’m torn. Matthew 6:7 says: Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive mercy,” she sniffs once, and I finally look at her. She inhales deeply. “It’s not me who needs to offer forgiveness. It’s you. It is you he has wronged. Not I. And it’s wrong for me to make that choice for you.”
My eyes narrow.
Her tears fall faster.
Next to me, the heart monitor beeps—the space between each sound shorter than the last.
“Josh is here,” she says, and I fight to breathe. “He hasn’t left. Not once.” She lowers her gaze. “Becca, I told him you couldn’t see him.”
“Why?” I mouth.
“Because I didn’t want him near you. I couldn’t forgive him for the way he’d treated you. For bringing you back to this place, back to the darkness of your past.” She looks up now. “Do you want to see him, Becca?”
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Grams waits until there’s only ten minutes left of visiting hours before getting him. I know if I see him any earlier, he’ll want to stay.
I’ll want him to stay.
And he can’t.
I don’t move when he walks in, his hands in his pockets and his head lowered. He doesn’t look at me either. He simply sits down on the chair next to my bed, the same one Grams has been in since I was moved into this room.
His hands raise and pause an inch over my arm. His eyes lock on the bandages around my thumb and circle around my hand down to my wrist. He doesn’t touch me. I don’t want him to touch me. Then he pulls back, his hands on his lap. He looks up, first at the wall opposite me, and slowly, at me.
And I feel like I’ve died.
Like the breaths I’d been taking are no longer possible and everything inside me has stopped.
Just stopped.
But I know it’s not true because I can still see him. I can see the lifelessness in his eyes, the darkness that surrounds them—the heaving motion of his chest and quivering of his lips. I see him. But it’s not him.
And neither am I.
He clears his throat, his eyes on mine.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, and my eyes drift shut, releasing the tears. His hands jerk forward, wanting to wipe them away, but I beat him to it.
“I looked into school in St. Louis,” he says, “For Tommy. There are some good elementary schools around Washington University. Robby says he’ll write me a really good reference. I can get a job there. I’ve saved up enough that we can move there. All three of us. We can get a two-bedroom apartment or something. Or, I mean, even if you want to live on campus or whatever, we’ll just stay close.” He sniffs once and wipes his noise. “We can go now if you want. When you get out or whenever. Whatever you want, baby. I don’t…” He breaks off on a sob and I do nothing but watch him, tears flowing fast and free. “I don’t want to live in a world that you’re not part of. I don’t know how to live without you. And I’m sorry, Becca.” He reaches out now, his hands on my arm. I don’t flinch from his touch. I don’t move at all. But I don’t love it like I used to. “I’m so fucking sorry. And I love you so much. You have to know that—that I’m so in love with you. Becca, please say something. Please?”
“Get Grams,” I mouth.
At first he’s confused. Then he stands up and gets Grams from just outside the door.
She walks in, her eyes wide in panic.
I point to my throat, and then to Josh sitting in the chair.
Josh’s eyes move from me to Grams when she says his name. “Becca can’t talk anymore,” she says, her tone flat—but the anger behind it unmistakable.
“What?” Josh whispers, looking back at me.
Grams answers, “She had to get her stomach pumped. The tube they stuck down her throat damaged her vocal cords even more. She can’t speak.”
Josh swallows loudly, his eyes on mine, and his jaw tense.
Grams leaves.
Josh doesn’t.
He just sits there.
I look at him.
He looks at me.
And I can feel the clock ticking.
Each second bringing us closer to the edge of never.
“I’m going to fix this,” he says. “I’m going to make it right.”
He can’t.
