Political Science 101

Chapter Seventy

THE SOFT red-orange glow of the morning sunrise began to illuminate the bland taupe-colored hospital room where Ashlynn Bradley lay unconscious in her hospital bed, Ana lay sleeping on a small sofa, and Mitch sat awake in an uncomfortable reclining chair next to Ashlynn's bed.

Mitchell Bradley was not a praying man, except for today. All night, he prayed to God, Jesus, and whoever else would listen, to bring his daughter back to him. She looked so peaceful and serene in her hospital bed, as though she merely slept — except for the seemingly-dozens of tubes and wires protruding from her arms, chest, and face. The silent beep of her heart monitor never wavered; Ashlynn never moved — it was as though she was stuck in time. And all Mitch could do was sit and wait for his beloved daughter to become unstuck in time; if Billy Pilgrim could do it, so could Ashlynn Bradley.

In an instant, tragedy can completely change a man's priorities. Ashlynn was the only thing on Mitch's mind, but for a moment, he forced himself to recall the events of the previous night. He glanced at Ana as she slept. Last night, for the first time, they had sex. And now, everything between them would be different.

Sex changes everything.

Sure, before last night, they'd been intimate in other ways, but having sex was that threshold which they had never broken. And from Mitch's perspective, the fact that they had not yet had sex added a sense of excitement and mystery to their relationship. Until last night, there had always been that one thing they hadn't done — that one line they hadn't crossed; that one place they'd never been — but now, that frontier had been explored. And as Mitch saw it, much of the mystery was now gone. There was nothing left to do except ... just ... do it again. And how long until that became mundane and they grew weary of one another? Was sex the beginning of the end of their relationship? Would they break-up? Would they get married? Where to from here?

Sex, as Mitch saw things, was different when two people were married. Sex between a husband and wife has so much more purpose, is so much more valuable, and means so much more. When he made love to Marie all those years ago, it was as though the two bonded as one soul — the sex was never about sex, it was about passion; it was about love.

Mitch looked at Ana again as she slept on the small sofa on the other side of the hospital room. Did he love her? He believed he did. But still, although last night felt passionate and nearly euphoric, much of Mitch's heart and soul told him Ana was not his wife, so no matter how he looked at it, last night with Ana was just sex — no more, no less.

Then, Mitch found himself whispering another prayer. He prayed, as he gazed at Ana, that last night was not the beginning of the end of their relationship. He prayed that their relationship would not die, or was not already dead.

So it goes.