Texts from the Other Side
It turned out to be a lot worse than we thought. This whole endometriosis thing is no joke. We tried to make light of it, but then it grew darker and darker around the house.
Plants died, dishes went undone. She got so weak, she couldnāt lift a thing. And I was no help around the house, I was too busy looking after her. As her button nose refused to rise in that upward jerking motion Iād come to like. Her skin grew waxen and oily to the touch. I had to force her to drink fluids. Any food, and sheād just puke it right back up.
I took her to the hospital and they stuck needles in her arms, tubes down her throat, cameras up you know where. And this is my wife for Chrissakes. Looking like a shish kabob, eerie in the blue glow of the machines.
It was fine for a while. Took me about two weeks to come to terms with the fact she wouldnāt be going to bed with me at night⦠wouldnāt be there to make a mess of the coffee the next day.
I fell back into old routines. Drinking too much. Smoking too much. 5 a.m. conversations about Faulkner and McCarthy, debates about who was the darker writer⦠that kind of stuff.
It was nice, I admit. Felt sort of like a vacation from myself. Got back to the way things used to be, before we got married, settled down, built a life of responsibility around the tree that grew right through the center of the house.
But when I finally went in to see her, I knew something wasnāt right. I sat with her a few days, played the dutiful husband, and sometimes Iād see a flutter in her eye. There were small indications that she was still alive. I sat there all night with her, even though she was mostly unresponsive. I just wanted her to know I was thinking about her. That I cared. Still do.
They said the pain would be too exquisite, thatās why they induced a coma. It takes a lot out of a person, getting layers of your uterus lasered off. Now weāre on day 30 of Helen in the Hospital and I donāt know how she does it. Today she looks positively radiant under those soft incandescents.
Iāve only been here about 3 days and Iām starting to acquire a film like Iām working my way into my own chrysalis or something. So, I blink my contacts back into place, gather up some of the crunchier flower petals from the windowsill and touch her fingers.
I want so bad to lean in and kiss those hands that pulled at me so eagerly just a few nights before, but Iām afraid to disturb her. Now that she looks peacefulā¦
I lean in and whisper in her ear, āIāll be back later. Iām in desperate need of a shave,ā I sort of laughed. She hated it when I didnāt shave. And my phone starts vibrating. āDonāt leave me,ā the text says. Says itās from number 12345678910.
I step back because this is a little much. Are the nurses playing tricks on me? Iām sure theyāve got a running tally and staying with a coma patient for 3 days straight must be up there, right? Iām a good guy... Bzzt. āIām cold,ā the next text says.
Now, Iām freaking out. Iām looking all around for some sort of electronic device. Iām starting to believe it. She was always cold. Especially her hands.
I touch her hands and theyāre freezing. At that moment I wished I were a doctor so I could check her vital signs and everything, but I knew she was still in there. My Helen. My dark little minstrel. My warrior princess.
In a haze, or maybe I had an aneurysm or a mild seizure or something, but all of a sudden, I smelled a candle burning. Over to her left, near the window. I went over there and started sniffing. I had pretty much transformed at this point, getting down on all fours and sniffing around. Bzzt. āOur anniversary. Remember.ā Bzzt. āThe bath.ā Bzzt. āYou left the water on.ā
I actually got carried away and hurriedly texted her back, āWait, is the water on now or do you mean before?ā āBefore, sillyā¦ā Phew, I heaved a sigh of relief.
āAnd now.ā I blinked down at my phone, incredulous. I was at a loss for words for once, which is rare for me. āWell, all righty then,ā Iām furiously texting back, fingers flying over the screen like Iām the Flash on a mission to save some damsel in distress. But of course, this is not that kind of story. Iām really just freaked out and pissed and scared all at once, wondering, what the fuck. Is this really happening? I get all cocky. āOh, yeah, well, if youāre so psychic or whatever, why donāt you just turn off the faucet at home then???ā I used way too many question marks on that last text. But by now Iām all excited. Itās like some sordid game Iām playing with myself. Seriously, though, am I dreaming?
I look around the hospital room. Almost forgot she was lying there. I had this vision she was at home or whatever, poking around the house, tidying up, leaving the bath tub running out of spite. Sometimes she got like that. Uppity. Callous. Vengeful.
She started really scaring me sometimes when she got home and she was all super pissed about something at work. Why did she have to take it out on me? Iām her husband. Iāve been nothing but good to her. Gave her her own art space, sacrificed my writing space, and for what? Now sheās in this coma, not five feet from me and Iām ātextingā her, apparently, like a crazy ass meth addict or something. Dreaming up schemes.
Wait, but is the bath tub on now???
āYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSā a thousand esses in that last text. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzzzzzzzttttttā¦.
I grab my keys off the bedside swivel lunch tray, shove āem into my pocket, pivot on my feet towards the door. Iām all amped up now. Every muscle taut with kinetic energy. Iām like a spring on the verge of exploding through this olive drab and depressing ass artwork on the wall, but a thought strikes me and I turn back toward her, finger thrust in her direction. I say aloud, āNow, donāt you go anywhere. I donāt know if I trust you right nowā. My eyes all squinty like a shifty raccoon.
Look at me, talking to a coma patient. Whoās the crazy one?
Seriously though, I feel insane.
I leave the hospital, Iām flying down 94, I whip into the driveway, vault up the stairs, and sure enough⦠the waterās dripping in the bath tub. Dwoop. Dwoop. Itās not exactly on, per se. Itās not gushing forth in unwarranted torrents of otherworldly anguish or whatever. Until I look away.
I reach to tighten the faucet and a rattling begins behind the walls. āThis is not goodā¦ā I say. The pipes come bursting through the shower tiles in a spray of ceramic dust and yellowing grout.
Something must have knocked me out, because the next thing I know, Iām in a coma. Pushing all of my brain power into sending her electronic messages. Using the currents of microwaves, FM radio signals, whatever I can get ahold of to send her this story.
She does come visit me sometimes, but I feel like for the most part, sheās enjoying her time alone for once. At first she said she was pretty lonely, she was texting me all the time. But you get used to it I guess. Start up 10 projects, finish none, whatever it takes to keep you busy.
Sheās getting me back for letting her be a stay-at-home mom⦠itās not as easy as it sounds, apparently. And other things⦠daddy issues or whatever. Weāre working through our problems. Finally. Getting it all out. In writing. We were always better at communicating that way, anyway.