Taking Her Leave

© 2000 All Rights Reserved........By Margaret Karmazin

George heard from somewhere down the hall the muffled pop of a champagne bottle being opened, followed by a little chorus of female voices. It was probably coming from the nurse's station. No one was supposed to have alcohol in the hospital but it was, after all, New Year's Eve and not just any New Year's but 2000, the start of the new millennium. Who knew what would happen in the coming century and who could blame anyone for sneaking in a bit of traditional pleasure?

George's arm lay on the bed alongside his wife's inert body. The semiprivate room was in shadows with only the light from the hall filtering in. The other bed was empty. They had brought Flo in on Tuesday when she hemorrhaged again. At first it seemed she was going to be all right, but then she had slipped into a light coma on Wednesday and not come out of it. Occasionally, she moaned softly.

His big callused hand spread out over her bony little thigh and he tried with all his might to project his life force into her. He was a large man, not fat, but beefy and big boned. She was a short woman, at one time a little on the plump side but now like a waif, probably ninety pounds if that. It was hard to believe that at one time he'd been smooth skinned and straight as a hemlock tree and Flo had been dewy and rosy, her breasts voluptuous and her arms round and strong. They had stood on a hilltop behind the high school and necked until her lip got cut from his jagged tooth. Afterwards, they had run back down, gasping for breath, but so alive, so at ease in their robust, young bodies.

And now Flo was dying and it had all seemed to happen in the time it takes to breathe in once and then out. How was it possible? How could this be real, that the only true friend he had and the sweetest person he'd ever known, was now a broken bird lying on some impersonal bed, about to leave him forever? What was this terrible trick of life, this downright unkindness of God? How could a Deity who loved His children allow death to exist and what was George supposed to do without her? There was not a sound or movement from her now and he could hardly tell she still breathed.

He heard a giggle from outside the door. It sounded quite close. A woman whispered, "If you're not off 'til tomorrow night, how are we ever gonna have time together? I've got twenty beds to cover and a load of paperwork." "I'll say I've got to check in on that bypass in ICU and then in twenty minutes, I'll meet you in the new wing. That room at the end of the hall on the right, I don't remember the number."

"Are you sure? What about that nosy maintenance guy?"

"I'll slip him a bottle of Black Velvet and he'll forget that hall exists!"

"If I can get away," she said.

"You can manage a half hour. I need you, Cathy. It's been so long."

"Only three days," she said, "but I need you too."

George could hear the muffled sound of commercial gaiety coming from the TV party in Times Square. The women next door must have it on. One of them was recovering from a bad session with chemo and the other had had a hysterectomy. He knew all about everyone in the vicinity, mainly just from listening while he sat with Flo.

They had never had children. When they'd tied the knot in nineteen-forty, they had hoped to have three or four. The army didn't want George because of his flat feet and near-sightedness. Instead, he'd stayed home and worked the farm. Both he and Flo came from large families and were used to lots of people around, but as the years passed, no children arrived and they'd gradually grown used to being just by themselves. Once there'd almost been an adoption, but at the last minute the mother had worked out her problems and decided to keep the kid. They had taken in a foster child once, but he'd tried to burn the barn down. After that, they'd decided they were enough for each other and indeed they had been. Their neighbor's boys looked after the farm the times they took trips, one out west, one to England, and the trek of their lifetime to Australia. George smiled when he remembered how Flo had jumped when that Aborigine tribesman dangled that big spider in her face. The smile stayed on his lips for a while and then slowly faded as he returned to the present and looked at the gentle face he'd loved so long, now strangely beautiful in it's stark thinness and cast in soft shadow.

A woman suddenly let out a terrible wail and he almost jumped out of his skin. Then he heard something fall over and the sound of another women trying to comfort her. He strained to hear.

"He's in very good hands, Mary."

Sobs were the only response. "Honey, Dr. Kogut is the best neurosurgeon in the area. If anyone can fix Terry up, it would be him."

There was a sharp intake of breath, then a long heaving sigh. "I told him his drinking would lead to something like this. I told him."

"I know you did."

"He's just like his father."

"I know, I know," said the other.

It was 12:35 when George realized the New Year had come and he hadn't paid attention. Somehow the champagne pop had gone in one side of his brain and out the other. He scooted his chair closer to Flo's upper body and took her dry, papery hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he whispered, "Sweet Love, I-" he paused, then went on, "I wish you'd get well and stand up and we could just walk out of here. It's the New Year, Honey, and we could have our ham and sauerkraut, and go visit the Pierce's like always. They'll have some stupid movie on and we can sit around and complain about it." He choked back a sob. "I don't know how I'm gonna go on without you. Who am I gonna read the paper to? Who's gonna give a damn how I do with that mutual fund? There ain't nobody who cares about me but you, Flo. You're the best friend a man could have." His throat caught and he stopped and then he lay his head down on her stomach and felt nothing but his terror and pain. After a while, he fell asleep from utter exhaustion.

Outside somewhere on the cold streets, someone set off a volley of firecrackers and a police car siren blared for a moment, then sharply cut off. The new century had arrived, one that George would never really feel a part of.

The pain, that constant ache in her bones and side and that strange hollow feeling in her chest, suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Just like that, after a year and a half of suffering. Like stepping from an unbelievably miserable hot sweaty room into the cool refreshing outside. Just like that. Flo sat up and looked about then realized George had his head in her lap. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to caress his baldpate but to her amazement, the hand passed right through it. Confused, she tried again and the same thing happened. Her reaction was, at first, wild panic but this only lasted a moment and was replaced by intense curiosity and then, oddly, she just forgot about it. She tried to stand up and found herself reeling across the room as if swinging from an invisible rope from a high ceiling. Terrified she would smash into the wall, she was stunned to find herself whizzing right through it and out into the hallway where she only stopped herself from continuing on through the opposite wall by sheer will. She then made an abrupt left turn in the direction of the brightly-lit nurse's station and sort of lurched her way towards it. She seemed to be lighter in weight somehow, perhaps from having lain in bed so long.

There was a sudden movement to her left in a waiting area, causing her to suddenly forget her peculiar exit from her room, and she saw a woman who had obviously cried so much her face looked permanently bloated. She was running her hands over rosary beads. "Terry, oh Terry" the woman cried and then the strangest thing happened to Flo. In the twinkling of an eye, she found herself inside one of the operating rooms where two doctors and several nurses were working on the head of a young man.

What was even stranger was that nobody seemed to notice her. Except for the young man who suddenly shot up to the ceiling and seemed to hang there, above everyone else. As soon as he saw Flo he landed in front of her. "My mother," he said urgently, "where is she? How is she?

"I believe she is downstairs," replied Flo. "She seems quite upset."

"Oh God, oh God," he said, wringing his hands. "What have I done?"

It was then that she saw him still lying on the table with his head opened at the top. She was even more befuddled and launched herself out of that room and down a new, ultramodern hallway. It seemed to be empty. Yet she was sure she heard a groan coming from up ahead. She was beginning to wonder what was the matter with her. Had she lost her mind? Had something bizarre happened to the world?

Passing a slumped over and sleeping maintenance man, she headed towards the end of the hall and there to her right was a closed door. Somehow she knew something interesting was going on behind it. As if propelled, she slid right through it and was rewarded by the vision of two people making love, a skinny and rather hairy young man with a bespectacled young woman of zaftig proportions. The couple was engaging in the act with gusto and Flo was struck with a memory of George and herself years ago when they had enjoyed a weekend in Chicago, spending most of it in their hotel doing this very thing.

It seemed so strange, this sex thing. She watched the two young people with a detached, scientific interest, seeming to see the light inside them that was their essence, their souls, and then this odd attempting to mingle that light by the pressing together of flesh. It made her feel sad and she decided to leave.

Abruptly she found herself back her own hallway and passing by the nurses' station. Seated there were a heavy middle-aged woman and a young man whom Flo instantly understood was gay. But he did not interest her. What did was the woman. She had, it seemed, a strange dark place where her breast was, and Flo knew that within a short time the doctors would tell her she had a tumor there. She knew also that the woman would survive this trauma. Flo stood outside her own room and then it hit her. Someone was lying in her bed. George had his head on some other woman's stomach. Why that old coot, she'd...but then with a terrible shock, she saw the woman was herself. It was only then that she understood.

"Oh Georgy", she said aloud, but he did not appear to hear her. "My darling," she said as she approached him and leaned over his sleeping back to kiss the nape of his creased old neck.

The light appeared in the top right corner of the room and was irresistible. It seemed terribly familiar and overpowering in its beauty. She glanced at George, threw him a tender kiss and let herself float up and towards that light. He was sound asleep and did not notice her leave.

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