Author's note: The third follow up one-shot is totally endgame. Since someone (yeah, Jasz) asked me to write another, I decided to write it in another point of view. I know it's unprofessional yada-yada-yada, but I think it's an interesting part to write about. I really do. And I didn't 'wing' this.
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“The best thing to do now is to give her some space.”
The drive back home was uneventful. Just a lot of things flooding in my head… And maybe just a few waterworks. I feel like a total idiot. I’ve been taught to be patient instead I’ve lost mine.
Couldn’t she see that I’m trying to keep her safe and not completely stopping her career?
Somehow, somewhere, she’s feeling the same way as I do. But I just can’t go back there like that.
“How do you know? The last time you were on a date; it lasted for fifteen minutes,” I viciously reply.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help here, bro,” he sticks his hands up in the air, trying to console me.
Do you know how frustrating it is to tell a person that you care about them without having that person take it the wrong way?
It’s even more frustrating to see someone you love just lay still on the bed, all scarred and worn out. She’s so difficult to get through. I shouldn’t hide out for so long. She’ll think I’m a big fat coward. Then again, why would she still care?
I sigh and finally say, “You should’ve seen her. She was so mad with me. It was scary. I thought she was about to rip my soul out of my body.”
Our parents don’t know we’re up talking about the fight in Daniel’s room, in the dark. To cover our conversation, we leave the nightlight of Daniel’s bedroom switched on. I sit on his undone bed as he sits on his ‘gaming chair’ (he calls it that because it’s facing his computer and he does well when playing World of Warcraft while sitting on it).
We felt like kids doing this. Daniel and I have not done this since we were like—what?—ten?
I still have the clothes on my back, not wanting to go to sleep. My back feels like it has been slammed into a brick wall a thousand times. All I did so far was conversing and not making any eye contact except for the carpet.
“That’s what I said! Give her some space. You need that too. Both of you,” he twists the chair from left to right, a leg resting on his knee and his hands clasped together; just like a boss.
“But I feel like a big sicko leaving her like that…” I admit shamefully.
“It’s time to think about your actions, man. I mean, I have to side with your could’ve-been-fiancée. It actually sounds like you’re asking her to stop doing her job.”
I dart my eyes at him, narrowing them as he inched his chair away slowly away from me.
“You sound just like her.”
He shakes his head in denial, still inching away to the luminous computer screen behind him.
“She just doesn’t get it, does she?!” My blood simply boils whenever the thought of her yelling at me pointlessly comes across my mind.
Daniel shakes his head again. His lips pressed against each other tightly.
“I’m only trying to protect her. Remember when I had to leave in the middle of abuelita’s family dinner?”
His hand covered his lips, he nods as his eyes close.
I take a deep breath; this part will be very difficult to tell because none of my family members know why I left urgently that night.
“She was in the middle of climbing up a volcano in Iceland for a big research project… She slipped… And fell. From what I heard from her colleagues is that one of the rocks slipped from her grip. The rescue team flew her back to the US in a helicopter because they were in the middle of nowhere.”
My head decides to turn the vague thoughts into vivid images of my worst nightmare that came true.
I was swerving my way through a crowd of people in the ER. Then I see a group of people huddled together in front of the operation theatre doors. Some were wearing turtle necks and some were wearing knitted sweaters. The looks on their faces perfectly told me everything. One of those faces looked as if he had seen a ghost.
Yet I asked, “How bad is it?”
A woman, who looked like she’s old enough to be thirty-two, looked me in the eyes. She’s practically staring into my soul, “Who are you?”
Her devastated expression faded away, and was replaced by a hard one. It may scare the living daylights out of me if I wasn’t that worried, but I am already scared.
“I’m… I’m her—” I was panting heavily. The run between the hospital parking lot and the ER was a far distance. Some ER it is. “Her… Boyfriend.”
Her face softens, the sorrow comes back to her eyes, “We don’t know… The blizzard was intense on the way up. She fell; we couldn’t see her after she slipped. That was the worst part. It took us a long time to find her in the storm.”
Just then, I heard sobbing and the sight of the group silently wiping their tears away.
“It must’ve been traumatizing for them,” I gave out a tone of sympathy.
“She’s one of our best. If she doesn’t mak—”
“She will,” I force out a reassuring smile. However, it didn’t work on her. I couldn’t argue because I wasn’t there for the fall.
That… That’s when I knew how bad the fall was. I’ve never felt so ill in my life.
The next stage was to wait until she’s out from the theatre. I conversed with the woman for a few hours. She keeps talking about how great of a palaeontologist my girlfriend is and how much she misses home but wants to strive on with her career. Having her tell all these things to me just reminds me of how long she has been away from home. This woman just keeps talking about the things I don’t want to listen to. But if it makes her feel any better, then, I’m fine with it.
We spent hours waiting, until sunlight broke through the hospital’s windows and another crew of nurses and doctors came in through the automatic sliding doors. I couldn’t sleep—I mean, I did get a few minutes of it but technically I didn’t sleep the whole night through.
I was too scared for her, and for these people. Apparently, from what the woman told me, she’s the most valuable part of this project. I spent hours and hours walking around, praying that she’ll make it. I’ve never been so worried sick in my life. It’s as if I’ll never be happy again.
I wished I could just barge into the theatre room to ask how is she doing and is she going to be all right? The questions come up so often that I couldn’t even feel myself breathe. Just thinking about what’s going on in the room just makes me want to hurl out my dinner. The atmosphere was so gloomy, that the other crew of doctors and nurses just couldn’t take their eyes off of us. A guy was muttering his prayers in Hebrew or something. Another was leaning on the wall, asleep.
How could they let this happen to her? Don’t they have safety harnesses or something? Why on the earth would they continue their journey uphill when they know there’s a blizzard brewing?
Palaeontologists.
I’ll never understand their work ethics.
My heart was going down my throat every time I think about the possibility of losing her at any time. It could be now or five minutes later or maybe they are trying their best to get her back an hour ago. My fingers went numb. My body was still shivering from last night. I was engulfed with so much fear and anxiety; I’ve forgotten to take in water to hydrate myself.
“And then what happened?” Daniel snaps me back into reality.
I sigh before continuing. Reminiscing about these things still scare me. I don’t have to tell you why.
The wait was so long, it felt like a decade has passed outside. I felt this sick pang in my stomach whenever I see someone pass through those doors looking all right while I’m suffering in the depths of my consciousness.
Finally, around lunch hour, the surgeon came out, removing her scrubs. We all immediately stood up. A man with dark skin and about eight feet tall decided to ask on behalf of all of us.
She nodded and mumbled a few words then returned back into the theatre.
The second the man turned around, I heard the team let out a sharp gasp in a chorus. They felt so tensed up to hear the conclusion. I was standing behind as they huddled. Oh yeah, just leave the person that your brilliant researcher relies on the most behind while all of you huddle.
A few moments later, the group broke up. Their hands sliding down their faces, sighing in so much relief that I believe seemed like the news was a good one. Some sat down, with their palms pressing on their lips, holding their breath for as long as they could.
The woman approached me.
“She’s fine. But she’s gonna suffer a fatal concussion for a few weeks. She’ll recover in no time.” Even though she looked relax and relieved, her voice was still shaking. We’ve all entered the aftermath of the event.
All I want to do now is to see her.
But that can’t happen now can it?
A few more deep breaths from the group and also from me, we were taking in all the hours of waiting and thanking God that He has answered our prayers. Later, the woman suggested all of us to have lunch somewhere else then come back for a visit. I rejected her offer, but she insisted that I should tag along.
Lunch was very dull but the attempts on making the atmosphere more light-hearted were nothing. Every now and then they would direct the topic at me, asking me about my American Idol experience. They threw questions like: “Was Simon nice?” and “You look more handsome in real life than on my TV screen!”
I just smiled sheepishly and laughed half-heartedly.
After lunch, we came back for her. We were greeted by a nurse who said four people could visit and there were eleven of us including me. They told me to go ahead and that they’ll come in after I leave the room.
I gingerly walk side by side with the nurse who had a stiff expression. I was afraid if I made a peep, she would silence me with a loud voice. Our footsteps echoed in the hallway. I saw people sitting on the benches miserably. A guy with a pack of ice on his head and a wide gash on his shoulder, an old man with a cast around his arm, a kid with a broken knee and a girl with so many cuts and bruises.
I still couldn’t believe that all of that worrying happened just a few mere hours ago. Now I’m on the way to see her. Months and months of being apart, I’m going to see her like this. Some welcome back this is.
The nurse finally stops at a white door that had a tag saying ‘Room 513’. She gives me a look and said, “Don’t make too much noise, she’s still resting. And do not pull any wires or cords or anything. She’s under monitor and is under heavy medication. If there’s anything, just push the red button for medical assistance.”
I nodded and she opens the door for me. Then, I felt terrified. My hands were sweaty and my breathing was as shallow as a kiddy pool. I took baby steps into the room.
There she was.
Long, beautiful locks, strong build and eyes closed. There was nothing but the sound of my breathing and the heartbeat monitor. This sounds very dramatic, huh?
Should I go closer? No, what if… What if I see something I wish I hadn’t? But I have to check if she’s okay.
I puffed by chest out, and went towards her bedside.
The blinders were shut, blocking the sunrays from entering into the room. She looked so vulnerable when she’s asleep. Bandages were wrapped around her forehead, hands, waist and left leg. Her lips were cracked, and her mouth was ajar. Fine white cords attach themselves to her chest and a clip on her index finger. My eyes trailed to the machine next to her. The lines were indicating her steady heartbeat. I’m still scared, you know.
She looked so fragile. But then I have this urge to reach out to her.
I look at her hands. They look scarred and ruddy, followed by her arms. There were so many gashes that were stitched up and bumps and bruises. One gash was still bleeding from the stitch. I took a cotton pad from the bedside table, and dabbed on the blood.
Then a groan escaped from her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed as I wiped off the smudge of blood. I tossed the pad into the bin near the bedside table.
“Get off my case, doc…” she slurred, and then moaned.
My heart wrenched at the piercing pain that was her voice. I bit my lip, hoping that she wouldn’t open her eyes.
Unfortunately, she did. I froze on the spot as the gleaming orbs focus on me.
“David?” she says softly. She cringes after that. “Ahh, my head…”
I settled down beside her, and pushed her back slightly onto the bed, “Sorry… Just go back to sleep.”
She gripped onto my arms, trying to hold them in a tight grasp but failed. I noticed that she was too weak to grasp, speak or stay awake. I looked straight into her eyes and tears started to form.
I don’t… understand. Is this a side effect from the concussion?
“I feel so awful,” she choked out the words. It’s like something’s stuck in her windpipe every time she speaks. Suddenly I noticed her skin had gone pale. It’s like there was no blood running through her veins.
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered. Normally, she would fight back but this time she didn’t. She fell back into a deep sleep. It must be the medication or something. A tear slid down her right cheek as her eyes flutter.
“I felt so useless to her and I just wanted to help her have a speedy recovery. Apparently, for concussions, there is a slim chance for a speedy recovery…” I say.
Daniel had stopped twirling on his chair and is gapping, “Wow. I didn’t… know how serious it was.”
“Oh, it was very serious. I stayed by her side almost every night.”
He lets out an ‘oh’, indicating the reason why I haven’t been home so much last year.
“But David, it’s been over a year. Why are you—” Daniel stops himself halfway then says, “That’s a stupid question.”
“What? What’s a stupid question?” I ask, now digging into the conversation.
“You know, why aren’t you over it and stuff,” he plays around with his fingers, twirling again.
“Because, dear brother, it was terrible to see someone you care so much almost dying,” I insert my rage into the words and spew them out like flames.
***
“She needs space, hijo.”
“Why is everybody giving me that advice?!” I flail as I groan about the advice given by my mother.
She drops the wet dish, circles the counter and places her skinny hand on my back, “Because time heals most wounds.”
I duck my head and bury it into my crossed arms that lay on the counter, “It certainly didn’t heal her literal wounds.”
My mother let out a chuckle and got back to her dish drying.
“You’re a grown man, David. I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with emotional pain, right?” she tilts her head with a grin plastered on her face.
“I know, Ma. She’s a grown woman too but—”
“But she has more common sense than you do,” she playfully knocks my noggin.
“What do you mean ‘more common sense’?!” I raise my head, offended I raise my eyebrow.
“Well, you did sound like you wanted her to stop doing her job, hijo.” She stands on her tiptoes to stack the plates up in the pantry.
Did my mother somehow listen to the conversation Daniel and I had last night? I’m not trying to be rude to my family but they weren’t there when the fight was going on. Then again, they are just trying to help.
“Fine… Maybe I did imply it… Without realizing it…” I admit. I’m the worst adult ever.
I sigh heavily as my mother continues to stack up bowls into the pantry. My chin now resting on my arms, for a while, I felt like a ten year old. I remember the days when I would tell about how hard it was to make friends in middle school and talking about the possibilities of people not wanting to be my friend no matter how hard I try. Here I am, almost twenty six, still talking to my mother about my problems… like a ten-year-old.
Next came the worst thing I can say: “Ma, what should I do with my relationship?”
My mother stops her stacking, looks at me and bursts out laughing.
“Ma, please,” I groan. “I really need some advice.”
She wipes a tear away from her bottom eyelid and says directly, “You’ll know when it’s the right time. All you have to do is just to wait for her to cool down.”
“But we’re talking about my girlfriend, Ma! She doesn’t just ‘cool down’!” I even added air quotes to heavily imply on the bigger problem.
She laughs, again. Man, I’m tired of these reactions. Can’t a grown up man just ask help from his mother?
Well, okay, yeah, it is strange. I should be solving my problems on my own.
“That’s the great thing about her, right? She just doesn’t do that or do this! Again, take my advice and your brother’s too: let her cool down, okay?” she pats my shoulder and exits the kitchen.
I let her advice sink in…
“MA, DID YOU OVERHEAR OUR CONVERSATION.”