| If my memory serves me right, I've always been close to my father. My mother and my father were always the two constants in my life, I'll give them that. But my father was the one I could really talk to. Not just because he was my father, and that because of his testosterone level it was easier to relate, but because he understood. He understood the reasons I had for not wanting to live. He understood what it takes to live like this. He understood. And that simply was enough. He was the one person in my life to man up. Tell me what I needed to hear. It wasn't a relationship you would have with a father, or a friend. Rather, a relationship you would have with someone who insistently drives you insane. My mother wanted me happy, healthy. See me grow up, and think great things. My father just wanted me to be a man and allow her at least that.
I walked down the hall that lead to the bathroom. It was a glass hallway. Short, but clear. The hallway, and the door leading to the bathroom were put in place so that the hospital staff always had access to the bathroom to clean it, or bring things, or replace things, without contaminating my room.
"Ashton, you're getting so tall," a nurse called through the intercom. The nurse smiled lightly over at me through the glass, from her work station. She was a thin woman; She had sharp features, and heavy polish accent. The hospital didn't have specialized nurses to man the chambers, but Agatha, the nurse, worked only in the permanent care until. She knew me well.
She gently pushed a button at her desk, and the glass doors leading to the bathroom slid open. Almost like a sci-fi flick; smoke would seep from the perimeter of the door, I would come in with my laser gun, and zap all of the aliens. Except there is no smoke. I had no gun. I did however imagine smoke a few times. But even as the bathroom section was solid white plastic, I still feel that people are watching.
And nobody wants to see a scrawny-ass white boy pretend to kill nonexistent aliens.
I went to the bathroom, and showered down. The water was filtered. Everything was. Filtered, and fresh, and hermetically sealed. So any bacteria couldn't reach my little dome. My prison. There was something nice though, about the way water felt against your skin. On one hand it's wet, and slippery, but on the other it's smooth, and caressing. Lightly slipping it's wet arms around your body, your skin. Like someone was actually holding you.
When I got out, I grabbed a towel from the rack. There were always four towels, sitting on a little rack on the wall. Always four. And I always took two.
There was one other door, besides the one that led me to the bathroom. It was a door at the opposite wall from the shower, leading into a sterile room, which led into the hospital. This is where I got the towels, and soap, and anything else for the bathroom. Always from a bubble, attached to my bubble. I couldn't never get out.
I'd taken a good hour in the bathroom, and when I came back to my room, my parents weren't there.
Probably left for work.
I sat down on my bed, lined with new sheets already. I had a single towel around my waist, the other in my hand.
Windows to to my right let in the sun, flooding the room with its incandescent glow. My bed lay parallel to the wall, running the length of the box. A dresser lined the opposite wall of glass, the space in between about ten or twelve feet. The front of my bubble was a solid panel of glass.
This was my prison.
My holding cell. I bit my lip, hoping the tears wouldn't come now. Every now and then my emotions got the better of my eyes, and I bawled like a toddler. I stared down at the undisturbed ray of sunlight on the floor. It hit my face, my dresser, my bed. I wanted to go outside. Feel the sun on my skin.
Let me out.
Let me out of here.
"So you're the boy who can't go outside." The voice startled me, and I straightened up on my bed. A slender girl stood in my doorway, her bright evergreen eyes scanning my face. She was dressed in one of those awful hospital gowns, and some slippers. Her left hand was bare, but her right clutched onto a pole, with a heart monitor, and several IV's hanging from its hooks. Her face was lined with short tawny curls.
The girl appeared from the right of my door, so she had walked up the hall. She was the last one on the floor?
I hadn't noticed my door was open.
"So you're supposedly my neighbor," I said slouching just a bit, "With extremely bad timing."
She smiled lightly at my offense, and took a step forward.
"I'm you're neighbor, yeah. I was curious to see for myself if you were really in a bubble." Her soft curls moved a bit as she took a step forward. The sun hit her face when she took that step into my room, making certain hues in her hair light up; like gold leaf. She was really pretty. I took in her small, porcelain face for only a second; her eyes drew in my gaze, held it. It made the pit of my stomach feel like it was burning.
"And here I am. Boy in a box. No immune system, and it's every bacteria, any virus I run from," I kept my voice light, as if I was some cartoon announcer, "Here you see. A boy almost stark naked in a glass box."
She took more step closer and touched the glass. She kept her eyes on mine. She was burning a hole into my skull. The pit of my stomach turned into a fiery limbo.
"Why are you here?" I think I whispered it. It was really none of my business why she was here. But her eyes. Her eyes were intimidating, at the same time the were mesmerizing. That moment I wished with every fiber of my being that she would stay. Stay with me just a minute more. Talk to me. Hold my gaze, even when it turned my insides into a burning piece of hell.
"Leukemia," she looked down, her voice light. I felt a little lightheaded. This stunning, amazingly gorgeous girl had leukemia. Claim her hair, her body, her life.
"They say I'm going to make it, but I know they're all lying. I'm just a casket waiting to happen." It was sad how true that sounded. It stung my ears.
"I'm Ashton," I replied, changing the subject subtly.
Her little face looked back up at me, her eyes burning a hole into my head again, "I'm Emma," She smiled, "And you suck at changing the subject."
I laughed a little and nodded, "Sorry."
I was laughing. Really? I hadn't laughed in years. Possibly. Was I really laughing?
"You're not a mirage are you?" I hoped not. I hope I wasn't going insane. Hallucinations from the antidepressants.
She furrowed her eyebrows and smiled prettily, "I'm no mirage. Not a figment of your imagination, no."
"Oh, good," I sighed. Thank god I wasn't insane, "That's good."
"Are you sure that's good? I could be a bitch. And annoy you."
"Oh trust me, nobody is worse than an annoying somebody," I said, pointing at her.
"I don't know whether to feel insulted or complimented," she put her left hand to her hip; typical girl move.
"Compliment, take if or leave it," I offered.
"Fine. Compliment accepted."
She smiled.
I smiled back.
Was I actually enjoying this? This banter? Conversation, even?
"Well, Ashton. I have to go," She took a step back from the glass, and smiled. I frowned.
"Don't go," I whispered.
She shook her head, "I have to go get my meds," She took a second to pause. Why was she pausing?
"My mom always visits. She says you're always by yourself during the day. Your parents come in, but then they leave. You seemed lonely. That's why I came in."
I looked away from her, to my right. I decided I had nothing to hide. Nothing to lose.
"I am lonely," I began, but stopped when there wasn't another thought to follow. I left it at that, and looked up at her. She was so quiet, I thought she had left already. She looked back at me, and shook her head.
"I need my medication," She began to turn around.
"Besides, you need to put some clothes on, you nudest."
I smirked as she left.
Motherfucker had a sense of humor. Goddamn.
* * * Muddle of brown hair, icy blue eyes, shirt buttoned just so, pants slipped up just right.
When you had time on your hands, you had a chance to become meticulous. Besides my dresser, and my bed, there was a desk next to the windows. I padded over to the chair, staring at the array of pencils and pens I left out. I plopped down at the chair, sighing. I grabbed a pencil, tapping it. I was impatient. Not with Emma; I knew by now she would never show again. With myself.
Why couldn't I just do something. I willed myself to think, but my brain wouldn't work.
My middle and forefinger stopped twirling my pencil, and started with simple lines. They grew and grew.
Bright eyes, unshaded parts where the light hit. Soft cheekbones, thin lips. Wide ringlet curls. Round porcelain face.
I hadn't noticed what my fingers were creating until I started shading with color. No basic set of crayola had the right kind of golden brown. Blonde. Whatever it was. I stared at it for a moment, trying to see if I got her features right. I only had about two minutes worth of her face. I wasn't really paying attention to her body, or the rest of her face, really. Just her eyes.
Those gorgeous things. I took a second, and crouched over. Hand on my head, elbow to the table, I sighed.
Was I actually hoping she would come? Why? She wouldn't come. She's just a girl. She was probably creeped out.
I mean, I'm not exactly grotesque, but I've only gotten my parent's opinion of my face. And I'm not sure what woman go for, but I'm not exactly wimpy. Hospitals like you fit. I guess a six pack is intimidating.
But who's bragging? Me? Oh, surely, you've got the wrong man.
Just as I was about to destroy the picture, that probably could never amount to her beauty, my door opened.
My door.
Not the chamber door for the doctors, not the bathroom chamber. My door.
It's not her. No way. Ashton, just keep you're head down. She is not here. She-
"What're you doing?" she was on her tippy-toes, trying to see over my shoulder. Obviously that wouldn't work, she was almost ten feet away.
"Drawing. I guess." She had come, and I was wrong. She was here. In the flesh. And I was sitting. Behind a glass cage. While she was outside. Curious. Waiting. Interested.
Her curls bounced as she leaned her head to the left, trying to see over my arm. Still no use, I was sure.
"Can I see?"
Light poured from the window still, hitting her face just like before. I couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight made her eyes turn a bright teal, her skin glow.
An urge to touch her face burned in the pit of my stomach, and I realized I had yet to answer.
I simply sighed and got up, slipping over to the glass. She had both hands on either side of her shoulders, and was still on her tippy toes.
She was almost up to my chin. Almost.
"God. I didn't realize you suffered from cancer, and dwarfism," I giggled, she glared.
"I suddenly don't feel like I want to be here, anymore," she turned her head, pouting as she did. Swear on my life, she looked as gorgeous then, as she did a minute ago. I couldn't help but smile.
Relenting, "Sorry, honestly. Sorry. I'm just so used to being around being taller than I am," I held a giggle. Her face was almost too hard to believe. You could even see she was smiling, "I didn't mean that. You're fine," she kept looking away, closed eyes. Her face got a little more serious.
"No, oh no. I don't think so. I think I should go back to my room," She put her hands to her hips.
"Emma, please. I'm sorry. You'd be gorgeous at any height." I tried not to smiled crookedly. It implied I was stifling a laugh.
Which I was.
She opened one eye and looked at me, pouting. Her facial expression changed, and her eyes grew wider, like a kid with a toy, "Okay, so show me."
I held it up, just above my shoulder, with my right hand. My left hand took the weight of my body, so I could lean in. I didn't say anything else, I let her look without a word. She could point out that there was a small little freckle below her left eye, almost by her cheek bone, but she didn't. She must have stared for at least two minutes before she smiled.
"You missed my freckle," she pointed to her face.
I shook my head, and pointed to my eyes, "I can't see it from ten feet away. Ten feet away only gets me your eyes, and your face, and your neck." I smiled lightly and put my right hand down.
"How come you came back?" I craned my neck, so my face was hovering over hers. So she didn't have to stand on tiptoe.
"I said I would," she got on the heels of her feet.
"You said you were getting meds. You didn't say 'I'd come back,' at all."
"Uh," She smiled sheepishly, "I have aphasia?"
"Right. And I have dwarfism," I smirked.
"Well, if you have dwarfism, I'm six two."
"Ouuw, so close, six three."
"Damn, shut up."
"Are you a nudest?"
"No."
"Damn," I leaned away, "So Emma, right?" She nodded, "Emma, why are you here?"
She furrowed her eyebrows, "I told you al-"
"No, tell me why you're here."
I pointed to the floor beneath our feet, and looked at her face. She seemed to need time to think, so I let my hands fall to my sides. For a moment her face was blank; as if she was lost in her own thoughts. However, when she looked up, her eyes bore a hole through my skull, a grave expression crept over her face.
"You're not afraid," She paused as I scrutinized the meaning, and continued when it didn't matter that I got it anyway, "You're not afraid of death. Of telling the truth. Saying what you feel. Being yourself." Se stepped away from the glass, and looked down.
"I just wanted to know someone who understood."
My mind connected the rest of the pieces. It was simple. I had about as much as desire to live as she did. Knowing her life expectancy, she didn't have much more to do.
She didn't care if she died, because she would anyway. Soon. She didn't care that if in the next hour, she would meet her death.
At least she wouldn't have to worry about dinner.
I walked to the glass wall again, and placed my palm flat against it. I took a good long stare at her bowed head, and stayed silent. She looked up after a while.
Smiling.
One small hand came up to the glass, shadowing my own. Her eyes seemed like they were begging. Begging for what, I didn't know.
I guessed that it was totally appropriate to respond, so I did.
"I understand more than you know."   |
