“I think maybe if I cared for him a little more, talked to him a little more, if I had-“. I’m choking up, “loved him a little more,” now my throat has completely closed off on its own. I muster my final words, “He would still be here?”
—
It was a Thursday afternoon, terribly windy and rainy, a complete mess outside. Earlier a rather large tree branch had crashed into our living room window scratching the exterior. Luckily the glass was thick enough to leave nothing but scratches.
I didn’t bother to wake him since there was no broken glass or cracks in the window. I continued reading the morning paper finishing the last bit of coffee in my mug. I set the porcelain cup down on the coffeetable which had supported my legs, leaned back onto the sofa and lit a cigarette. I take in the first drag, savoring the taste before breathing it out. The smoke exits slowly from my mouth, floating and swaying back and forth, familiarizing itself with the new environment. The rain has lightened a bit allowing me to see outside more clearly. I get up and walk towards the window, at one point hesitant in case another tree branch actually breaks through this time. I look down and see a woman in her mid-fifties struggling to stabilize her umbrella. Once she moves one hand, the wind takes it into its grasp and has turned it inside out. Now she’s lost all hope of stabilizing it, poor woman.
Walking back to the coffeetable, I take the cigarette from my mouth and tap it a few times over the ashtray watching the bits and pieces flutter and gather at the bottom. I look at the time, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon. As I look at the bedroom door a loud burst of thunder crashes and the lights go out. It was dark and cold enough before with the grey clouds in addition to my blue fluorescent lights. Now the only light in the room is near the window with the cold grey light soaking in from outside. Even in that light there are dark shadows cast from the now almost violent raindrops hitting against the glass.
I want to wake him or else by the time he wakes up his birthday will be over. Plus I have thirty-one cupcakes formed in the shape of giant heart that needs to be consumed. I’m feeling impatient and decide to use the excuse of the lights going out to wake him. Though now that I think about, it’s a poor excuse to spending time with him and a bad excuse for waking him on his birthday.
I decide to open the door just a crack and take a peek to see if he’s still sleeping. To my surprise, he’s sitting up in bed facing our usually gorgeous, but not so gorgeous now due to the rain, window in silence.
I’m just about to interrupt when suddenly his head bops as if he’s falling asleep. I giggle and continue to observe him. He does it another two times before a glass crashes to the ground, the sound reverberating throughout the empty still room. For a moment I’m in surprise, more like shock, but I quickly recover and rush over. There’s a strong smell of alcohol, and what I had originally thought to be water turns out to be vodka.
It’s wasn’t the alcohol that was unusual, since often at night he would drink some to help him fall asleep. What was unusual was a little tin metal box. I look at him and he doesn’t seemed to have been affected by the glass falling. His eyes are slowly closing, I pick up the tin metal box and as I do so, three small pills fall out. Before I can catch them, they’ve landed in the alcohol and have started to dissolve. I quickly flip the tin closed and look at the cover for any label of the pills, but all I find are the initials E.L. engraved on them in an antique cursive font.
I look at him and notice his eyes have started to roll back. I frantically take his face into my hands and look at him. He’s breaking out into a cold sweat and I say, “——-? ——-! Look at me! What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t respond but his vision focuses for a bit.
“——-! What were those pills? ——-, you have to tell me!”
At this point, his eyes have started to tear. At first I take them as he’s in pain, but soon, he starts to sob.
“——-? What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong! Are you in pain?”
He raises his hands slowly as they’re shaking incredibly hard. I take on hand to try and stabilize it, but his shivers are too strong I can’t stop them from trembling.
He looks into my eyes and sobs. By this time I’m frantic, I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what to do, god! I need to know what those pills are!
“——-, I need to know what those pills are. Medicine should never be mixed with alcohol. What were those pills?”
“I-” he continues to sob and raises his other hand to touch my face. I hold it and still try to figure out what’s wrong. I try to pull away to call 911 but he holds me still. “I-” he musters again.
“What? What’s wrong?” He can’t say what he wants to, I continue for him saying, “Look, just give me a minute. I’m going to get call for an ambulance. Everything will be okay.” I try again to leave but…
© estalement 2007
