I’m pleasantly surprised when I wake up and realize that I’m alone. That hasn’t happened in forever. I’m pretty sure it’ll only be a few moments before the door swings open and someone will be back. It’s not that I don’t appreciate my friends and family, it’s just that I think it’s ridiculous that everyone feels the need to keep me under constant surveillance.

I just wish they’d let me go home. I feel like I’ve been in this hospital for years. There’s nothing really wrong with me, at least not physically. Sure I was pretty weak when I first woke up, but I’m not anymore. I’m fine. I’d be better if I could get a whole sentence out, but that’s starting to work itself out too.

I yawn and sit up. My throat is dry and I can see the pitcher of water has been moved back onto a table closer to where my mother’s been camping out most nights. I really wish she’d go home and get a decent night of sleep. She’s not as young as she use to be. She’s been looking extra tired lately and I’m really worried about her.

I get out of bed and pour myself a glass of water. I’d rather have a can of soda or some juice, but this will have to do for now. My stomach grumbles some, I can smell breakfast out in the hallway so I know it’s got to be almost nine o’clock. That’s one thing I’ve learned from my hospital stay, all the mundane things are done on a perpetual routine. It’s like clockwork. Every morning that breakfast tray arrives, at one o’clock lunch shows up, at five o’clock the dinner trays arrive and at nine o’clock a snack tray is delivered. I’ve decided the reason behind that is to provide some sort of sanity here. It helps to have a set routine even if it’s not something you have direct power over; there is a comfort in knowing that everything isn’t out of control.

In reality most of the patients here feel as if they’ve lost control over something, whether it’s a kidney that’s failing or an appendix that’s ruptured or the total loss of consciousness due to the fact that some asshole beats you in the head with a crowbar over a few hundred dollars in your fucking wallet and some credit cards. Am I bitter? I am. I’ve lost a couple of dollars, a few meaningless credit cards, and a baby picture of Gus. All of that can be replaced. I’m bitter that I’ve lost my voice. Well not my voice per say but my words. I don’t understand it because in my head I have them all it’s when I open my mouth to speak that I have a problem.

I don’t remember much about the first few days of waking from my coma, just that Brian and Gus were almost always around when I opened my eyes. Nothing made sense, not the words they were saying or even the fact that they were there. Gus says I slept a lot off and on when I was first coming around. The first thing I remember, even though it’s a fuzzy memory, was looking up at a wall of colors and designs. Gus later told me that he and Brian worked on those drawings and paintings to try to bring me out of my nearly catatonic state. (His words not mine.) I’m not sure if it helped but it did give me something to try to think about when I’d wake up, and since it is one of the first things I remember I’d have to say it certainly didn’t hurt.

My first solid memory after I woke up was of Brian. I thought I was dreaming at first. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first dream I’ve had of Brian in my life. This one seemed different somehow; for one thing he looked his age. Not old, he’ll never look old. He probably won’t even look old when he’s eighty. He looks incredible actually. He’s just starting to get a few small wrinkles near his eyes but unless you’re looking for some kind of imperfection you’d never see it. His hair is still the same chestnut brown color. He keeps it styled more now. There’s definitely an effort to get it looking that way it’s different than the way he almost always let it style itself.

When I’m dreaming at night those dreams usually include the Brian that I shared eight years of my life with. This Brian was the one that I normally see in passing and at social functions. This Brian is the one that looks incredibly uncomfortable in my presence except that he didn’t look uncomfortable when I first saw him there. I laid there studying him for a few minutes trying to figure out if this was real or if I was asleep. He’d looked really tired and frustrated. My mouth opened and I said “Hey.” It was more of a greeting than a way to get his attention, but from his reaction he needed something to get his attention so I said it again.

His voice was soft as he said “Hey” back. Maybe it was just the lighting in the room, but his eyes looked a little wet. My head was pounding and my throat felt so dry. Brian seemed to know I needed something and as he poured me a glass of water I could see his hands shaking slightly. I remember reaching for his hand at some point; I still needed to touch him to convince myself that he was real. This wasn’t a Brian that I saw often; this was the real man, the one he kept hidden from nearly everyone. I remember that I asked him “Why?” I honestly was wondering why he was here with me. I hadn’t fully realizing where I was myself. When he answered that I’d been hurt it hadn’t really registered. I was just so tired.

I’m still standing near my bed lost in my thoughts when my breakfast tray arrives. I don’t recognize the woman bringing it in. She’s a little thing and she reminds me of my grandmother a bit. She probably doesn’t weigh more than 90 pounds. She looks to be about all of four feet ten inches tall at the most. She’s smiling when she walks in.

“I’m glad I didn’t wake you. You’d be surprised at how many people are still sleeping at this hour. I’ve been awake since four o’clock this morning myself.”

I smile and hope that she’ll just set the tray down and leave. I don’t want her to think I’m rude. I remember a time when I’d have stood here chatting with her for as long as it took for me to learn something about her. I know my smile fades a little as I realize I can’t do that now.

“Where would you like this sweetie?” She asks.

I feel my cheeks start to redden and I just point to the small table near the window. Her smile fades a little and I feel stupid suddenly. She sets the tray down on the table and I do my best to smile as she’s leaving the room.

“Thanks.” I manage before she’s out of the room.

“You’re welcome honey. Now go eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” She smiles at me again, but I still can’t help but feel like a fool. I head over to the small table and sit down. I pull the top off of the tray and begin eating the scrambled eggs that are still steaming hot.

I realize now why I’m never here by myself. My mother and Gus have been my voice for me. As well as Brian before his great disappearing act. I’m still not sure what’s going on with that. I’m not sure I have enough energy on my best day to figure that out. I thought we had finally gotten past our past. I was pretty sure that we were going to do this friend thing that he kept talking about.

Maybe he’s not sure about that now after waking up in bed with me that last morning. He’d been so drunk that last night I saw him. I didn’t want him to pass out in that chair and fall into the floor, so I’d helped him into bed with me. I knew we could easily share it; we’d slept in tighter spots before for fun. When I woke up that morning he was already out of bed and sitting in one of the chairs in the corner. His jaw was bruised and I wondered how that happened, but of course I couldn’t ask and he obviously didn’t want to talk about it. He was still there when I went off to physical therapy.

That had been a nightmare. My physical therapist, Kerry was giving me a deep tissue massage when suddenly I saw a blinding light in front of my eyes and the pain started. My head felt like it was going to explode. It was probably the worst headache I’ve ever experienced in my life. I tried to ignore it but when the massage was over and I had to sit up, I nearly fell over face first off of the table. Luckily Kerry caught sight of me nearly tumbling over and she grabbed my shoulders to steady me. She made me lay down on my back this time and she called in my doctor.

I couldn’t really tell them what was happening, but somehow they seemed to know. Maybe it was the way I kept clutching my head, trying to make the pain stop. The syringe full of medicine was greatly appreciated and slowly the pain seemed to ease up a little. I didn’t resist any help the nurses gave me getting me into the wheelchair or back into my room and into bed. I remember seeing Brian in the room before I fell asleep. That was eight days ago and that was the last time I can remember him being here.

I’ve had three more of those headaches since then, the last one being sometime last night. It’s more of an inconvenience than anything else. The pain medicine helps to get rid of them, but it leaves me extremely drained and worn-out when I wake up. Luckily none of them have hit when my mother has been here. Poor Gus has been the one with me for the last three. He’s truly amazing for a kid. He seems to be able to handle all of this better than anyone else. He called in the nurse and told her what was happening before the pain got too intense. My mother would have panicked and made things worse. She wouldn’t have meant to but, she doesn’t seem to be able to help it when she does. Gus merely handled everything and then sat nearby talking to me softly until I fell asleep.

I finish with my breakfast and wonder if maybe I am actually going to be alone here today. I shrug off the uneasy feeling that gives me and I crawl back into bed. My energy still seems depleted from the drugs they gave me last night. I let my eyes close for a few minutes but open them instantly when I hear the door start to open. Somehow I know it’s going to be Brian standing on the other side when it closes again. I yawn and he comes into view.

His hair is still wet and he looks like he’s just taken a shower. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on one of the hooks near the door. I take in his appearance and realize he’s going to be here for awhile. No suit and tie, he’s got on a pair of soft looking denim jeans and a black long-sleeved button down shirt. He turns around and sees my eyes on him.

“Hey.” He says quietly.

“Hey.” I answer.

He stands back for a few minutes and I see him chewing the inside of his bottom lip. I give him a tired smile. He comes closer and his lips turn up slightly. He pulls a chair up near my bed.

“Tired?” He asks. His voice is soft.

“Yeah.” I answer as my eyes feel heavier and heavier.

“Get some sleep. We can visit when you wake up.”

I nod and I know he will be here when I wake up. I feel his fingers lightly rest on my arm as I drift off to sleep.

To Be Continued