Construction, Demolition

The whispered conversation in the waiting room, right outside the open door where I stand to file my paperwork.  She's worried about him, the nurse's won't let her back right now.

I walk back to my desk in the hall.  Thud, thud, thudding behind the construction barriers - I don't like my new post in the hallway on a desk with wheels.  Across from Critical Care Room #4.

Stretcher wheels, in need of oil, roll up to me as I politely demand name and date of birth, then direct the paramedics to the room saved for them.

Step, step, step, I follow them with a wristband for their patient.  Always playing catch-up since renovation began.

Back to the waiting room with paperwork, she's still worried but he's only here for nausea.  He'll be all right. Right?

Coworkers whisper she's the wife of Critical Care #4, tell me they wish she wouldn't sit so close.  She stifles conversation, with all that anxiety.

Back to my work station on wheels.  Thud, thud, thud, the construction demands attention I do not give.  Another rhythm consumes me.

The curtain is usually closed but it's pulled to one side.  They're doing compressions.  They're doing compressions?

I check the board, she was right.  Mr. 4 is only here for Nausea.

He's only here for nausea!!  Nurses, techs, leave him alone, he's fine!

Thud, thud, thud.  They breath for him.

She doesn't even know.  She's out there holding hands with family, telling them it's going to be all right.  She doesn't even know.

A new nurse takes over, compressions should not last this long.  Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud.

Thud.

Now that you’re gone, too

Gina Giovanni
I’m sorry for abandoning you - I still cry when I think about it. I know it’s useless, I guess it’s just  hard to know what to say after the mountaintop we shared crumbled. I’m sorry for being less than you deserve.

C. Glacier
You’re running after a love I know is sinking. It will drown you if you let it, but my best efforts to warn you are ignored. I hope I’m wrong. I hope you survive.

Fiona Smythe
I killed you, didn’t I? I didn’t intend to, but somehow it seemed so much easier than telling you the truth. Maybe someday the silence that replaced you will become comfortable.  I’m sorry I lost the right to care about you. Just so you know, I still do.

Nightmare
I got in the car with you last night - late. You told me where to go and together we drove up that mountain. It was cold but you kept me warm with hot tears - reminding me of that day. Of the stage I stood on, the part I played. You told me I should be grateful for the memories and for you. After all, you never left me

Nightmare

I didn’t invite Nightmare into my home, but he snuck in this week. I let my hair down for the night, climbed into a cold bed and turned out the light, thinking I was alone.

I read the news and suddenly Nightmare had slid from his hiding place and was breathing down the back of my neck. He whispered, “look how you failed, look at the pain and know that it’s your fault.” He made me cry - hard like when I was little, but mom’s not here anymore to tell me it isn’t real.

And even if she was, I couldn’t believe her this time.

Finally, exhausted, I slid my knife of truth across his neck and silenced him with a sentence: “Don’t lie to me - there’s nothing I could’ve done.”  Nightmare didn’t die, but crept back under my bed and kept quite long enough for me to fall asleep a few hours before dawn.

He was there the next night though, and he’d grown. This time I had to tell him to move over just so I could fit in the bed. 

Before he could start, I insisted it wasn’t my fault. He said that’s right my dear - you couldn’t keep her safe just like you can’t keep anyone safe.  No one is truly safe with Nightmare on the loose.

I finally realized that Nightmare was in my bed because I had opened the door and let him in willingly. So I tossed the blankets aside, went to my knees and talked to the good Shepherd. I didn’t have much to say, but I cried to him and asked him to take Nightmare from me. I thanked him for being the only good part of this - for providing comfort and a warm welcome for lost little children.

Nightmare sits outside my house now, curled up beneath my porch. He follows me to work sometimes, and visits me in the night. But he’s not in power for much longer, and I know someone much stronger.