They think I\u2019m depressed for refusing to leave this bed. I\u2019m not. I put the tray on the table next to me. They want me to eat; I don\u2019t need food. The birds chirp in the tree outside the window. If I stare out long enough, the voices around me will fade into background noise. They\u2019ll stop eventually and leave. I won\u2019t leave. I tuck a greasy strand of hair behind my ear. They say I\u2019m depressed. I scoff. The only thing keeping me here is hope. Depression is when you have nothing to live for. That\u2019s not me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The car flipped six times, they said. I got a broken arm, bruised ribs, and a few scratches. I\u2019m lucky, they said, which I am. Aren\u2019t I?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I lean back in my chair when it hurts to breathe. The cast is heavy on my lap. I can\u2019t lift my arm to squeeze my husband\u2019s hand like I want to, like I\u2019ve been doing for a few hours without a response. Sometimes I imagine it twitching. Maybe it did twitch. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
If only he\u2019d reach for my hand like he used to when driving. Maybe he\u2019ll tell me that I\u2019m lucky. And maybe I\u2019ll believe him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t want you to die. Wake up. Open your eyes. Wake up.<\/em> Hope is feeling like he\u2019s about to wake up, and if I turn my head, I\u2019ll miss it. Hope is an addiction to the warmth lingering on his skin against the coldness of his wedding band. Five years are not enough, and yet too much time was wasted. So wake up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His broken body stays motionless. This isn\u2019t like him to deny me something I want.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A bandage is wrapped around his head, hiding his lustrous hair. Did they shave it? The savages. Don\u2019t they know how much he likes his brown locks? It\u2019s my favorite feature too, one of my favorites. I love everything about him. Except this silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He has stitches on his upper lip and at the side of his right eye. He has bright green eyes, closed bright green eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSilent treatment is a form of emotional abuse, you know.\u201d I sniffle. Crying is pointless when we still have a whole life ahead of us. \u201cWhat would it take to convince you to fight? I\u2019ll let you have your man-cave. What do you want? A pet. A chipmunk like you always wanted, you weirdo. But I\u2019ll name it Chirpy Chip.\u201d A wobbly smile stretches across my lips, but still a smile. \u201cLet\u2019s quit our jobs and go on a vacation. We\u2019ve drifted away lately, but we don\u2019t have to. I promise. Come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The door opens again. Voices I don\u2019t have ears for clutter the room. The nurse squeezes my shoulder, walks around the bed, and pulls the white sheet over his face, which doesn\u2019t make sense. He won\u2019t be able to breathe. A single tear falls, and I look away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The birds chirp by the window while the branches sway to the rhythm of the breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hope is cruel.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" They think I\u2019m depressed for refusing to leave this bed. I\u2019m not. I put the tray on the table next to me. They want me to eat; I don\u2019t need food. The birds chirp in the tree outside the window. If I stare out long enough, the voices around me will fade into background noise.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5445,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[30,31],"tags":[32,8,74,33,7,34],"class_list":["post-246","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-contemporary","category-short-stories","tag-featured","tag-fiction","tag-grief","tag-picks","tag-short-story","tag-trending"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=246"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5446,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246\/revisions\/5446"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5445"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=246"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=246"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=246"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
His eyes stay sealed like the lid of that pickle jar I fumble with every night at 2 a.m. and fail to open until he reaches around me and pops it with a flick of his wrist. And I lean on him then, and I lean on him as we stare at the nursery that stays unfinished no matter how many times we change the theme.<\/p>\n\n\n\n