Just Jack

Part Two: Chapter Thirteen: Just Keep Breathing

     “I'll pick you up in an hour. Visiting times ends at six. You should pick something up at the gift shop for her. A teddy-bear or something,” mom says, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a twenty dollar bill. She hands it to me and I nod. I slide the money into my pocket and unbuckle my belt. Its sound, the un-clicking of the lock and the clanking of the metal buckle, brings me back to the night just for an moment.

“You're not coming in with me?” I ask, not looking at her. I even feel guilty towards her. This is the longest sentence I have said to her in two weeks. I'm only stalling, afraid to face the inevitable.

“No, Jack. You have to do this alone. Be a man, Jack, not a coward.”

     I look back to Sammy before getting out of the car. She sends me a light smile, though it is plagued with sympathy. Mom's words echo in my mind as I walk, as slowly as possible, through the rain. Be a man, Jack. I step in a puddle of cold, rain water. Shaking my foot off of any water, I stop for a second. Stop thinking, stop worrying. I put my wet foot back to the ground and stand under the rain, letting it fall all over my body. Its coldness sends shivers down my spine. I'm only wearing a light t-shirt and jeans but I don't care. The pregnant woman watches from underneath the porch. She's still smoking. I smile at her and she scowls, turning away from me.

     The hospital is warm when I enter. Its much different to how I expected it to be and a lot different from Saint Clares. This hospital is much more glamourous. It's like something from a soap opera. All the doctors and nurses are beautiful people, with bright, white lab jackets and pale blue scrubs. An African-American woman sits behind a rather large desk right in front of me. She's on the phone and seems a lot less friendly than Jessica, the woman who sat behind the desk at Saint Clares. At least Jessica smiled.

     I walk up to her, hair and clothes soaking wet. She looks up to me, still buried in conversation on the phone. She raises one finger up to my level and I wait for her to finish. I don't even think she's talking to a patients family or anyone important really. Unless she gossips with all the patients families. I doubt they would enjoy listening to her disaster date story anymore than I do at this very moment. Yet, I wait for her to finish her chat and stand in silence for a moment or two after she hangs up. She suddenly remembers my presence and looks up.

     “Can I help you?” She says, looking down to her paperwork. I don't really know what to say. I'm never the person visiting, usually the person being visited and even that was a rare occasion. I start mumbling while playing with my fingers, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist. She drops her pen and then looks at me like I've just insulted her. I stop mumbling, heck I even stop breathing for a moment, expecting the worst. “You're here to see that car crash girl aren't you?” She asks.

     “Yes,” I say, almost ashamed. I wonder if she knows that I'm the reason the car crash girl is even here. “Yes, I'm here to see the car crash... Emily... I'm here to see Emily. Emily Gray.” I exhale, feeling some kind of relief. As if the worst was over.

     “You know, I've been working here a while now and I remember faces. I remember the worried face of Emily's father. The frightened look on her friends faces. Their kind of hard to forget. I do not, however, remember your face. What's taken you so long to visit her?” The receptionist asks. I do not know how to answer her, so I stare at her blankly- my lips tempting to quiver but I keep them pursed. She accepts that I won't reply and sighs. Returning to her paperwork, she says, “ICU, room 2342.”

     Facing her is inevitable. It must be done. Yet, standing outside her room, all I can think of is running away. I know I won't- I know I have to push open this glass door and face reality, but life is so much easier when I'm standing behind it. I can't see inside, the blinds are shut. My heart rate is accelerating in the same way it did when I saw her for the very first time. I have to bite my bottom lip to stop it from shaking, but remembering her at Chris' memorial and then again at Saint Clares cracks the dam that was holding a wave of emotions behind it. I place a reluctant hand on the door handle and push it down.