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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Three accounts of events - Part 3
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Extended Work
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| Three accounts of events - Part 3 | |
| By teddy | ||||||||
| 14 January 2007 | ||||||||
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I’m experimenting something different in this part, using present tense in the narrative. I tried it once before in a short story and some didn’t think it worked well. I’d appreciate any comments and advice. Thanks. I’m sitting by the window, watching outside. It’s a beautiful day, there are only few patches of white cloud scarcely scattered above, not enough to spoil the overwhelming blue of the sky. I know it’s a cold day though, I could say by the wintery clothes people are wearing and also the hastily way they’re walking, hands in their pockets, noses buried in the coat collars. However, it feels like summer in my room, the brickwalls and the double glazed window keep the chill outside, only the dazzling sunbeams are allowed to sneak in through the glass. I suppose the central heating helps making the room warm and cosy as well. Well, as cosy as a hospital, private or not, room could ever be, of course. I hear the door opening, but I’m so absorbed in contemplating the outside panorama that I can’t be bothered to turn around. I’m not expecting anyone, George’s at work and so is Tina. My mum won’t bring Vicky around until later. This is the very first day when I’m permitted to leave the bed and I’m planning to make the most of it. ‘Are you ok, dear?’ a friendly familiar voice convinces my eyes to leave the window. It’s Fiona, the nurse, my favourite one. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I smile at her. ‘You look beautiful today,’ she says. I keep the smile on. I know how I look, I took a peek in the mirror this morning, the first one in weeks. My hair’s been cut very short and a silly looking wound dressing’s still stuck on one side of my head. The cheekbones are sharper than ever and look as if they’re ready to pierce through the colourless skin. Translucently purple circles lie underneath my eyes. Now the eyes, hmmm, they seem determined to take over my face and you can’t even distinct their true colour anymore, it’s all blurred. There’s a fine clear cut line marching upright, dividing the space between the eyebrows in two. I don’t recall seeing this before. It might be hardly noticeable to others, but I, for one, know it is there. Yes, I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and the reflection thrown back at me reminded me of a despairing stray cat. Gorgeous, eh? ‘I know,’ I grin at Fiona – she knows I know she’s lying, I am, however, grateful to her for the thought - ,‘if you didn’t keep me imprisoned in here, I could be up for a beauty competition right now.’ ‘At least the spirit’s up, eh?’ Fiona laughs. I think she likes me too. ‘This is Maribel,’ her chin points to the middle-age dark-haired woman who had accompanied her in the room. ‘She’s gonna change your bedding if that’s ok.’ I move my eyes and smiles to Maribel. A couple of white clean sheets are wrapped over her right arm. I bet she’s foreign, it’s not only the name, but also the look. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘This no prroblem,’ she replies. She smiles too. Yep, I was right, she is foreign. But so am I, so we already have something in common. She seems friendly enough, I know she’s going to do a good job with those sheets. . Maribel makes a move on the bed while Fiona starts checking my pills supply. Have I got everything I need? Have I got enough? More than enough, definitely too much for my liking. She doesn’t think so ‘cos she produces even more from the small plastic case she’s brought with her. She checks the labels carefully before placing the tubs on the bedsite table. From time to time, she glances at the papers attached to the clipboard in her hand. My name, the illness, the treatment, it’s all in there. I go back to my window and the outside view. I would’ve never thought that watching people just walking about could be so captivating. Who are they, where are they going? What are their lives like? I would never find out, of course, but I let my imagination play with them. I’ve got nothing else better to do anyway. Five minutes on and Fiona and Ligia are done. ‘Right, we’re off now,’ Fiona announces me. ’Everything you need, just gives us a shout.’ ‘Thank you.’ I know she’s only a press of a buzzer away so I’m not worried. I think I can hear a murmur as they’re leaving the room. My senses seem to have sharpened since I’ve been stuck in here, lying in bed, doing nothing other than staring at the ceiling all day. And night sometimes. ‘I never thought she was going to make it.’ Well, I can’t really blame her for feeling like that ‘cos neither did I. Had anyone told me days after the crash, when I was hopelessly lying in this hospital bed, that I would not only manage to pull through, but also be soon on my way to a full recovery, I would’ve kindly suggested them to bugger off and not to forget to collect their pathetic comforting attempts on their way out. So convinced I was that I was going to die. Unless you suffer of some sort of incurable disorder or suddenly decide to join the Judas Priest’s fan club, I’d say it’s very unlikely you’d start mulling over your own death at an early age. I mean, ok, you hear about young people dying all the time; let’s be honest, these days it’s almost impossible to pick up a newspaper or switch the TV on without having Death staring and grinning at you from all corners: kids, adults, elderly people, car accidents, NHS blunders, murders, and these are only the banal ones, daily occurrences. I don’t even mention the big catches, you know, things like famine, war…train crashes. Death doesn’t seem to have any age preferences. It’s almost like she picks them at random, five from under thirty, ten from over eighty - the lucky ones, eh? –, let’s have some from in between as well, just to make up the numbers. You always empathise and sometimes even share a tear when you hear about people dying and the young ones are always those that impress the most, aren’t they? But as long as these facts and figures remain at the stage of simple media reports, the impact on you doesn’t go any further. You shake your head in disbelief and tut a ‘where’s the world heading to’, but that’s about it, isn’t it? No further thought is ever given. Not your problem, is it? You don’t know these people, why should you bother? They’re gone and there’s nothing you can do anyway. It’s only when Death starts sniffing around your own door, gives you a little tap on the shoulder, it’s only then when you know that the real world is not the one you tried to cocoon yourself into, but that where bad, and I really mean bad, things happen to everyone and no one’s untouchable. I certainly made no exception. Little thought I’d given to dying before. I mean, why should I’ve? Illness and hospitals had been alien things to me, as far as I could remember I’d never suffered from anything worse than the odd cold and perhaps a headache every now and then. Of course, I knew I wasn’t immortal, that one day I would have to go, but …how was I supposed to know that Death would try to catch up with me on a Tuesday morning on a train to London before even turning twenty five? How could I have even thought that my parents would sob their hearts out watching me struggling to stay alive in a hospital bed when I should’ve been the one, at some stage in my life – a very late one I always hoped –, to mourn them? This is horrendous, isn’t it? You loose someone dear to you and you greatly grief over your lose, but eventually you’d let them go and move on, wouldn’t you?. A parent losing a child? They can’t let go. They never move on. Never. Just think about it. If Vicky…I can’t even let the words come anywhere near. I bet neither did my parents. That’s why you’re always so unprepared for the worst. ‘Cos you never think about it. Until it happens. I don’t think many believed that Sunday morning that I’d leave the operating theatre still breathing. ‘Another surgery? But she’s already had loads, she’s not gonna make this one.’ Somehow I managed to do it. Pure luck I would say. Or maybe someone up there took pity on me. Four pairs of eyes gathered around the hospital bed, all four staring at me, that was what I first saw when I finally regained consciousness, God knows how long I’d been lying in there for. My mum still in my dad’s arms, still sobbing, George and Tina still looking awfully tired, but there were smiles and hope and joy lurking in their eyes this time. It felt so good to be back with them.. However, the one that I most longed to see wasn’t there. ‘Where’s Vicky?’ I whispered, that was the best my vocal chords could do at the time. ‘She’s at home, with Craig. Do you want to see her, sweetheart?’ Tina took my hand into hers. ‘Yes, please.’ ‘I’ll phone him straight away and ask him to bring her over.’ My parents on one side of the bed, my dad’s palm stroking my forehead, my mum avidly kissing my hand. On the other one George, tired, but largely smiling. ‘You’ll be alright, honey. You’ll be alright. You’re out of the danger now.’ Did you hear that? Hehehey!!! I’m not dying anymore, I’m allowed to live, they’ve given me permission to stay. The doctors were amazed, my family was thrilled. A knock in the door requests my attention once again. Now, who could it be? I’m still not expecting mum and Vicky to turn up before eleven o’clock. And it’s only gone ten. It’s Paul and my face lightens up instantly when I see him. ‘What are you doing here? You should be at work.’ ‘I know, I just fancied a break.’ His mouth wears the smirk of a cheeky boy who’s just bunked off school. He walks to the window, grabs a chair and sits down in front of me. Not before leaning over and gently pressing his lips against mine; today they linger over longer than usual. I know I shouldn’t let him do it, George wouldn’t be happy if he knew, but I can’t help it. It’s Paul we’re talking about here. If I could switch off my conscience for few minutes, I would probably try to keep them there even longer myself. Warm touch, butterflies in my stomach, feelings that I’ve missed all along. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to get you anything else. I got this from the vending machine downstairs,’ he hands me over a bar of Mars chocolate. I smile. He never comes empty handed, he always has to bring me something. Books, games, boxes of chocolate, they’re all stuck aside underneath my bed. I’m lying, some of the chocolate’s gone. Plenty of it left though, enough to feed an army. ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you happy you’re not stuck in there anymore?’ he points at the bed. ‘Uh-huh.’ I nod. Of course I am, who wouldn’t be? ‘How has your day been so far?’ I ask. ‘Ok, I suppose,’ he shrugs. ‘Better now that I’m here. I’ve missed you.’ He seems a bit agitated and I can’t help wondering why. He takes my hands into his and looks me in the eyes. ‘Adi, we need to talk.’ ‘What about?’ It must be Vicky. I want him to know that he can see her anytime he wants. He is her dad, there are no rules, no rotas. I do want him to know that. I’m waiting for him to confirm my thought. ‘Us.’ It’s funny, the word that was never there back then, when we were a couple; now we’re not a couple anymore, but there is an ‘us.’ ‘What about us?’ I ask. ‘I know I never told you before how much you meant to me.’ His hands are squeezing mine tighter. ‘We both made mistakes, we both behaved foolishly. And that’s because we were never open to each other, we were both insecure and scared. But things are different now. When you left me, I thought that would be the end. It hurt, but I tried to move on. Now you’re back and I don’t want to loose you again. I want you to come back home with me when you’ll leave the hospital.’ I look at him and notice that the green in his eyes is genuinely intense. So what are you saying, Paul? What do you expect me to do? To wipe off the last two years of my life just like that? Forget about George and the ‘us’ I’ve got with him? Throw myself into your arms and say ‘Let’s do it, let’s start again’? Is this what you want? Do you honestly believe that things are really that simple? I turn my eyes to the window. My mind is searching for options but finds none. In an ideal world, perhaps we could do time sharing: one week with Paul, the next one with George, keep everyone happy. ‘Adi?’ Oh yeah, he’s waiting for an answer. I wish I had a bag full of them lying next to my chair, so that I can just let a blind hand slip in it and pick one at random, decide the outcome. There you go, and the answer is…. ‘I can’t leave George,’ the words come out by themselves, no need to push them. ‘But you said you love me.’ Incredulous voice, that of a disappointed child. I know what I said. I shouldn’t have done it, too late now. It happened when I felt it wouldn’t matter anymore, that’s my only excuse. I was telling the truth though. But I also love George. So, what’s to be done? ‘I do love you.’ I can’t hold back now, no point in denying. ‘But I can’t do this to George.’ ‘George’ I think I can see an angry flicker in his eyes when he mentions the name, ‘would understand. He’d get over it. Please, Adi, don’t do this to us.’ Another squeeze of the hands, a push for a positive answer. ‘I’m sorry, Paul.’ I gulp and try to avoid his eyes. My voice is determined, he knows now I’m not joking. He lets my hands go and stands up, then walks away from the window, left hand in his pocket, the right stuck on his forehead. ‘You don’t mean this, do you? You can’t possibly choose him over me,’ he turns around and stares at me. He’s standing near the bed now. There aren’t any choices to be made, Paul. We had our chance and blew it all away. No one’s fault, but ours. Now I’m with George and that’s that, can’t change anything. I messed my life up once, I hurt people, you the most. Believe me, I will always regret it, always feel guilty. But I don’t want this to happen again, I don’t want George to go through what we did back then. He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t say it, but he can read it all on my face. ‘This is insane.’ His voice is angered now. ‘We are two people that love each other, we have a child together and you’re throwing all this away. For him. It’s all about him. You don’t want him to get hurt. How about me, Adi? Can’t you see what you’re doing to me?’ I can. And I could also see what I’m doing to myself. I’m pushing you out of my life once again and I know I might not ever be happy. But I’ve got no choice, there is no choice. ‘For God’s sake, Adi, say something,’ he gets annoyed even more when there’s no reply from my end. I don’t know what to say, I’m too busy trying to keep the pain trapped in my chest there, I don’t want him to see it. Eyes to the window again, keep them away from his. ‘Fine.’ He sounds hurt and unhappy. I wish I can put my arms around him and hold him and tell him how sorry I am. But I know that wouldn’t help. ‘There’s nothing else to say I suppose.’ He doesn’t kiss me, he doesn’t say good bye, I just hear him walking out of the room. Now that he’s gone, I can let it all come out. The sky’s still clear outside, but there are tears and sobs and shuddering shoulders now by the window and they keep the sunshine to the other side of the glass.
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