Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Startled awake. Wow. That was some dream. I go to roll over and find my glasses but I can't really move. In bringing my hands up to my face to wipe the groggy out of my eyes, find that I am WEARING my glasses, in bed. "What the?" Looking about, I see a dimly lit room, the glow of street lights outside illuminating the window's vertical blinds. There's also hallway light spilling through the tiny window in the door. In a hospital bed? Left leg in a sling? "Guess it wasn't a dream. F**k." There is motion at my side. A familiar head of soft wavy red hair raises from my bedside. When our eyes meet, she gives me that just noticeable emerald sparkle that makes my heart sigh with happiness. She loves me but can't divulge the secret behind those beautiful eyes. Bet she doesn't even know it happens. "Hi beautiful. Long day?" Her weariness disappears and turns to annoyance. "D****t Michael, you scared the hell out of me today. How can you be so cavalier?" Grabbing my hand, turning her head away and placing her warm cheek upon the back of it. Hiding her eyes from me in shame, not wanting me to see how hurt she is. It's that strict military upbringing, pain is weakness.

"I'm sorry." "I'm alive. I'll live." "Come over here and get in bed with me for..." The back of my hand gets hot as her face flushes with anger. Her head snapping back up, hair flipping up and over. Seething, "three months of dating and you choose this horrible moment to finally bring up sex?" I seethe back, "Cuddles!” Mindfully, knowing anger will not work on her willfulness, look at her with all the gentleness I have. Her tension is fading but the alarm on her watch goes off. As she silences the beeping, I can see the change in her. Back straightening as she stands, eyes going cold. All that is missing? A drill sergeant saying 'ten hut.' In a cool formal voice, "Time for my shift in the ER, I will check on you later." I can almost hear an 'about face, forward march' as she goes to leave the room. In opening the door, harsh fluorescent lighting makes me avert my eyes. I say after her, "I love you, have a good day at work darlin." Pausing briefly in the threshold, she is silent, before continuing on. The sound of heels on hard tile fills the emotional vacuum of the room. The door smoothly closes as she marches down the hallway. Again the sergeant echoes in my mind; ya left, ya left, ya left right left. She's a hard woman to love, but love her I do. With all my geeky, weird, flaky artist heart. 

Alone in the dark, that's not new. Suppose there's nothing to do but go back to sleep.

The past always finds me, recently it seems to haunt me. I'm back on that patch of moss where everything changed. "Bonded. Integrated. Void is inside you. Part of you." What does that mean, inside me? "Void is smaller than when you saw Void before. Void has found the place inside your brain where you can hear me. That is where Void exists."  So, what do you want from me? "To understand you, your people, your world." Why me? "You were suffering and Void does not allow suffering." How are you going to end my suffering? "First, you will never be alone again. Loneliness is suffering. Second, Void will make you stronger, powerful, successful."

Bright light fills the room and I am rudely awakened. What now? "Rise and shine. You have visitors eager to see you," Ugh, no. It's too early in the day for chipper, "c'mon Nurse Chapel, let me sleep in, I'm tired. And I'm not talking to reporters." Hovering over me, blocking out some of the brightness, "Goodness no. Reporters are off limits, these are your students. Besides, it's nearly noon. And I'm not Nurse Chapel, My..." Interrupting her with an annoyed look, "would you prefer Nurse Ratched?" Giving me a look of disapproval as she lowers the side-rails at the foot end of the bed, "you wouldn't." "I would.”

As she removes my leg from the night sling to gently place it on the overstuffed day pillow, I prepare myself for dealing with people. A few quick slaps to the face trying to chase away the sleepiness and running my fingers through disheveled hair. Bringing the bed to a more upright position, "fine, release the horde."

It's all my students from the bus. They are cheerful; some with balloons, some with flowers or other tokens of appreciation. A couple of nice crystals and a mineral sample. A piece of bornite, otherwise known as peacock ore. A golf ball-sized piece, chemically treated to bring out the beautiful iridescence of gold, purples and blues. It's gratifying to see my geology students thinking about the beauty of the natural world. One brought me a BLT and onion rings from the diner across the street, my go-to lunch. How thoughtful. Lots of positivity in the room, I am blessed to know these young adults. But I feel a strange presence disrupting the energy of the gathering. After several minutes, the crowd around my bed lessens and parts. I see Becky standing in the back of the room, leaning against the wall next to the open doorway. Our eye contact seems to free her from the limbo of social distancing and she steps forward.

Becky stays in the back of the group though, only speaking when spoken too. Somber and not really engaging anyone, except to blankly stare at me. That same stare from the bus, except her beautiful curly black hair is dry. The entire visit with my students is happy small talk, but I can feel the weight she carries. She is the embodiment of the elephant in the room. My cheerful students continue to gradually leave in ones and twos. Until finally, she and I are alone.

Trying to make her feel more at ease, so she doesn't feel pressured by my gaze, I open my takeout carton to eat the BLT. Patting the side of the bed, “come sit with me Becky, looks like you have something on your mind.” Taking a step forward but stopping. “It's okay my dear, if I had any interest in hurting you, you wouldn't be here. But I think you know that.” And I take a bite of the perfectly prepared BLT, thank you Stan and Simone from the diner. In quick little steps, she hurriedly sits down beside me. An even more hurried whisper, “I know what you did.”

Enjoying the crisp salty bacon, savory tomato and crunchy lettuce, my palette is satisfied. A sip from my take-out cup of Sprite and fruit-punch to wash it down, I glance at Becky, the poor girl is trembling. “what exactly was it that I did?” She can't look me in the eye anymore, staring into her lap, wringing her hands. Another sip, “speak your truth Becky, it is okay for you to know what you know.” Head still down, “you made the bus come out of the water.” Putting down the cup, placing my hand upon hers, still wrought with emotion. She flinches and refuses to look me in the eye. “Anything else that you know? Say it out loud. Keeping it inside is causing you distress. I can't allow that to continue.” The wringing stops and she grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly, chin against her chest. Poor girl is scared out of her wits. “You..................you spoke to me in my mind. I was dead and you spoke to me, told me to wake up............... and I did.” She's still pretty clenched onto my hand so I use my other to gently bring her chin up to meet my gaze. “Technically, you weren't dead, you still had a heartbeat. I wanted to keep it that way and...”

The distress in her eyes fades but we are interrupted by knocking at the door. Trish stands in the doorway, "heard you had visitors." Becky is upset again. Jumping up from the bed, knocking over my cup and bumping into balloons. The pleasant expression on Trish's face turns to concern, “What's going on here?” Becky blurts out, "nothing!" I interject, "Trish, this is Becky, one of my students. Becky, this is my girlfriend…" Becky stammers, "D d d doc t t tor T t t tan n n ner." Running up to the doorway, gathers her bag and flees the room in a panic, Trish moving out of her way to avoid being run into.

Trish watches her rush down the hallway to the elevators. Turning back to me with a furrowed brow, "what was that all about?" I'm focused on the drink spilled in the commotion. Luckily, or maybe not so, most went into the takeout carton to ruin the crunchiness of the onion rings I hadn't eaten yet, "She's having a hard time dealing with what happened on the bus." I look up to see a confused Trish bringing me some towels, "I don't know, that seemed more about me than anything else." Considering this while dealing with the liquid on my table. I let out a sigh, hanging my head in frustration, "damn." Trish being the ever present doctor, "what's wrong? Is it your leg? Did she hit it?" Another sigh from me, looking up at her concern, "no. She might be in love with me, or at least thinks she is." My frustration intensifies, "d****t!"

She has that irritated look she gets when I'm emotional instead of logical, "I'll go catch up with her and talk…" She turns around to leave and I forcefully command, "Stop! You. Will. Not." Taken aback by my order, "you're not the boss of me." Narrowing her eyes, she's getting angry. Calmly but firmly, I reply, "She's an emotional person, like me. She is distraught, and ill prepared for your brusque nature, which will probably hurt her deeply. I cannot allow that. My student, my problem. Do NOT test me on this." Skipping angry, goes straight to furious, “just try and stop me.” I'm already in motion as she turns around, pivoting my legs off the bed. She is a few steps into the hallway, I must hurry. Trying to stand up on my good leg, okay. She's getting away, s**t. One step forward with my cast. Nope, not gonna happen. Making sure to collapse toward my good side and protect the leg. Thudding to the floor, I loudly yell out in 'pain,' as that is my only recourse in stopping her at this point.

In the bustle of the busy hospital floor, Trish manages to hear my shout and spins around. Seeing me writhing on the floor as I struggle to get to the wheelchair just a couple feet away from me. She runs back into the room and to my side with nurses hurrying in behind her. 

"Michael! What the hell were you thinking?! You might have re-broken your leg!" As they carefully pick me up off the floor to put me back on the bed, “I was thinking about preventing you from hurting my student.” She orders a nurse to get me down to radiology for new images of my leg, "I wasn't going to hurt her." As they start to wheel the bed out of the room, I grab her by the wrist. Looking her in the eye with all the resilience I can muster, "She's like me, a highly sensitive person, you just BEING IN THE ROOM, was hurting her. Talking to her, your aggression would have been just as painful as if you were physically assaulting her, do you understand?" Her teeth clenched, she inhales sharply through her nose in frustration. Forcefully removing my hand from her arm, "Yes." Glancing at the nurse, "Get him out of here." They wheel me out and down the hall to the elevators. The fury in her seemingly follows me the entire distance. When we turn to wait for the elevator, I look back. She's still standing there in my room with arms crossed, more angry than I've ever seen her. I don't break eye contact even though we’re so far apart. Wonder which she's more pissed about, Becky’s feelings for me, or hopping out of bed and possibly re-injuring. There's the ding and the doors open. Still looking at her as they wheel me inside, I feel emotionally cut off from her by the threshold. My dispirited reflection in the cold steel staring back at me.

She is infuriating but being disconnected from the woman I love makes the pain in my leg come to full realization. The sinking feeling of the elevator matching the feeling in my heart, I really know how to f**k up a good relationship.

It's a good thing it will take a bit to get to radiology. Void? "Yes." Please make my left leg the way it was before I fell down. "Yes." The pain intensifies for a moment as tissues and medical implants realign slightly. Another ding, bringing about a shift of focus. If only I could heal the pain in my heart from this ordeal as easily as that. Can I set aside the discord with Trish to make room for getting Becky through her distress? 

By the time they see that my new imaging looks good and get me back to my room, daylight has dimmed and the evening meal is waiting for me. The balloons, flowers and gifts do nothing to change my gloom. 

One thing I must do before anything. Finding that my phone has a good charge, I write a brief thank you group email to my students for their visit. Send. Now, the hard part. An email to just Becky, letting her know that there is nothing wrong with her and that I would welcome another visit from her if she felt up to it. Send. Sigh.

I sit here in silent thought, forcing myself to eat something that otherwise probably wouldn't taste half bad. With the open door, every approaching sound of heels in the hallway fills me with the dread of confronting Trish. Yet, when I know that it's not her, I am disappointed. Love is a strange and curious endeavor.

When the nurse comes around, I ask for something to help me sleep at bedtime. I try to distract myself with some TV but it isn't working. Alternately obsessing about two women I care about. One, whom I love deeply, a powerful willful woman that is full of anger and hostility. The other, whom I have a duty to guide, a fragile teenager still trying to find herself. Both competing for my time and affection. Both worthy. Both unpredictable.

Eager for the relief of unconsciousness, I am glad when the night nurse finally brings the sleep aid. 

That patch of moss has returned to my dreams. Laying there trying to understand what has happened to me. Where are you from? "Void came into existence not long after what your people call The Big Bang." You're billions of years old? "Yes." Are there others like you? "Void has found no others." I am sorry. "Void is sorry too. Lonely." So, you bonded with…

"Michael! Wake up!" Someone has opened the blinds again. "Ugh, why can't you let me sleep?" "Michael, you've been asleep for over 12 hours." I try to roll over, away from her and the light, but of course I can't. "Leave me alone, Trish." "No, this much sleep is not good for you." She sits down on the bed with me and puts her hand on mine. I pull my hand away and refuse to look at her, "leave me alone." Her hand on my thigh now, "what's wrong, please talk to me." Removing her hand, finally looking at her, with anger, "I do NOT want to talk. GO. AWAY." Staring at me in surprise for several seconds as she searches my unchanging stern face. Her lips part, as if to say something but changes her mind. Purses her lips, and with a sharp inhale, stands. I close my eyes and turn away from her. There are slow footsteps to the door and she stops. I don't turn to see if she looks back. Waiting for her to protest but she just goes. Heels on the floor at a slow pace that I've never heard from her before. Nice going dickhead, you really hurt her this time. What the f**k is wrong with you? But I'm too tired to think about it, so I go back to sleep.

Turning from the onlookers, Becky watches me drop my hand as we go lower and lower, touching the pavement with a groan of metal. I open my eyes to see her wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare. Not wasting any time, I give her orders, “Help me get to the front of the bus.” Just staring at me, I find a pencil on the floor and chuck it at her. She makes no attempt to dodge or deflect and it lands in her drenched, curly, dark hair.

Waking from my nap, "Ugh." There's the rustle of paper beside me, lifting my head up to find Becky sitting there, busy with a sketchpad and pencil. "Hi, glad you came by." Fumbling with the bed controls, tilting the head up to look at her more comfortably. Pressing the call button and wiping weariness from my eyes, "you seem in better spirits than yesterday and I'm glad." Glancing up from her drawing, "were you dreaming about me?" I'm puzzled, "what makes you say that?" Eyes back to her pad, "you were talking in your sleep. Asked me to get you to the front of the bus, exactly how you said it before."

The nurse comes in, "what can I do for you Mr. Smith?" "Would you please close the door and do what you can to see that we aren't disturbed?" "Of course Mr. Smith." "Thank you."

Taking a long inhale through my nose as the door comes to a close, "yes, I was dreaming about what happened between me and you on the bus." She stops sketching and nervously fidgets with the pencil, "why did you save me?" Searching my soul for the right words to silence her demons, "I'm thinking you don't feel this way about yourself, but you have a beautiful soul. Someone worthy of living a full and long life." She blushes and hastily puts pencil to paper again, not daring to look up. Trying to ease her discomfort, as a distraction from my eyes upon her, I pick up my phone to check for messages. Nothing important, a few email replies from some of the other students. Waiting until her hand becomes less frantic and more casual, I ask, "may I see your sketch of me sleeping?" Again with the blushing and frantic sketching, “how do you know I was sketching you?” “Simple deduction, I heard you flip the page as soon as I was conscious. Felt like you might be guilty or at least self-conscious about the intimacy of sketching me in my vulnerable state. Please?” She’s embarrassed now, face turning red, blurting out "but it's not finished." I maintain a calm composure, "may I? Please?" Still sketching but my words cause her to break off the tip of the pencil. She looks around the room in frustration, unsure what to do.

I reach out with my hand and ask again, "please? I'm sure I'll like it." Rapidly glancing from me to the sketchpad several times, trying to decide. After several seconds, flipping the pad back one page and tossing it onto the bed next to me. Then, stands to pace back and forth at the foot of my bed. I pick up the pad and she starts biting her nails as she paces. Trying to ignore her anxiety, I look down at her work. I am amazed. Not at just the detail, but in her ability in capturing the feeling of the moment. "I love it. You are a brilliant artist." In absorbing my words, she paces too far and trips over the wheelchair, landing on the floor with what sounds like a painful thud.

“Becky?” "I'm okay," she groans. "Are you sure? I can call for the nurse." "Yes." And she pops up into view, no sign of blood at least. "You really like it?" Marshaling my best Caterpillar, "indubitably." And she smiles for the first time that I recall since knowing this young woman.

I offer the pad back to her and she takes it with elation. Flipping to the page she had been working on, and after retrieving a fresh pencil from her bag, curls up in the chair to sketch anew with gusto. A glowing smile still on her face. I finally got to meet the true Becky. 

Letting her steep in the good feelings, I wait until she flips the page, "Becky, can I ask you a personal question?" Starting to sketch again, keeping her eyes on the page, "sure, I guess." "Do you maybe have romantic feelings for me?" Another broken pencil tip. The smile vanishes as she curls up tighter in the chair, trying to hide from me, putting the pad high up on her knees to block my view. In a calm and reassuring tone, "it's okay for YOU to have those feelings. I just want to be clear, I don't share your feelings, I can't. Yes, I care about you, but not like that." Still hiding and no response so I continue, "I get the feeling that you are a very emotional person, like myself, and I need you to know that I understand what you're going through." Nothing from her, silent and still. "Besides, there's a guy in your class with a huge crush on you."

Her feet drop to the floor and I'm glad to see a quizzical expression, "really? Who?" "I'll make a deal with you. If the sketch of me sleeping gets finished, then I'll tell you. But that means you need to relax and re-feel that moment, can you do that?" She pauses to consider this and gets another pencil, "yes, I can." I lower the head of my bed to about where it was before, closing my eyes and relaxing, "does this feel right to you?" "Perfect." I shift myself back to the moment of waking, “help me get to the front of the bus.” But my mind wanders to thoughts of that girl from school, the one Becky looks like. To what could have been if I'd had the courage to express myself back in 10th grade.

Someone sits on the bed with me and I am brought back to the here and now. Reaching for the bed controls, I hit the call button by mistake. Finding the right one, raising my head. Nearly eye to eye with Becky, and her smile reminds me again of that girl from my youth.

She gleefully offers me the sketchpad and I'm even more impressed with her skill. A knock on the door and a nurse is there, "yes Mr. Smith?" "I hit the call button by mistake, sorry for interrupting your work." "It's okay, not much going on out here." She goes and the door swings to close. I have inspiration, "Wait!" She returns, "yes." "Could you please leave the door open?" As she pushes it up against the wall, hesitantly I add, "Could I ask a favor?" With her hands on her hips, "maybe" "would you please check to see if Dr. Tanner is in the building…" "She was here a few minutes ago. I told her you didn't want to be disturbed so she left." Disappointed in myself for pushing her away, "good, please relay a message to her that I would very much like to see her." "I can do that, anything else?" "No, that's it. Thank you." As she returns to the nurses station, I see that there is indeed not much going on out there.

Admiring the sketch again for a couple minutes, in my peripheral vision Becky sits there fiddling with the pencil and looks a bit anxious. I get the sense that she doesn't know what to do with her hands when she isn't sketching. I flip the pad back to the page she was last working on and hand it back to her, "I want you to promise me something Becky." She immediately goes back to where she left off, and settles down, "What?" Trying not to watch and make her self conscious, "When you feel the need to express yourself to someone, don't hold back. You may not get a second chance. The regret of NOT doing is a terrible weight to carry, trust me on this." "I promise Mr. Smith…" Feeling her starting to emotionally shrink away again, "let it out Becky, it's okay." The sketching stops and she holds the pencil in both hands, the frustration building, looking like the pencil is about to get broken, "I." "I love you." Putting my hand on both of hers in an effort to calm her. I soothingly try to convey my thoughts, "I know. I'm sorry that I cannot return those feelings." A knock at the door, we both turn to see Trish standing there. She hastily pulls away from me but I manage to catch her by the elbow before she can stand. I can feel the flight response building in her, the terror at Trish's presence. "Becky, hold on, remember we had a deal about the sketch?" To Trish, "can you wait five minutes, please?" She doesn't look happy but nods and strolls back out to the nurses station.

Becky is fidgeting again and I'm maintaining calm for her sake, "two things." Releasing her arm and tapping the sketchpad, "first, please sign that and get it framed. I'd like to buy it from you." Wide-eyed, even bigger than her reaction on the bus, "really? I've never sold any of my artwork before." All I can do is smile at her, "Second, as per our deal, please contemplate why you love me. If it's because you feel that I saved your life, consider the fact that it was not a solo effort on my part." She seems puzzled by this. Trish, returning to the doorway, looking annoyed while sipping on a coffee. Motioning Becky closer, "there was another, giving you mouth to mouth," and with my index finger, I touch her lips to bolster the memory. She flinches at what I hope is remembrance, "Bill, I spit water in his mouth, why didn't I remember that?" "Because you were obsessing on only one part of the experience, blocking out the entirety." That happy glow returns to her, "Bill has a crush on me?" "He does, and I think you two are a good match." She blushes again but seems to be more thrilled than embarrassed. In her excitement, hugs me, scrunching the sketchpad between us, "thank you Mr. Smith."

Uncomfortable with Trish watching us, "hey now." Letting go and quickly backing away, sheepishly "sorry Mr. Smith." To deflect my discomfort, "it's okay, I was just worried about this valuable artwork," trying to smooth out the wrinkles and admiring it again. "Don't forget to have it framed for me. You can expect some cash once my oppressors let me out of here," handing it back to her. Luckily she kept her radiance, "I'm going to get that done right now." She gathers her belongings in a happy blur but I caution her, "may I make a suggestion?" Stopping her rush, "sure." "Do you have any of Bill's contact info?" The glow fades from her eyes, "no." Grabbing my phone, and finding his email address, present it to her, "here." Being the tactile artist, writes it down on the back of her pad. "While you're framing it, contemplate what to write to him. In my opinion, society's disdain about a woman making the first move is complete bullshit. Also, love, or the chance for love," glancing at Trish waiting with her coffee, "makes life worth living." "Thank you so much Mr. Smith." "You're welcome Becky." She turns to leave and finally meets Trish's scrutiny, but doesn't waver, "Dr. Tanner." I'm glad Trish doesn't appear adversarial, calmly replying, "Becky." And she hurries past her, still glowing with happiness.

Both of us watching as she seems to float down the hallway. Trish unlocks the door from its open position, "you were good with her, glad I got to see that." "Me too." As the door closes and she approaches, I'm reminded of the day we met...