The Open Seat beside You
He holds
her hand now. As she rests in the bed provided for her, he is thinking of
letting go for only a moment to use the bathroom. Seems harder than it should
to just let go of a simple thing like a hand. Here they are, together as usual,
she and he. If only it were under different circumstances. As he moves from her
bedside he takes notice of all the electronics surrounding her, all the tubes
and lines going to and from her being.
The
bathroom is tiny and typical enough for a hospital. He thought it only smart to
get her into a private room. All the time he would spend here justified it
plenty. Going to the sink je turns on the cold water, he hopes that the brisk
sensation will wake him up; it is going to be a long night. Looking up from the
stream of water from the faucet he meets his eyes in the mirror. The water
leaves its after effect on the aged face. The water reflects the light where
the skin has thinned and aged, where the wrinkles have set in, and brings more
focus to the bags under his old eyes.
Anthony
Graves met her for the first time by circumstance, dumb luck, chance or what
some may call fate. Sitting on the rustling subway train on his journey back to
his apartment. Nothing running through his mind other than the music that
played from his phone. The ear buds resting in his ears, he closed his eyes and
drifted into the melodies.
His daze
was interrupted by a sudden poking on his cheek. Surprised he jumped, and
opened his eyes in response.
“Sorry to
scare you, I was just curious if anyone was sitting in this seat.” She laughed
as she said this and then pointed to the seat beside him. He couldn’t say
anything at first being awe struck by the long red hair and the green eyes
before him. She raised her eyebrow and gave him a look of confusion.
“Y-Yeah
it’s open,” he said, moving his bag from the seat beside him.
“Thanks!”
“Yeah, no
problem.”
The
entire time that they both sat there, Anthony couldn’t help but catch as many
glances of her as possible. Her hair was long and vibrant in color, with
highlights of a lighter shade streaked throughout it. The random flicker of
lights did not disrupt her milky skin. He started to feel sort of creepy, he
was paying way too much attention to her, but could not help it. When the next
stop came by and other got off, the gust blew across them both. He caught wind
of her perfume, it was ever so light. It smelled of sweet tones and flowers.
She wasn’t too much shorter than he, he stood six feet tall, and she maybe was
a few inches smaller. You couldn’t tell most of the time due to his slouched
posture. He sat there in wonder of who she was. Despite this he couldn’t muster
up the gall to ask her. The train then came to a stop and he saw her rise up
and get ready to go out to her stop.
“Thanks
again for the seat,” she said as she waved and left. Before he could say
anything in return she was gone and the doors to the train closed shut. He
stood and went to the door and saw her image disappear into the crowds of
people that began to shift from the movement.
The next
few days he would take his usual route to and from work and home. These times,
though, he kept an eye out for her. Each day nothing and he sulked slightly in
his seat, he wished he could see her again and this time find out her name. The
more he thought on it the more he wondered what he would say to her after
knowing her name. His thoughts were then interrupted by a soft voice and a
tapping on his head.
The view
from the mirror left its impression on him. The hair that was once a soft brown
was now grayed and silvered throughout. He laughs at the sight of the old man
looking back, strange what the years can do, eh? Wiping his face with the towel
beside the sink he reaches for the door and sees her sleeping. The heart rate
monitor still beeping at a usual pace.
He
decides that now is a good time to get some air, while she sleeps. He walks out
of the room and back into the fluorescent lighted halls of the hospital. People
moving up and down the hall; doctors, patients, nurses and orderlies alike.
He goes
on to the front doors and stands outside, snow on the ground and the light from
the stars trying to break through the glow of the hospital building. The smell
of rubbing alcohol and cleansers of the building exhales outward every time
someone leaves or enters. With every
moment that passes in this cold he feels more and more heavy, knowing what is
to come.
Anthony’s
brother passed away some years after meeting her. A long fight with cancer had
finally ended and with it nothing good came along. Nights in bars and drinking
more and more heavily lead to either a fight in the streets or a fight in the
home. Curses and slurs slung every which way. Tears and hoarse voices
prevailing till the midnight hours. She wanted nothing more than for his hurt
to cease. He told her he wanted nothing more than for it all to end. She and
Anthony wanted to see things differently.
The night
after the funeral, Anthony sat by himself on the couch she had bought for their
first home together. He looked straight at the blank screen of the turned off
TV. He wasn’t sure what to think. His eyes fell down to stare at the couch he
sat on. There he felt his rage build. He hated the couch; the color, the felt,
the collected hair from his and her, it was too much. It was with a large sigh
that he stood up and flipped the couch over, cursing more than he ever thought
he could.
“God damn
it! I hate this fucking couch! I hate it!” He yelled. It was with those curses
that she came back into the room. Still dressed in the black gown she had
bought, she begged for an explanation.
“I am
tired of this couch! I don’t know why we even bought it. I hated it and you
knew it. Even when my brother came over all he could talk…” He stopped there,
that night, mid-sentence, never saying another word. Instead he dropped down to
his knees and rested his back against the wall beside the TV. He stretched his
legs out and hung his head. She didn’t say a word, as mysterious as ever to
him, that she never said a thing after that. Instead she sat beside him, put
her hand on his nick and rubbed the tense area where the skull and spine met.
She never left his side, she never let him fall too low.
The cold
is finally enough for him to handle. He wraps his arms under his pits and walks
back through the automated doors. The light is like refreshment, a sudden shock
to the sense that the luminous inflicted. The hallway isn’t as busy as he works
his way back to her. Only stopping to by a drink from the vending machine.
He
returns to the room and sees her slumbering comfortably. He sits back in the
chair beside her bed. He lies back and stares at her body lightly lifting with
each breath. Her hair has now too become the same silver and grayed strands he
carries. Even now he loves her more and more with each moment since he first
saw her. A swelling in his chest makes him feel light again. Something only she
seems to afflict in him. His trance intensifies when his phone buzzes on the
nightstand. He sees the caller ID read: “Tyler”.
The
afternoon had been a long one for both Anthony and her. Many hours surrounded
by doctors and now they were finally alone. Now with their son, after so much
time he thought. Lying on the bed she held their child in her arms and he could
do nothing but stare at the scene before him. The sun setting in the distance
shone its last lights through the cracks in the blinds. Reflecting orange
warmth in her eyes. He lost himself in them then, like he always had. Drowned
in a sea of colors afloat by her arms.
“Have any
name ideas yet?” She laughed.
“I
haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Well we
should give him a strong name. He’ll benefit from it.”
“How do
you figure?”
“That way
he won’t have a silly nickname in school.”
“A SILLY
nickname? You can make any name sound silly!” He smiled at her. Poking fun at
her even then. She just looked at him with a look that said it all: ‘Oh don’t
you start!’
“Well
what do YOU have in mind?”
“How
about after my grandfather?”
“Joseph?
C’mon now, how many Josephs are out their anyway?”
“I like
it.”
“Well you
like week old pizza, so I pick the name.”
“Fair
enough… “They both laughed loud enough to hush at the sound of a stirring babe.
“I say…
Tyler.”
“Where
did you get that one?”
“From my
favorite movie: Fight Club.” Anthony couldn’t believe how serious she was.
“This way you get your boring name and I get a kick ass movie reference.”
“Tyler
Joseph then?” He proposed.
“I like
it.”
“Hello?”
He answers to his son’s call. They have arrived at the hotel and are fully
checked in. His sister has also gotten a room so that they are in close
contact. Carpooling is an option for tomorrow. It isn’t too far from the
hospital and the grandkids can enjoy an indoor pool to tide them during the
trip.
“That’s
good. Well she’s asleep still but if she wakes tonight, I’ll let her know you
all got settled.” The grandkids haven’t seen her yet. There is always tomorrow.
“I love
you too, son. Give the kids some hugs.” He assures them they will all enjoy
some of the subpar hospital food in the morning and wishes them a goodnight.
After
hanging up he returns to his warmed seat beside her. She is still breathing
steadily. He hopes it is a good dream she is venturing through. He tilts his
head back and closes his eyes. He thinks of the song they dance to some time
ago. The melody is slowly rocking him to sleep. He feels his heart move along
to the beat and his soul flies alongside it. He is alongside her in body and
spirit, dancing to Sinatra and Coldplay. She is smiling he is in his own form
of heaven. His dream is interrupted by a familiar voice and a poking on his
cheek.
“Sleeping
on the job again?” He opens his eyes to see her awake, looking out to him with
warm eyes.
“Only for
a minute. Gotta get my beauty sleep, looking this good takes work even in the
dreamscape.”
“For
shame!” She laughs at him, poking fun at him like she always does.
“How are
you feeling?”
“Like
that night in Jersey.”
“That
bad, eh? He smiles, feeling each wrinkle scrunching.
“At least
I won’t have any bruises all over my legs from tripping on the dance floor,
like that night.”
“Or me
passing out on the couch.”
“Well,
see that is more of you sleeping on the job!”
“You got
me.” He smiles at her. She returns it in full.
The next
day comes and with it, nothing good. She is gone now. In the middle of the
night she went off in a dream. Only this time it was without him. No longer the
light movement of her being as she breathed. He sits there and stares at the
empty bed where she lay, no more than a night ago. The nurse comes in and asks
if he would like to see any of the family. Just the son and daughter will do.
They
enter, a man standing tall with dark brown hair, and a woman tall and thin like
her mother, with the same red hair but his blue eyes. They come to him with tears
in their eyes and sit beside their father, hand in hand to mourn together.
The
funeral is short and sweet, like how she would have wanted. Living life was an
important matter to her. “Don’t become hung up on the trials that life would
throw at you,” she would say. They all sit there beside the small, engraved
plaque on the ground as she is buried in her urn. The sun is out. To him it is
as though he knew that she is better off now. No anger this time, no resorting
to crumbling, and no more wanting it all to end.
When he
returns to their home, it is not the same space. Something is lacking. He walks
into the middle of the living room. He turns about and looks at every single
corner. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s enough of a lack to make him tear.
This
night he is lying on the left side of the bed. The sheets are still tucked in
on the right. This leaves him with little blankets to cover with, but he does
not make a move to un-tuck them.
The next
day he goes over all the things in his home, more and more he counts what
belonged to her. It seems as though everything here has some sort of tie back
to her, in every little way. He stands there again; amongst the home they had
built together, observing every little bit of a mural to her. ‘Where do I go
now?’ he wonders. ‘What do I do?’ he then sits on the velvet of the couch he
always hated.
One year
is passed and he is facing a new dilemma. Where did he put the oatmeal? The
grandkids are here and breakfast cannot wait any longer. Hungry mouths need to
be fed! They only get to visit every now and then.
When they
leave to return home, he closes the door behind him and faces again the house
that has changed so much to him, but little in its actual appearance. The couch
that he always hated is now gone and replaced with a new one. It is the only
thing he could think of to rid of after her passing. Despite it being hers, he
makes one sole attempt to move on. All her little cookie jars in every shape or
character you can think of still in line up along the walls on the shelves he
built. The creepy stuffed monkey doll she bought at the store when Tyler was
born still sits in the rocking chair that belonged to his great grandmother.
Their bedroom still remains the same color of lily purple, the windows still
draped in large curtains. Their wedding photos still along the mantle. All of
these things have stayed the same, but the couch is gone. He doesn’t know
entirely why only it has left along with her, but he knows it may be best that
one thing changes only.
That
night he goes to bed and still sleeps only on the left side, a pillow to fill
the empty space beside him. It is no substitute he still thinks. He tears up
only a little, but smiles to still be able to catch her scent in the sheets.
Light it may be but the strongest sense that is tied to memory is scent, and
this is a memory worth every ounce. He holds the pillow close to him and drifts
to sleep.
There he
thinks of the life they shared and can feel it make him restless. His mind
drifts to the good she left behind, the son and daughter that went on to start
their families. A family that will still go on after they have. He feels the
weight lift and mumbles in his sleep her name. How silly he thinks: A boy
sitting on a stinking subway train looking for the girl who stole his sight.
His dream continues on, even after a voice calls out to him.
“Is this
seat taken?”
