Two Lucky

The clock tells me it’s half past one. I’ve been waiting for the minute hand to fall. Six months ago, he died as I sat next to him, unable to help. He was dying, and then he was dead. I was holding his hands when he died. Only his hands weren’t his anymore.

I tried to wake him. I shook his shoulders. I kissed his lips. As if by sheer force of touch I would bring him back. Just like in the movies, except this was no movie. I had been waiting for him to die. The doctor on the floor had already gone home. As instinctively as I had begun, I stopped. It’s happened. Rusty was no longer in this body. There was no coming back. This body was now suddenly, irrevocably empty.

Last night, I had a dream. He was on a raised platform, lying awake in an open coffin, pale, white, smiling. A narrow path led from the steps to some faraway place. The scene was filmed with a soft-focus lens. Or was it the weather? It felt neither warm, nor cold. It felt far away. I was on this path, which led to him. Many people were there with me, except they were all walking away from him, while I alone approached forward. By the time I reached the platform, I had begun to cry. I climbed up the few steps. I saw his face. Childishly, I wondered why the dead were allowed to smile. I didn’t understand why he was… happy. I wanted him to be angry.

Standing over him, I felt his hand reach up to hold my cheek. It was his hand, the same fingers that caught my breath. Like so, we stayed for what seemed like several minutes.

I became angry. I wanted him to stop smiling. You should be dead, I cry out. I wanted him dead. I pulled off his hand and looked away. I started to walk, but tripped on the steps and fell to the ground. The people who had been walking away turned and stood watching me. I buried my face in my hands, shamed. I couldn’t stand up. I didn’t know where to go. I was nowhere, in between worlds, confused as to which way was forward, or backward.

The force of my emotion woke me from the dream. I was still crying, but I wasn’t sad, or angry, like I was in the dream. My body felt full, tired. My left cheek was wet, as was my pillow. I fumbled in the dark for my cell phone. I wanted to see how long I had slept, but before the thought reached my hands, I fell asleep again.

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 4th, 2007 at 2:46 am and is filed under New York. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.