Beyond Reality - Watty winner in Spanish

Chapter XVIII

I look at myself in the mirror as I dry my face with a towel. Bags under my eyes, hair too long, sleepy eyelids. It's strange that my body feels rested, but it looks tired at the same time.

I've stopped taking the sleeping pills that Husset had given me, and I don't think I need them any more.

Many things have changed when the new month arrived. Though I could say that leaving my house and moving other to the Goodmans' has provided some immense inner peace. Being around Alexandra as much as I can has pacified me better than any pill. I've also quitted my job last week. I know I won't earn any more money, but... Am I really interested in it so much as to waste hours working when the person I love the most in the whole world is running out of time? I have some savings, and I'm not interested in affording anything expensive now. All I'm going to buy is for her, and I won't be paying for anything but R4's petrol.

Connor and Ronan understood my motives, and said I would be welcome to come back whenever I'm ready to. I find thinking about what is going to happen after her death very odd and annoying. I don't care about anything that doesn't concern her, specially the "what happens next". I don't plan to spend my energies in anything but Alexandra. I can't and I don't want to.

I'm not sorry either about accepting George's proposition, because apart from needing a home and a roof, the atmosphere around the Goodmans is lovely. That's something I adore about them, and that I couldn't find in mine. We enjoy the small time we can share, the four of us together in her hospital room, and I know she really likes that. Her mood changes notably when she's surrounded by her family, and even though she doesn't admits it very often, I do notice.

The pneumonia has gone for good, but now there's dehydration, low pressure, and those stupid headaches. 'Scattered bone pains' and 'headaches', like Dr Murray said a few days ago.

The hospitalisation is no longer 'temporary', it has become 'indefinite' and God only knows for how much time are we going to be here.

When Murray gathered us to tell us about the extension of the hospitalisation, I told Florence that we'd do good in decorating Alex's hospital room like her actual room in Beechmont. I thought she'd fancy that, since there's no place better place in the world than her room, so we did that.

When the week started, I drove up to the Goodmans' and I picked up the most meaningful things for her. Three of her posters, two sets of lights, some Thai lamps, more canvases and her favourite paintings. I've also fetched some books, the thick and comfortable coverlet, the cans that safe keep her developed photos and her Polaroid. I was set on changing the choking atmosphere she was caught in, motivated by what she said once, that the perception of a place changes according to the decoration.

I enter the room as I leave the bathroom and I lay by her side.

She's painting on a canvas, sitting in the stretcher and very concentrated. The easel is standing in a way that she can work on the mattress, without putting too much effort in it.

I stare at her left hand, running through the canvas, trying to create almost perfect lines, like the ones she used to.

The problem on her right side has been getting worse. She has no more strength in her right hand, and has abandoned the idea to use it to paint. As a right-handed, she's been having some trouble painting with her left hand, but I think she's getting better. And very quickly.

"You really have improved." I say as I rub her back, over her nightgown. "I knew you'd make it, but not as fast as you did."

Alexandra's still painting what it seems to be a starry sky and some spots that, little by little, are taking shape. Shooting stars, perhaps?