I have a chronic illness. I've tried to write a story about it for a long time. And for a long time it was impossible. I was too bitter, too exhausted, too raw on the subject to approach it honestly.
This is my expression, as true as I can make it, of what it's like.
~~~
Suspension
Rebekah ate
her cereal in silence, a small bowl sweating droplets onto her hand as she ate
slow mouthfuls of whole grain oats and corn starch. She put it on the counter half-finished.
Another
bowl from the cabinet. His favorite
brand of cereal, a half cup of milk. She
put a couple slices of toast in the toaster.
A spoon placed gently on a napkin folded in the shape of a heart. No smile this morning.
It was the
eighteenth she had made.
*
The room
was bright and clean, her side of the bed smoothed down, his side barely
disturbed. She sat next to him, and
kissed his cheek.
“Good
morning, Isaac. Time for some
breakfast.”
He was a
large man. She pulled him onto his back,
leaning his weight over the edge and onto her stomach. Her face turned red as she tried to sit him
up, his head slack on its neck. Isaac’s
torso leaned over the side, and his body tumbled against her. She fell back with a surprised shout, and he
crashed down, striking his face against the night table and then the floor.
“Isaac! Oh my god, Isaac!”
His eyes
stuttered open and he groaned as blood pooled around his nose and mouth.
*
“Kleine-Levin?”
the paramedic stared at her blankly.
“Yes,” she
swung her coat over her shoulders, and grabbed her purse, “A form of hypersomnia
without any real treatment.” She looked
back at the bedroom door and her hands trembled, “A broken nose?”
“That’s
right, ma’am. We’d like to admit him for
observation, run a few tests to rule out any other form of trauma to the head.”
“Oh. Um.
Okay. I guess that’s for the
best. You’ll take him in the ambulance?”
“We can
keep him more stable. Make sure he
doesn’t hit his head again,” the paramedic smiled at his wit.
Rebekah
turned pale and nodded. “I’ll pick him
up after work then. Lock the door behind
you, please.”
“Ma’am?”
She left
quickly, putting a door between herself and his protests. His humor.
She got in the car and made it to the end of the block before her first
sob.
*
Bared teeth
in the elevator. A knowing grin, strong
cologne, leaning close enough for the smell to linger.
“Rebekah! You look amazing. Isaac still sleeping on the job?” He laughed then winked. To show he was joking. He sobered when she didn’t respond. “Rough morning, huh?”
She
nodded. And watched him nod, too. Because he understood.
“It’s an
awful situation. For all of us.”
He hugged her. Too tightly.
Too long. He pulled away but left
a hand on her shoulder, “It’ll be better soon.”
A digital bell rung and he left,
leaving his cologne to pollute the elevator.
Rebekah felt herself shaking and leaned against the side. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The wall smelled of dust and the metal
beneath it. A motor hummed somewhere
above or around her, winding her upwards.
Alone. A soft hum and air too thick with a man’s
perfume. For all of us. Her breath
caught once before she forced her heart to slow. Soon. Everything happened ‘soon’. A hug that she needed. That she had wished lasted longer.
She hated herself. That her only comfort came from a would-be
Casanova.
Another muted ding and she stepped
onto her floor.
The hall smelled like carpet and
coffee. Fluorescent lights, clean white
walls, and cheap oil paintings picked for looking more expensive than they
were. Her heels tapped at the thin layer
of nylon covering the floor; a soft a cappella voice in a gallery of silence.
A glass door, set in aluminum:
Castella Sales and Contracting
“Good
morning, honey,” said Pam. The
receptionist. “Ben asked you to stop by
his office.”
Rebekah
swore softly, “Do I look alright?”
Pam looked
sympathetic, “Not too bad, sweetie. Stop
by the bathroom and clean yourself up.”
“Thanks.”
“Hang in
there, Bekah. I’ve got my whole church
praying for you and Isaac.”
A muttered
gratitude. God. A church-ful of prayer and her husband won a
broken nose.
*
“Rebekah. Please come in.”
Benjamin
Castella. Her boss. A serious man in his fifties. He had built the business, and she was one of
twenty employees.
“I’m sorry
I was late, it won’t happen again.”
He raised
an eyebrow, “If something happens at home you’ll be late,” he shrugged, “I need
to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh.”
Folded
hands and a careful breath, “You haven’t met your quota. Not even half.”
She held
her breath.
“I need you
to try to do better.”
“Better,
sir? How am I supposed to do better?
My husband is unconscious most of every day. I have to wake him up to feed him, to clean
him. I have to take him to the hospital
if something is wrong. I have to pay all
our bills on just my paycheck. I’m
trying so hard to get clients and make contacts, but – ˮ
“Rebekah.”
She pushed
a breath out and tried to keep herself from crying. “Sorry.”
“When you
first told me of your husband’s condition, what did I do?”
“You gave
me a raise, and I so appreciate – ˮ
“And a week
of paid vacation.”
“I know and
– ˮ
He raised a hand and she fell
silent, “Is your husband stable?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything more you can do
to improve his condition? Is there
anything you need?”
She clasped her hands tightly, “I
don’t think so.”
“If anything at all changes and you
need time off, let me know and I’ll arrange something for you. If you need more money, I might be able to
give you another raise, or maybe even a loan.”
“There’s no need.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he sighed,
“When you’re here, I need you to be here.
I don’t mind giving you extra time, but I can’t pay employees if they
can’t do their jobs.”
“Are you going to fire me?” She
whispered.
“No.” His voice was firm, “This
isn’t an ultimatum. This is a
reminder. You’re here to work.”
“I’m trying, sir.”
He fell silent. “My mother got cancer when I was eighteen. My father got angry, started some fights and
was fired. He left my mother alone with
the bills and three children. She
couldn’t work. So I did.”
Crying again. She kept her eyes on the floor. “How?”
“You leave it at the door. Focus on the moment, and tune everything else
out.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You’ll find you can. Most people do eventually. Big things or small, shit happens, and we
have to live with the mess.” He paused,
his eyes distant, then glanced at a folder on his desk, “I’m lowering your
quota by twenty-five percent. We’ll
reevaluate next month.” He met her eyes,
“Do you think you can do better?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good.”
*
She drove to the hospital after the
sun had set. A few new contacts, a
couple good sales. Ben would be
satisfied. Shit happens. Like
cancer. She didn’t turn on the radio,
didn’t roll the windows down. The air in
her car tasted stale, but she failed to notice.
Red lights, green lights, a few stop signs, and she saw none of
them. Slept walked wide awake until she
pulled into the parking garage.
A few signed forms and the smell of
disinfectant. His room was dimly lit,
and he was asleep. The nurse left them
alone, and she sat beside her husband and took his hand.
“I love you, Isaac.
“It was hard today.” Her eyes were wet again, “I don’t know how
much longer I can do this. I thought – ˮ
her breath caught, “I thought you
would be the strong one.
“I thought we’d always have each
other. That no matter what would happen
you’d be there for me. But you’re
not. It’s like you’re gone. Like you’re dead and I – ˮ
She sobbed, “I need you here. With me. I don’t want to watch you sleep anymore. I don’t want to come home anymore, I don’t
want to go out. It’s like everything I
loved about my life was suddenly arrested in motion, suspended in time while
the whole world keeps rushing on.
“I want you back.” She put her forehead on his hand, “Please
come back.”
He caressed her face. “I’m here, love.”
She looked up. His eyes were drowsy, but alert. “You’re awake.”
He was crying, “I’m so sorry.”
Rebekah climbed into bed with him,
and they held each other. “I’m so very
sorry I can’t be there all the time.” He
said again. And again.
“It’s all right,” she said.
But it
wasn’t.
*
