The Phone Call

I let the phone slide from my ear. Put it back on the charger. The red light doesn’t come on to let me know that it’s getting juiced up again. I don’t care and I don’t reach down to fix it. At this point I don’t really care if it ever rings again. I take a deep breath because suddenly, I’m dizzy. The room slowly begins to spin and I close my eyes. I feel a warm hand on my back, hear my name being called. I open my eyes, but I don’t respond. The room has stopped spinning.

I fling the blanket off of my legs, ignore the surprised cry of the one beside me. I curl both hands under my left leg, lift it, push it over the side of the bed. I do the same with the right leg, just like they’ve showed me. He leaps from his side of the bed, grabs the wheelchair from the corner of the room, moves to help me. I push his hand away and with a jerk I twist my body off of the bed and fall with a hard thump onto the floor.

The pain is sudden but no longer surprising. Its a thousand tiny needles running across my hips and racing up and down my spine all at once. I gasp and reach up, accidentally knocking the phone off the cradle. It comes down, hits me hard on the shoulder, falls onto my lap. I pick it up, stare at it as if it’s evil, unholy. With a shout, I hurl it across the room. The earpiece breaks off leaving a jagged dent in the wall.

He moves to help me again, and again I push him away. I flip over on my stomach and using only my arms, begin to drag my body across the floor. My legs, the useless pieces of flesh, muscles and bone that they are follow me, haunting me, taunting me, making my journey that much longer, that much harder.

The bathroom door is open and I pull my body across the cool lavender tiles until I reach the white porcelain commode. He’s left the toilet seat up again and for once I am grateful for one less obstacle in my way. Using the newly installed arm grips, I pull myself into a seating positing, my arm draped across the seat, my breath coming out in quick harsh puffs of air. The room has started spinning again and this time I welcome the feeling. I lean over and I vomit. I vomit until my stomach is empty and then I vomit again until nothing, not even bile comes out. My eyes are now blurred, my face wet with tears.

He runs to my side, cradles my head in his chest. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t know the news, but still he tells me that everything will be okay, tells me that together we can get through anything and that he’ll make everything right. I don’t see how he can and I break down and begin to cry loud, deep gasping sobs that rack my newly fragile body and scare us both. I want him to feel my hurt, feel my anger, feel my pain. My fingers ball into fists and I pound his chest with all my might screaming, yelling and crying until he joins with me and cries, too. For a brief moment I want the anger that I pound into his chest to match the cold, empty, numbing pain that will now forever run through my legs. Still, he doesn’t fight me nor does he ask the reason for the tears and that is good because I couldn’t tell him now if I wanted. Yet somehow, strangely, I think he already knows. All that matters now is that he is here, that he is with me. He tells me once again that everything will be all right and wrapped in his arms, feeding off his warmth, his love for me seeping into my skin, I feel it. And now, for the first time, I start to believe him.