Love is blindness
Room 406
Marie rushed through the closing doors gasping for air. Her soaked chestnut brown hair was dripping onto the unwelcoming “Welcome” mat and her meticulously applied makeup was now a dark smear on the perfect canvas that was her face. She cursed silently at the rain that had made her this way.
Embarrassed, she walked quickly through the small crowd of people staring at her towards the elevator. She hesitated for a moment, checked under “Special Care” on the information board and then pressed the button up. Please come fast, please, please, please. As though answering a prayer, the familiar “ding” announced the arrival of the elevator. The doors slid open and she slipped through, sighing as the doors closed behind her, finally leaving her alone.
Marie stared at herself in the elevator mirror. I look ridiculous. Carefully, she brushed her hair with the tip of her manicured fingers until at least the top looked tamed. She then took out a wipe from her purse and scrubbed her face clean. He had always said he loved her face untouched but she had never wanted to believe him. Now, she had no choice. Finally, she tried to straighten her royal blue dress that had creased in the water, turning at least a few shades darker in the process, by pulling it tightly at every angle she could think of before giving up entirely. Looking up again hopefully, she sighed, disappointed.
“Mam’, you can come visit”. Five words she had waited months to hear. Five words that echoed endlessly in her mind. However, now that she had heard them, she couldn’t believe it. The “ding” of the elevator rang again and she stepped out. Her heels hit repeatedly against the faded yellow hospital floor and the sickly smell of medecine filled her head.
She could still remember running through this seemingly endless hallway, 3 months ago. People had been rushing around her, getting to their hurt loved ones, fighting through everyone and anyone that got in their way. A true chaos in which Marie had focussed on her only mission, getting to room 406. She’d reached it, the last room on the left. Panting, she looked through the glass patch on the door.
He is dead. That’s all she could think of when she saw his lifeless body lying on the hospital bed. He is leaving me alone. A nurse passed by her. Marie grabbed her arm which the nurse yanked away. “Please, what has happened to him?” she cried. “Unless you’re direct family you need to leave.” had been her only answer. Still in shock, she walked out heavily and sat outside the hospital, sobbing, until someone came to get her. A terrorist attack, that’s what it had been. An idiotic terrorist attack.
“Miss?” Marie turned to the direction of the nurse’s voice. Immediately finding excuses she mumbled, “I’m, well, I’m.. umm, here to see Christopher… Mr.Bates that is.” “Honey, I know.” she replied sweetly. Placing her hand on Marie’s shoulder she gently guided her to the room but stopped a couple meters before. “Miss, your husband is extremely lucky. He will recover from almost every injury with a little time. However, there is one thing that I need you to be prepared for.”
Marie wasn’t listening. She was staring at the number on the door. 406. She walked to the door and turned the knob. “Miss, listen. Please,” she begged. “you’re husband is…” The room was filled with beautiful rose bouquets, invading the seats, spilling over the tables. She stared at wavy blond head lying down, facing away from her and ran to the bed “Christopher! Christopher!” She cried with joy. Christopher’s turned slowly toward her and Marie took a step back. A dirty white bandage was placed over his emerald eyes. Blind. He is blind. Her stomach churned and she felt dizzy.
“Marie?” he whispered, his hand reaching out to find her.
A cold tear rolled onto her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting him to see.
Nyctophobia
There is something horrifying about waking up to darkness. My brain just switches on, but that’s the only difference between sleep and consciousness. Other than that, it’s the same nightmare playing on repeat like a broken record player endlessly haunting you with the same tune. Sounds of gunshots, explosions, cries. Last images of people running, images stuck in my head like canvases hung onto my memory. My brain tries to make up for the loss of my vision but somehow my imagination makes everything more dull. Walls are colorless, the sky is ceaselessly crying and despair is sewn into everyone’s made up faces. That’s the world I live in now. My own world, population: 1.
The nurses try to soothe my screaming fits. They carefully reassure me: “It’ll get better, it always does.”, “You’ll get used to it, all your other senses will come alive, stronger than ever.”, “Your wife is coming next week.” Pretty fiction made to calm me down but I see right through their pleasant act. I can see their hopelessness through the coal wall that veils my vision. I can hear the pity and pleading in their honeyed voices. I know they want me to pull through so they can stop worrying. But they have no idea what it’s like. I’m living in a cage. A cage without people I know, without the things I love. A cage they keep me in to fix me. You can’t fix something broken, you’re better off letting it be. But they don’t. And inside that cage, a smaller one. One of my own creation. I’m locked inside myself. Who knew it would be so dark?
It’s been several weeks since I’ve woken up. The cage isn’t any more comfortable but I’m getting used to the changes. At least, as used to them as one can get. I know my way around the hospital room and to the bathroom. Table corners have recently become my nemesis. I’m sure I have at least a dozen bruises to prove for it. To make sure of where I’m going I drag my feet like a child reluctant to go to school in the morning. It smells like roses in my room. I used to love roses, but now the smell is too harsh, it climbs its way to my head and makes me dizzy, taunting the fact that I do not know where the closest seat is. The nurses say the roses are from kind people who heard about the bombing. I should be grateful but their kindness leaves me indifferent. All these roses make new obstacles for me to avoid. And not a single one from Marie.
Voices whisper outside my room. Room 406. I’ve felt the cold metallic plated numbers with my fingers hundreds of times as I strolled aimlessly down the hallway and back. The smell of medicine and plastic floors are the only thing I focus on. I’ve done this regularly until a nurse finds me and, deeming me lost, returns me to my room. 406. Digits I’ve tried hard to memories. The sharp edges of the 4, softness of the 0 and the 6. Cold numbers to announce my cold new home until who knows when. The voices get a little stronger and I start to recognize the nurse’s silky words. I pretend to be asleep.
As the door squeaks open, the nurse runs towards my bed, crying out my name. Don’t worry, I’m still here. I think to myself. Can’t really go anywhere can I? The voice gets clearer and something tightens inside my stomach. Marie.
“Marie?” I whisper, desperately trying to find her, to find something I know. Her hand finds mine and she feels beautiful. More beautiful than anything I have ever seen.
