Freeman was descending the stairs as Faye pressed the end call button and placed her phone back in her fanny pack. “You ready to see our bedroom?”
“Is it also upstairs?” Faye asked.
“Yes. I can carry you.” He offered, holding his arms out.
Freeman stood at the edge where the ocean washed up on the shores, licking at the sand and lapping at his toes. He moved further out as the water rushed past him and moved up his ankles before being sucked back out from which it came. He loved the smell of the ocean, the feel of the breeze off the water.
“Daddy!” She squealed from behind him.
He turned just in time to see Faye’s little carbon copy leaping towards him. He scooped her up, letting her feet get wet before lifting her into his arms, causing her to squeal again in delight.
“I need you to tell me.. Everything that was said between the two of you.”
Jaymie looked up at him through her tears. “I didn’t say anything to him.”
Freeman reached over and gripped her hand. “She went because he asked for me and I refused to go see him.”
Jaymie wiped her eyes with the handkerchief that Freeman pulled from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, handing it to her as he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.
I wake up every morning to see the same nurse standing over my bed holding what I know is a cocktail of medications inside the white dixie cup with the small, blue flower pattern printed on it. I’m supposed to take this medicine every day, however, I can no longer retain new information longer than twenty minutes, so my nurse brings it to me at the same time every morning and watches me while I pour the contents into my mouth, washing it down with the orange juice she brings with them. I only know this, because Freeman told me so.
The medication makes me drowsy, and I succumb to the sleep instead of fighting it because staying awake means being afraid and being afraid is the only thing I seem to be able to remember. I’m scared of everything. Jumping at every sound, every shadow, any sudden movements. If someone enters the room without knocking first, I end up having an anxiety attack and the nurses have to sedate me. Not even that stops the nightmares from coming, or from certain memories that come to me in moments of clarity, sending me into a spiral that only Freeman can pull me out of.
I lay in bed most days, being permitted to sit up unless my movements are monitored by my P.T. and my Physician, due to limited activity restrictions I am now under. I can’t even get up and pace around my small room without needing assistance. I feel like a caged animal. I feel trapped in a stranger’s body. Trapped in a stranger’s mind. Most of all.. I feel helpless. There are times during the day when it becomes too much. I feel empty and surrounded by this feeling of nothingness that clings to me, so I usually try to sleep because staying awake is too painful. It’s noon. Time for more meds. Time to eat food I know I won’t taste, but they tell me the medication will make me throw up if I don’t, so I eat to avoid puking. Except, even eating doesn’t stop that from happening, but Freeman holds my hair and rubs my back if it does come about.
I feel like I’ve lost another part of myself. The stares were awkward and made me feel insecure, but what I couldn’t take was the pity in their eyes as they stared at me, so I decided to shave the rest of my hair off. The scar is more prominent now, but this way my hair will grow back in even. At least, that’s what the nurses tell me every time I ask them about my hair. Which judging by their expressions, is quite often. Freeman assures me that they understand and that it’s normal, but this is not normal. I don’t feel normal. I feel and look like a cancer patient, but at least they finally removed the draining tube that was where my scar is now healing.
She wheeled the machine to the elevators and sighed. She really hoped that she could give these people some good news. And for the first time in 13 years, Amelia sent up a silent prayer. When the elevators opened, she pushed the cart in and hit number 4 and the button to close the doors. She was very impatient and anxious. When she was finally settled on the fourth floor, the doors opened and a flurry of activity was underway. She tried to steer clear, holding onto the machine tightly. In moments like these, her fellow attending’s and trainees could be vultures and if they saw need for the machine they would try to grab onto it.
As she jogged with the machine around the corner, she noted the FBI Agent stationed outside Ms. Ross’s hospital room. She pulled out her badge, even though by now he was familiar with her face, but she understood protocol and respected it. “They’re saying their goodbye’s now.”
