When Love Is a Lie
Love must be truthful; truth must be loving. I learned that lesson too late.
I opened his door slowly and quietly, just in case he was still asleep.
“Hi, morning”, he greeted cheerily, which startled me a bit. ”What is under those trees? You think I can go down there?”, he gestured towards the window, an impish smile on his face.
Carefully placing the breakfast tray on his bedside table, I went and peered through the glass, its blue-colored curtain slightly drawn sideways.
Eight floors down below, I saw a canopy of variegated greens, basking in the bright morning sun.
A short flashback
I first met him in the elevator. He was wheeled in from the ER on a stretcher, his unshaved ashen face etched with pain. After a few seconds, he was wheeled out on the 8th floor. It was also my floor and I was the night shift nurse aide on duty.
From his chart, I read that he was 58 years old, a US citizen, complained of severe chest pain and difficulty in breathing. Diagnosis: MI or myocardial infarction. In layman’s terms — heart attack. He was on strict bed rest, with no visitors allowed.
His name was long and probably Polish — and difficult to pronounce. So, I secretly nicknamed him John Wayne. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and slightly square-jawed with downturned brown eyes. He did look like the iconic American actor, my father’s favorite.
Somehow, he also looked like my father.
In between my duties as a nurse aide, we managed to exchange bits of stories about our personal lives. He was a UN technical consultant and about to end a special aquaculture project in the southern part of the country. He’d been in several Asian countries in the last five years, the same consultancy. His family was in the US; his youngest son was probably my age, he said.
As for me, well, I was going 19 in a few days, the 12th of July to be exact. A freshman working student in a nursing college in a big city. Dreaming to become a nurse. But missed my family back in the province, especially my father, who was my biggest fan.
We had light moments, too. He called me the littlest girl with the biggest, bright eyes. And I told him I’d rather call him John Wayne, than his tongue-twister of a surname. “Yeah, I like that”, he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.
He told me how much he appreciated our short talks. It made him less sad for his family and less worried about his situation. His cardiologist had told him to take things easy- it was his third major heart attack. The next could be worse or his last!
My heart ached for my friend. Every so often, I prayed that he get well faster. He needed to go home and be with his family.
And so the days came and went — John Wayne was getting better. And bored. And restless.
The defining moment
I glanced at my friend — his face no longer looked pale but flushed. He had shaved earlier. He could now sit upon his bed, unaided.
I guess, he must have limped his way to the window and saw the trees below.
He looked at me quizzically, waiting for my answer.
Finally, I said, well, there’s a nice, small park down there, with a few stone benches and green grass and some flowering shrubs all around. In the morning, it would be a cool place to relax and do a bit of stretching.
His face lighted up. I could sense his exhilaration at the prospect of a pleasurable walk at the park.
But then. . . it was several months ago that I had crossed over the park to reach a bus stop. Was I sure it was the same park?
What if the park was not as clean and safe as it used to be? There could be raucous street kids around, sniffing rugby, or sprawled asleep on the stone benches. The place could also be smelly and strewn with garbage — soda cans and food wrappers and whatnots. Or, the screeching and honking of cars, buses, and jeepneys plying the main street could be a pain to the ears.
I felt uneasy inside. Maybe, I should retract my story.
Besides, he wasn’t strong enough to go strolling in such a place! Perhaps, I should dissuade him from his plan . . .
But, looking at him, I just didn’t have the heart to dampen his spirit. At that moment, all I wanted was to cheer him up, to be kind to him, to hug him and tell him that everything would be all right.
Anyway, he couldn’t go down as yet. He was still on bed rest.
When things go the wrong way
The very next morning was a whirl. The entire 8th floor was full, all thirty private rooms plus the two wardrooms. Two new major admissions came in and doctors and nurses were on their toes the entire shift.
While I was assigned to the front wing, I also had to pitch in at the back wing, as the designated nurse aide was on emergency leave, with only three nurses and an orderly to run the wing.
As soon as my morning shift ended, I rushed to John Wayne’s room. I was totally exhausted but wanted to see him, as I would be off-duty the next day.
I softly knocked at his door, thinking he might be napping. But he was up, sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for me.
I was about to say “how are you, my friend?”, but he cut me off. I felt the tension, saw the anger, the deep hurt in his eyes. Finally, he looked at me and with pain in his voice said: “You lied to me”. And he turned his face away.
I was stunned. My mouth went dry. But lest I arouse more anger and pain in him (and thinking of his heart), I kept silent.
Slowly, I went out of his room, holding back my tears.
I never knew what happened — when or how he got down to that small park. And what he found there. For when I reported for work two days later, this time on the graveyard shift, my friend, John Wayne, was gone.
Discharged.
My heart broke inside me. Why did he leave without giving me a chance to explain? Why?
Postscript:
Early morning the following day, 12th of July, just before my shift ended, the head nurse came up to the 8th floor. She handed me a box, wrapped in dainty pink and white. Inside was a red handbag, and inside it was a red wallet.
His note simply said: “To Esther, my littlest girl with the biggest bright eyes. All the best. Your John Wayne”.
I did not hold back the tears.
If you were in my place, what would you have done?
Love . . . keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1Corinthians 13:5–7, The Holy Bible
Thank you for reading my story. You can join Medium and enjoy unlimited access to great writings from thousands of writers, by using my referral link here.
