His Vision of Art

Gone

Silence.

"You love me." He whispers back. It's not a question. It's a statement.

I don't answer him. We both know the answer already.

Tarq kisses behind my ear, and I close my eyes. I hear him sigh, and I relax against his body. I pretend to lay very still, keeping my breathing regular and soft.
He waits a few minutes before rolling off to the side, the mattress lifting a bit when his weight is gone.
He thinks I'm asleep like always.
I hear the sound of fabric and a belt buckle jingle, the sound of a zipper and shoes being tied.
I clench my eyes tightly, and I'm careful to not sob in front of him.
He leaves my apartment.
I let a tear slip out.

---------------

Tarq:

Could you ever love me?

I swallow hard.
Yes.
Why didn't I say it?
Because he's Uriah, you met him that one day.
But I've gotten to know him, we talk a lot after our activities...but I know him really well. I really do.
I know that he loves the color yellow because nobody else does.
I know that he hates sitting because he likes to be up high where he can observe things, where he can absorb colors and details and meaning.
I know that he's passionate about his work and he's hesitant about making choices because he doesn't want to disappoint himself or the people around him.
I know that he likes my hair, how the copper makes him think of something strong and pure.

I know that he hates his eyes, but I've told him how much I love them...

I clench my hands into fists, already missing his warmth and painter hands.

Uriah

The next day I head back to Uriah's apartment, a yellow daisy in hand.
I was going to tell him I would consider taking a step further into whatever relationship we had, and I had no trouble telling myself that it wasn't crazy at all.
Could you ever love me?
I could.
I do.
I really do love him.
I really do.
I brush past the dry cleaners floor and up to the door where the staircase leads.
He's even given me a key to his apartment.
I walk up, the stairs creaking under my feet like always.
"Uriah?" I call out as I make my way up.
No response.
That's odd, he's usually working on something when I come over.
I quickly finish the last of the steps, looking past all the canvases and easels.
"There you are." I whisper as I find him curled up on the bed.
I set the daisy down, reaching over to brush his hair back so I could see his eyes when he opens them.
My hand jerks back when he convulses, and then I straighten up when he continues to writhe around in the sheets.
"Uriah?" I ask reaching out for him again. I shake him gently, but he keeps jerking, and it's almost like he's stuck in some kind of world I can't get him out of.

I rip my cell phone out of my pocket, dialing the emergency medical center.

I hear the click, my call being connected.

An ambulance came quickly, and they carefully placed him on a stretcher, wheeling him out and into the van where they'll take him to the hospital.
I followed them there in my own car, and when I demand that I see him they gave me the "only family members permitted" crap.

I waited for hours in the waiting room. My elbows rest on my knees, and I'm hunched over with my palms supporting my head.

A doctor comes over to me, a clipboard in her hands.

"Are you Mr. West's guardian?" She asks.

"Excuse me?" I ask sitting upright.

"Mr. West. We don't have any contact with his parents. Are you his guardian?" She repeats.

I swallow. "Yes."

Lie.

I don't care.

"I need you to come with me." She says turning and walking off down the hall.
I jump out of my chair, quickly following her down to a room.

She opens the door, stepping inside. I follow, quickly shutting the door and pressing myself against the wall.
Uriah lays on the bed, his skin pale and waxy, and his hair devilish. His eyes are closed, and his arms are connected with numerous IV needles.

"He had a stroke, most likely from heart failure." She says scribbling something down on her clipboard.

"He's going to be alright though, right?" I ask quietly, afraid that I might wake Uriah up, even though I know I won't. Something about being quiet...it's almost like I'm afraid that my voice will break Uriah...he's so delicate...and the fear that he won't be able to fight this off terrifies me.

"He's going to live. But..." she pauses, "he's not going to be fully recovered. He's going to be left with Broca's Aphasia. Broca's Area is the part of the brain that is central for the production of speech, and his will not be healed properly." She explains to me.

I clench and I unclench my hands. My eyes glancing at Uriah quickly.
Less than 24 hours ago he was in my arms, our warm bodies pressed together and our lips parted.
Now he's on his death bed, a stroke taking over him.

"You called at the right time. It makes a big difference that we were able to treat him as quick as we could. If you weren't there he could have died." She whispers.

I swallow again, my throat sore and my eyes burning.

"Here." She says handing me a pamphlet. I look down at it, and I'm consumed with this information about how damage to Broca's area can cause a patient to be unable to or impaired in producing language. Both oral and written.

I clench the pamphlet, shoving it down into my pocket, and my fingers brush against scraps of paper...

I lock my jaw, taking one last glance at Uriah before leaving his room.

I brush down the hall, back to the main office desk.

"May I help you?" A man asks.

"I'm Uriah West's guardian for room 98. I'll be paying for his fees and prescribed medications."

-----------------

Tarq:

Uriah came home after a few weeks of recovery. I wasn't there when he regained consciousness, I was still teaching my class when I got the call from the hospital.
Uriah didn't talk the first few days he was resting in the hospital, and I didn't expect him to.
I talked to him though, I gave him his ripped drawing I had, the yellow daisy, and a few other small gifts.

"Hi." I said when I came over to pick him up.

His green eyes were pale, but his skin looked healthier and he was sitting up.

"You're coming home today." I whisper softly.

He blinks.

I smile back though, and I try to push away the thought that I might never be able to hear his voice again, see him blush, see him draw...

I take a step forward. Crouching down so that I'm almost as tall as the bed.
He watches carefully.

I try to smile again, and I ache to just hold him against me, apologize for all the things I've done to him. I ache to tell him how much me means to me, how much I love him. I didn't realize that I might never get the chance to anymore...

My voice is thick, scratchy. I miss him.
"I'll take care of you. I promise."

He blinks.