I
Her face, barely lit by the sun shining through the window, lay peacefully on the thin sheets. She opened her eyes, looking at the sun, they soon shifted to the rays that were shining through the window. She could see the specs of dust in the air, the way they were illuminated by the light, like floating pieces of silver. She closed her eyes. His face appeared, she sighed in desire.
She rose from the bed uncomfortable. Avoiding hitting her head on the bunk above her, she walked to the small bathroom attached to the room. Turning the faucet on, she placed her hands under the water and let it refine the dry patches on her palms. Gently scooping some water up in her hands, she delicately wet her face, smiling as the water ran down her forehead, shaping the curve in-between the eye and the bridge of her nose. What a pleasant feeling she thought. It continued down her cheek and dripped off the bottom of her chin. Shaking her hands off in the sink, she looked down, watching the small diamonds of water fly off her hands and stick to the porcelain like drops of dew. Then she proceeded to look up one last time before heading back to the coarse bed waiting for her in the room.
In the mirror she saw him. He looked back at her, almost as shocked as she was to see him. His blue eyes stopped her dead in her tracks, slicing through her mind like a razor. She was dumfounded. His hair was messy just like she had remembered. He had shaven recently; small stubble was visible in the light, not enough to be noticed by the color, but only from the reflection of the light that danced on his skin. She could only imagine what it must feel like, perhaps like soft peach fuzz, or maybe it was rough like sand paper. She reached her hand to trace her fingertips down his jaw, shaking as it made its way to the mirror; she gave one last effort to touch him. Her fingertip collided with glass where she pointed at her own reflection.
Beep, beep, beep! Beep, beep, beep! The small black box buzzed with a loud, unpleasant sound, bringing her back to reality. She reached for the pager in a rush, awkwardly attaching it to the elastic of her light blue scrubs as she hurried out of the bathroom, back into the small room, and out the door. The hallway smelled of death – cold and vacant – and was it easy to navigate through. The elevator was located at the end; stainless steel doors in which she could see herself running towards it. The small black box beeped again and she began to run faster. Reaching the end of the hallway, she hit the elevator button frantically, glancing down at her watch – the links were worn and tarnished; however they had some kind of magical shine when the light hit them.
The elevator reached the floor and the doors opened welcomingly. She stepped in determined; she had to get to her patient. Looking at the panel to the left, she jogged her memory; the patient was on floor three. The doors shut, locking her in. She had positioned herself to the right – two feet in, two feet away from the door, and at least four feet from the back. An electrifying chill ran up her back as she felt a hand brush against hers. Fingertips traced the back of her thigh, up her hips, where two hands seemed to rest firmly. Lips kissed the back of her neck, moving to the side, then up her check and to her ear. He whispered, “Turn around.”
She turned around. He stood there. She could feel him. He was real. She reached for his face. Her hands steady this time, made their way down his jaw to his chin pulling him closer to her face. She kissed him. It was a familiar taste, one she hadn’t had in a while. It was addicting, almost like chocolate. His hands made their way up her waist gently sliding off her shirt, revealing her neck, then gradually exposing the rest of her body. He followed the silhouette of her naked stomach, pursuing each goose-bump as it rose from the coolness of his fingertip. She ran her fingers through his hair; it was soft, plush almost. There was a sudden breeze of warmth. The cool touch of his fingertips faded, and the texture of his hair disappeared from her hands. She opened her eyes. She was alone. The elevator dinged. She scrambled to pick her shirt up from the floor, hustling to get it on before the doors opened completely.
II
The rain seeped through her shoes, creating an uncomfortable feeling between her toes. She knew better to wear flats in the rain, especially cheap ones. She could feel the water squish with every step she took, pruning the soles of her feet, but that wasn’t life threatening, she’d be fine when she would get home and dry her feet by the fire.
“Where the hell is a taxi?” She said under her breath. A voice behind her replied shyly, “I was just asking the same thing.” Startled she turned around. A man stood under the awning the building she had just walked past, of course she was too busy to notice thinking about her prune feet. He was tall, maybe six and a half feet. His brown hair was wet from the rain. He lacked an umbrella; she reasoned that was why he stood under the awning. She didn’t know how to respond, lucky for her she didn’t need to.
She could see in the distance a taxi making its way through pouring rain. She glanced back at the man who now was preoccupied by his phone. She muttered for the taxi and it pulled up. She looked back under the awning for the man, but he wasn’t there. She reached the handle, barely pulling it open as her fingers slipped from under it. Shaking off the umbrella, she climbed in. She reached for the door again, but was stopped when the man bent down and peered into the cab, “Mind if we… share…”Her dream was interrupted by a tickling sensation on her cheek. Smooth, soft skin trailed down across her collarbone – a flat tundra waiting to be discovered.
He tugged on her hair lightly, wrapping it around his finger as if it were a curling iron. He reached for another strand as she slept. Looking down at her, he was astonished; the way her eyes fluttered under their lids and the corners of her mouth seemed to naturally curl up, as if she were smiling at him. It was effortless to love her he thought, the way she fit in his arms just right, her head resting on his chest – he wondered if she could hear his heart beat as she slept, perhaps that’s why she slept so comfortably, or at least that was what he liked to think. She slowly drifted out of her slumber, gradually lifting her head from his chest. There was nothing she could want more than to be with him. Not even the rush, the thrill of the OR could beat this. He whispered to her, “I love you.”
The small black box buzzed on the nightstand as they lied intertwined with one another. He asked her to stay, but she knew she couldn’t; she had taken an oath and she had to live by it. He knew how she felt, he knew she wanted to stay, he knew she didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t help to get angered. As she scrambled to dress herself, he admired her from a far. Watching each movement, mesmerized by her presence, even as she was leaving him, he loved her more than the world. As she reached for the door, he reminded her not to be late for dinner.
III
There was no time to collect herself. She could hear the nurses down the hall. Sprinting to the room a nurse greeted her, “Where the hell have you been?” She was dumbfounded. What had happened? She was sleeping. Then she was in the bathroom staring at herself in the mirror. Then she was running down a hallway to find her patient coding? It didn’t add up to her, but she couldn’t explain it. She yelled back at the nurse, “I need some atropine!” The nurse, annoyed, scurried to the crash cart, filing through the vials of medications, filled the syringe with the dose, and handed it to her. She grabbed the syringe, pulled the IV closer to herself, and found the feed for the syringe. Injecting the medication, the monitor showed no change. “I need the paddles,” she said, now in desperation. She climbed on the gurney and started compressions.
She pushed hard on his ribs feeling the blood soak through his bandages as he started to bleed out. “How long has he been coding?” A nurse murmured quietly, “Since the first time I paged you.” God only knew how long that was. She started to remember small details from her whereabouts. “How long has he been coding?” she demanded. “Twenty minutes, it’s been twenty minutes,” an intern spoke up. By now, the others in the room stood and watched as she frantically tried to save his life. “Come on now, he’s dead. He’s been dead for twenty minutes.” She couldn’t give up, she was going to win this time, “No dammit, get me some blood. Let’s push some more atropine. I need those paddles.” The room fell silent aside for the monitor which held a steady, piercing flat-line.
Another doctor ran in after hearing the commotion, “You know he’s gone,” running to the bed side and pulling her off the gurney, “He’s gone! There’s nothing you can do. He’s dead! Let him go!” She fought back, now hysterical, “Let me go, he’s not gone yet, we can save him.” The doctor refused to seize his grip, “Time of death 10:22.”
Finally, she broke free, but instead of running, she stood there. Looking around the room, the faces pitied her. Tears glistening in her eyes, there was a feeling of emptiness that followed, some kind of gaping hole in her chest. She breathed in deep. The nostalgia set in, the ache down to the bone, the pain flowing through her veins leading straight to her heart as all the pain and anger poured out in the tears that cascaded like black waterfalls under her eyes.
IV
She hurried, changing from her scrubs, catching her nail on the elastic, “Dammit!” She was late. So fucking late. What could she do? She couldn’t say no to surgery, it’s someone’s life at risk. Her mind trailed for a second, maybe it wasn’t just someone’s life. Maybe it was the rush, the thrill, the chase of finding the clot, the tear, the break. Why could she fix everyone? Remove the clot, stitch the tear, set the break. Why couldn’t she fix herself? She redirected her thoughts, “Late, going to be late.”
She grabbed his arm; begged him to stay. She didn’t mean for this to happen, it was just dinner, it happened all the time, he knew it was normal, there was always someone to save. “You know I didn’t mean it,” she spoke softly through her sobs, “You know that.” He was unpleased. “I know you didn’t mean, I just can’t do this anymore. Please let go of me,” annoyed by her persistence for him to stay. She let go, “Fine, leave. Dammit, leave. Get out, get the hell out,” she beat on his chest with her fists. “You stupid bastard. I can’t believe you.” He looked down, appalled by what this had come to. Her eyes were blackened, her make- up smudged and running down her face, he pulled her hands of his chest, and looked her in the eyes.
There was a small moment, a glimpse of a second where everything stopped and there was nothing; there was nothing between them. They were merely strangers standing face to face, confused and angered be one another. Silence. He let go of her hands and left her standing in the room alone as he grabbed his keys and jacket and left. There was no apology or hope for a recovery from this blow. Slicing through the thought of her lover was a sound in which she could neither ignore nor recognize, a sharp, distant, silence of a surgeon’s scalpel, split the air; it left the room to bleed (2).
She collapsed to the floor. She clutched her chest, the pain was a venom, devouring her – grasping the air from her lungs, she could not breathe. It paralyzed her, lying on the floor, gasping for air between the convulsions of hurt. There was nothing she could do. He was gone. Shot dead right there in front of her; murdered by another version of himself. He was gone; never coming back.
V
The midsummer rain was colder than usual, maybe fifty degrees; it ran off the tip of her umbrella as she walked, amused by drops that pooled at the seam in front of her face. Beyond one of the streetlights, a pair of headlights curved into sight; the street ran straight along the buildings for a few blocks, then, curving, was lost from view (1). As the lights neared, she could make out the color of the vehicle; a yellow taxi.
She smiled in irony, looking back at the building behind her. This was the blooming of the end for her, the blossoming of a rose with too many thorns to fully recover from without scars. The stone, worn from the wear and tear of years in the past, glistened as the headlights hit them. She turned back to street, it was too late; the cab was out of sight, aside from the red lights which were barely visible through the wall of rain. She stood alone in the rain, a cold, angry nostalgia filling her veins. The umbrella fell from her hand, falling to pavement. The rain streamed down her body, washing the exhaustion and pain of the day away. She began to walk. At first she wasn’t sure where to go. Perhaps, she should just go back to the hospital, sleep in the on-call room another night, but a sudden assurance came across her, replenishing her shattered body.
Her hands trembled, searching for the key as the rain dripped from her chin onto her hands. After what seemed like hours of the keys slipping from her reach, she was able to unlock her door, making her way to the bathroom. Her clothes stuck to her body tightly, constricting her movement as she tried to peel them off layer by layer; each layer exposing another part of herself. She was vulnerable to the world, but she did not care. She stepped into the tub, easing her way in, until her back met the cold porcelain, raising goose-bumps across her body. She reach for the faucet, letting the water pour in. She closed her eyes, feeling along the bottom of the tub, coming across the chain, she counted the links until the plug. She carefully fit the plug into the drain, allowing the water to rise.
It began to rise quickly, first coving her thighs, then her stomach – she watched as it filled her belly button like a small ravine. As it rose, she became encased in a blanket of warmth, yet as the cold faded, the warmth surrounding her did not replace it. Allowing the water to rise until it rested on her collarbones, she slid down. Holding her breath, she let the water into the small, young wrinkles of her face and into her ears. She was enchanted by the way the water played with her hair; it was almost a separate piece of her, lifted by the water as it danced on the surface. She opened her eyes. She loved the way things looked from under the surface, the light bounding through, the waves bending the image of her ceiling. She continued to stare up, tracing each crack of the ceiling with her eyes, then listened to the roar of the water as it streamed in. Her knees were propped up, only the tops protruding from the water; like icebergs melting in a sea of warmth.
Her lungs began to beg for oxygen, screaming to break the surface. She reached for the faucet, pushing the water off, she pulled herself up. This was it, this was the end. Inhaling deeply, she plunged gently into the abyss that awaited her. For a moment she held her breath one last time. She knew what she was doing, within minutes she would be dead, just a stoic body floating in the mess she had created. Opening her eyes, she looked at the ceiling and took a breath. The water burned as it poured into her lungs, but this was a fire that could not be tamed. It was a flood of a pulsating fire, unnerving her to a chilling numbness (3). She took another breath, choking as it filled her nose. “Minutes”, she thought, “maybe only seconds.”
Looking up she struggled to trace the cracks on the ceiling. Black began to seep through, creating a silhouette; it was him, the shadow of the past lurking above her. She could feel the warmth of his presence fill the numbness that had taken over her body. His face began to become clearer. “Wait,” she pleaded, “I want to stay, please I want to stay. I’ll be good enough for you this time.” The black began to spread around him, spreading to the corners of her sight, hiding any trace of radiance that he emitted. Soon, the black masked even his face from her view, until there was only black, black and the humming of the pipes.
Author's Note - This was a creative piece based of the idea of defense mechanisms and their role in our lives. I chose to write about a surgeon who tries to fix her denial through projection, being her job which is to fix those who are broken, which the reader hopefully picked up. I also had to include three mimic lines from "An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge," by Ambrose Bierce, which are below and also labeled by (the number her).
Mimic Lines
1. Beyond one the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railraod ran straight away into a forest for a hundred year, the, curving, was lost to view.
2. Striking through the thought of his dear ones was a sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, s sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stoke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing.
3. They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him to an intolerable temperature.
