I sleep and I dream a lot. Mostly of standing in a river. Not a mighty river like the Yukon. It’s more like a gentle river you can stand
in and fish. In the dream I think at
first I’m fishing, but then I realize I’m just standing there as if I’m
waiting. The sound of water flowing is
so neat. It feels like some kind of a
bath, like being cleaned. I want to go
out farther, deeper. But I can’t. I’m waiting.
The dream comes back almost every night, but I never wade out from the
shore into the deeper part of the river.
I try to stay
awake late at night, waiting for Sally Pepper.
I lie in bed hoping for the door to open. I fall asleep and dream and then wake up a
few times before she finally gets here. She
always seems glad to see me. Her face
lights up with the biggest smile. The
other nurses here are nice, but they don't act that happy to see me. I think
Sally likes me. It would be terrific if
she fell in love with me. When I get out
of the hospital I want to keep seeing her.
Maybe she would move to my neighborhood.
When
my Dad comes to visit he is always antsy and goes out for a smoke a lot. I ask
Mom later if he's mad at me about anything.
She says he's just upset and hates to see me sick. I think he might be mad about my not wanting
to go to school. When I was home for a
while, he thought I should go back to classes.
"I
don't feel good enough," I told him.
"But
all the kids miss you," he said.
"They want to see you."
"They
want to make fun of me," I said.
He
threw up his hands and got up and left the room. The front door to the house closed a few
minutes later. I wanted to tell him why
I just couldn’t go back to the school. Then,
maybe we could have talked about fishing.
We used to go fishing most weekends.
Just because I'm sick doesn't mean I don’t remember hooking that big
trout in the river. And all the fun we
had.
Dad must think my going back to
school is pretty important. Well, I did
go there for a visit once. Last
March. A few of the students laughed
when I came into the classroom. My face was
bloated from the medicines. Mr.
Bellinger tried to make me feel welcome by asking me questions like he did with
all the other kids. But I hadn’t done
any of the school work he sent home and I couldn’t answer the questions. I felt so stupid. I had the highest average in eighth grade,
but now I'm just like Stephen Walters, the class dummy.
When I get better, I'll have to
start eighth grade all over again next year with those idiot seventh graders. I
will definitely get better, but I won't go back to school. I'll get a job with a big company and work my
way up. I won't need school. Things will be terrific. I'll marry Sally Pepper and we'll have a
family. Everything will be just fine.
But today the thing in my chest presses down
more than ever. It's worse than yesterday. Breathing is tough. The doctor never really answers me when I ask
if I will get better. All he ever says
is , "We'll see, we'll see."
"Are we in the right hospital
for what I've got?" I ask Mom.
"They're doing their very
best for you," she says. "If I
knew there was somewhere else for better treatment, I'd have you there in a
heartbeat, honey."
I wake in the
middle of the night and I’m afraid. It's
so quiet, like a cemetery. I wish Sally
Pepper would hurry up and come on duty. She'll
smile at me and maybe ask about the time I won the essay contest, or tell me
she hears I play the piano wonderfully.
She’ll say I’m handsome and all that silly stuff while she brushes the
hair out of my eyes and rubs my chest where it hurts.
Mom
brought a new magazine today and while I wait I try to read a story about
fishing for salmon in Alaska. I hear a rustling sound and
look up and Sally is here. She is so beautiful. I'm turning a hundred shades of red. That smile is gorgeous. I love her.
“Where
did you come from?” I ask.
“The
river,” she says. “Can’t you hear it?”
I
don’t know if she means what she’s saying or she’s joking. I don’t care.
I grab her hand and say, "I love you."
"I
love you more than you know," she says.
"No,
I mean I love you," I say.
She
smiles, but her eyes turn serious for just a moment. She laughs lightly.
"In
your dreams," she says.
We
talk a little and then I get quiet and close my eyes for only a second. But when I open them she’s gone.
In the
morning old Sister Mary Hymentuum comes in to give me the bed bath,
a cleansing of the face and pits.
Sister Hy says any work below the belt is my duty. Thank God.
This
morning her face is more serious than usual.
I wonder if there is bad news from yesterday's tests. I'd ask her, but she always says the doctors
never tell her test results.
"And
how are you feeling this morning, young Mister," says Sister Hy.
"I'm
feeling like I'm going to beat this thing," I reply, wondering how she
will answer.
"Well,
that's good, that's good," she mumbles without much enthusiasm. She starts
my bath.
"Sally
Pepper thinks so, too," I say.
"Uh
huh," says Sister Hy. "Sally who?"
"The
night nurse, Sally Pepper," I say.
"Never
heard of her," she says. "Hold your other arm up, now."
I'm
surprised. She’s a little forgetful, I guess.
Maybe it’s a nun thing to not remember the prettiest nurse in the
hospital.
"Young
man, I have a heavy heart for you this morning," says Sister Hy.
"I'm
doing fine," I say. I do not want
to hear this. Sister Hy has my arm in
the air and she keeps scrubbing my arm pit, over and over.
"You
know," she says, "no one here is talking to you about ..."
She drops the arm and begins to wash my chest.
"About
what?" I say.
"About
... " she says, "the future.”
“The
future is great,” I say. “I’m going to
pull through this. I am. I definitely am.”
“It’s
not my place to –“ she begins
“That’s
right,” I say, interrupting her. “It’s
not. We’ll let the doctor do the talking.”
Sister
Hy gathers up the towel and pan of water and starts to leave. But she stops, leans over me and places a
kiss on my forehead. She walks away and
out the door and I feel relieved. And rotten.
Later I ask
Sally if she is my night nurse.
"I
am here for you," is all she says.
"Why
don't you ever give me a shot or take my temperature?" I ask.
"They
do that for you during the day," she says.
Yes,
they do. I get needles stuck in me all the time. They're painful, but Sally Pepper says to
pray, "Ever this day be at my side" while the needle goes in. It hurts less and I remember a prayer Mom
taught me when I was a little kid. It
goes “Ever this day be at my side, to love and guide.” I can’t remember the rest. I’ll have to ask Sally if she’s ever heard
it.
I
think about Sally getting a shot in her bottom. I suppose I shouldn't. If I were her doctor, I wouldn't be
embarrassed. I'd just say, "OK,
Sally Pepper, give us a cheek." I
really don’t know if I could say it that way. It sounds profane. I've been thinking a lot lately about how I
would give her a shot. She'd have to
raise her skirt, and I’ve never had a girl do that in front of me. And I guess you can't give someone a shot
through their underwear, so who pulls it down, me or her? Do I sit or do I stand behind her? This would be kind of sacred for me, you
know? Maybe I’d light a candle or put on some music, like a CD of a
symphony. Dad would probably choose
Mahler’s 9th. He always plays
that when something important happens, like when he got promoted at work. I’d be
a gentleman, of course. I wouldn't touch more of her skin than necessary. I promise not to. I’d bless myself as I pushed in the
plunger.
Sally hasn’t been to see
me the last few nights. I hope she’s not upset that I said I loved her. I’d be humiliated if she could read my
thoughts … some of them. I keep praying
she’ll come be at my side, but she hasn’t come back. When I try to think of us being together after
I get out of the hospital, something in my mind won’t let me see the
future. I get upset and almost cry. It’s as if the future is on the other side of
the river and I can’t get to it.
It’s strange, but I think Sally has always been
with me, since the day I was born. I can’t
explain how that’s possible. I’ve seen
her only the last few weeks and I wonder how I overlooked her before.
I guess I’m sleeping most of the day now. Of all
things, I dream of learning to sew while I sit by a river. Sister Hy shows
me how to use the scissors in a way that doesn't fray the material. She puts a thimble on my finger and helps me to
thread a needle. I look around the river
bank, hoping no one sees me doing a girl thing.
"I don't like doing this," I say.
"But it's no different than tying a
beautiful Royal Coachman trout fly," she says
"Well, I'd certainly say it is very different," I reply.
"We’re making something for your
beloved. You’re sewing a dress for Sally
Pepper. It's for a very special
occasion."
I wonder how Sister Hy knows of Sally and that
I love her. Once I start working, I
realize I’m happy for the first time in weeks.
I cut out the pieces and lovingly form every fold of the white fabric to
fit each curve of her body. I stitch a beautiful fitted gown to embrace
Sally Pepper. It's like dressing her. It feels almost as nice as it would to
touch her.
It’s getting harder to
breathe now. I take long, slow pulls
through my nose and each time the pain is worse. I’ve lost track of everything around me. My whole world is my breathing and the
pain. It always seems like late
afternoon. It’s cold and I haven’t seen
the sun since forever.
Sister Hy comes to me again in a dream, but this
time she doesn't want to sew.
"Come with me," she says. We're not at the river, but instead in a
desert. The sun is impaled on the edge
of the sky, its top half above the far hills.
I can't tell if it’s dawn or evening.
Sister Hy stays ahead of me and leads the way. We walk for quite a distance and the ground gets
steeper. The sun never moves. It sits there with one leg over the horizon
and watches us. A thick mist swirls up
ahead of us and the path disappears into it.
I stop, but Sister Hy reaches back and pulls me into the fog. We edge forward, pushing our feet ahead, as if
we were nearing the edge of something. I
hear a river, but this time it’s not a lazy flow. It is running from my left to my right, a
huge and powerful flood of water pounding a course from horizon to horizon. I can't
see it and I don't want to get any closer.
"Come ahead," says Sister Hy. "You need to see this." I can’t.
I am thoroughly frightened. I don't
want to see what is beyond. My stomach
churns and moans, and I have to go to the bathroom. My head is throbbing and I can feel my heart
thumping in my chest. I do not want
this. Why does this have to happen?
"I can't come with you," I say to
Sister Hy.
"You must." She answers. "I
won't let you fall in, but you must see this."
"I'm not going anywhere," I
shout. "Why are you doing this to
me? I want to go back to the
hospital. Where is Sally? I want to go home. I want to see my Dad. Why is he always leaving me?"
I awake soaked to my skin. I am bawling like a two year old. I realize I’m back in the hospital. Someone is holding me.
"I'm dying," I say through my tears.
"I didn't want to tell you," says my
father. He pulls me closer into his
arms and kisses the top of my head. Then
he lets go and stands up. He crosses the
room and leaves. I can hear him crying.
I dream that Sally
Pepper and I make love. I don't see
anything. It must happen in the
dark. I only know we do it. I can tell.
It's strange, as though I'm in a dream while I'm dreaming about it.
Later, I see our children. I'm proud of them and of myself. I come home from work wearing a shirt and a
tie and Sally Pepper is cooking supper and feeding the baby in a high chair. Our little boy plays under the kitchen
table. He looks like me.
I say to
him, "Why don't you come out and be with Daddy?"
"I'm busy," he says.
"Busy with what?" I ask.
"You know," he says. "I'm
dying."
It’s very dark now.
The pain isn’t gone, but it feels like it belongs to someone else. I haven’t taken a breath in a while. I tried and tried and then I just gave
up. It’s very quiet, except for the
breeze that blows at my back and nudges me forward. I can hear the sound of flowing water again. I'm on the edge of the world. It's not a dream. I want to call out for Sally Pepper, but I can’t
get enough air to speak.
I know I'm leaving. I'm not afraid. I'm awfully sad. I will never be here again.
I hear a shout and turn. Behind me in the distance great dark clouds
rise up into the sky above a raging river that makes no sound. My father stands on the far shore, almost hidden
in the shadow of the storm. Although he
is at a distance, I see him place a fist over his heart. His other hand comes up and closes over the
fist. He will always hold me in his
heart. I feel tears start, but I have no
breath to cry out to him.
Turning back to the path my eyes feel as if
they are opening and the world begins to glow with a new light.
Sally Pepper is at my
side. She is stunning, dressed in the
gown I sewed. She is absolutely
beautiful and I’ve never seen her so radiant.
There are gorgeous velvet hills all around us and the sky is a perfect robin's
egg blue. We walk hand in hand and she
brings me to the top of a hill. Down the
green slope in front of us is a valley.
At the bottom a river flows away as far as I can see. A small group stands on the shore and they look up at us, waving.
Three or four of the young women
carry bouquets of flowers. Sally Pepper
walks a few steps forward, then turns and invites me to follow. I walk up to her and she takes my hand and
places it over her heart. She leans into
me and whispers in my ear, "Ever this day be at my side." The sun is warm on my face and the wind
caresses me. I am laughing. I am
crying. I can breathe.
copyright,
2008/2012 David Griffin
The Windswept Press
Murrells Inlet, South Carolina
www.windsweptpress.com
