Just Keep Swimming - Prologue

I am conscious of how empty and hollow my heels sound on the linoleum, echoing loudly as I make my way down the hospital corridor toward your room. I am aware of everything around me, the antiseptic smell, the bustling nurses, the dinging elevator doors and my own increasing anxiety as I round the corner and scan the plagues for one that reads 216. Its the last one on the left and I can tell from the outside, that it is dark. I soundlessly ease the door open.

You are sleeping. It is a small mercy. I can pity you for a few luxurious moments without concern for your feelings. I can roll my eyes over your yellow, bloated body. I can be free to feel it all, the shame, pity, anger, resentment and the resilient compassion that I have always seemed to harbor for you.

Suddenly I am interrupted by the nurse. She asks me politely if I would order your dinner for you. You have been asleep since she took you on. The request flusters me. It has been so long since I concerned myself with such duties. I know I must seem a nervous mess as I paw through the paper menu, suddenly clueless about what things you liked to eat. Has it been that long since I shopped for your meals?

"I don't know what kind of diet he's been on." I say lamely, as a way of explanation.

The nurse stares back at me, waiting, a sympathetic smile on her face. I decide on some chicken dish with a diet coke. A healthy choice, I think sardonically. The nurse bustles out and we are alone again.

I sink into the oak rocking chair by your bedside and debate about waking you. Is it better for you that you know I came? Is it better for me? I think about writing a note but after a few seconds of searching in vain for both an instrument and scrap of paper, I give up. Instead, I set the chair quiety rocking and watch you. Your life has been such a strange and sad journey. As I sit here rocking away in the dark next to you, I feel every bit as old and tired as I should, having come all this long, long way with you. I stretch my hand out into the void between us, not yet ready to touch you but desparate with the want of it. In the bed, you groan and shift your body. You come awake and know it is me there beside you in the dark.

"You came." You say, in a voice that is a tormented whisper.

"Of course, Grasshoper." I say, finding your outstretched hand and covering it with my own.