Veritas
I reciently had to write a story for my fantasy literature class, It's not too long, if you have time please read and tell me what you think.
Veritas
I dropped my bags in the entryway and smiled. I was finally home. I had forgotten how much I had missed the way the picture over the mantle was always a little tilted, and how the closet door never quite latched all the way. You had to push down on the handle at the same time as you shoved the door shut.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to drop things in the hallway.” I smiled at my Dad as he climbed over my many bags to give me a hug.
“I missed you too.” I said. I still didn't move my bags. I heard Mom's voice in the kitchen and I clamored past my dad to reach Mom. I hugged her, when I pulled back I saw that her hair was more grey than brown and her blue eyes were surrounded by more lines than I remembered seeing. She looked tired, so did Dad. I walked into the kitchen and opened the oven. I “mmmm” appreciatively at the wonderful smells wafting under my nose. Gigantic stuff shells, one of my favorites.
“Oh, Michael will be here for dinner as well.” Mom's eyes sparkled as I blushed at the mention of my friend's name.
“You realize he only comes over for your cooking, right?” I teased.
“I'm sure that's the only reason he comes over, dear.”
I paused and looked over to where Tripod's, my three legged chinchilla, cage normally was. It was gone. “Mom, where's Tripod?” I asked looking around to see if they had just moved it.
“He's at the vet, making sure that we don't have any little Tripods running around,” I shook my head, she still talked like I was 12 even though I had gotten back from my second year at college. I turned and looked around the kitchen to see what else had changed. Mom had told me about how she had changed the wallpaper, but she hadn't told me about the new couch that was in the corner of the living room or about the new tile on the floor. I started to comment about how nice it looked when I heard a car door shut. I smiled.
“I'll get the door!” I rolled my eyes at the knowing look on my parent's face and went to get the front door. I opened the door, and my greetings died on my lips. Michael's face was covered in blood. It was dripping the left side of his face and staining his green suede jacket. He stumbled forward as his foot caught on the bottom of the doorframe; I caught him and jerked as I lurched over my luggage. I laid him on the floor and tried to assess where all the blood was coming from. His pants were ripped and torn, but there didn't seem to be a lot of blood on them. Most of it seemed to be coming from his head.
“Dad! Dad! Call 911!” I screamed over and over again.
Dad took one look at Michael lying in the floor and ran upstairs, yelling “Jade call 911. I'll get my bag.” My mother took one look at Michael lying on the floor, her face paled and she sprinted back into the kitchen; I could hear her speaking into the phone. My dad pounded down the stairs, a blue and green tackle box in his hands. In his haste to open it, he almost spills the contents over the floor. I watch him sort through different bandages before he found the stack of alcohol wipes. He tore it open and started cleaning the blood off of his face.
“I don't understand where all this blood came from.” He muttered, “His cuts aren't that deep.” I looked down at Michael and saw a wet darkening on his jacket. I tore open his jacket and almost gagged at the sheer amount of blood on his shirt. I grabbed at his keys that he had dropped on the floor when he stumbled in. My fingers slipped over them, making them slick with blood. I finally got the pocketknife open and quickly cut open his shirt from neck to navel. I slowly peeled back the left side and immediately stopped what I was doing. I snatched a thick bandage out of Dad's hands and pressed it hard down on top of Michael shirt where I was sure the hole that I had seen in his chest was. The blood was thick under my fingers, filled with tiny pink bubbles.
“There's a hole…” Dad looked at me, not understanding, “There's a hole in his chest!” I screamed. I pressed down harder on the wound. I could feel the blood seeping through the bandages and over my fingers and hands.
“Jade! Bring dish towels!” Mom came in carrying an armful of clean towels. Dad looked at me and said, “Whatever you do, don't let up on the pressure.” He folded up one of the towels; “On three I'm going to slip this under your hands. Ready?” I nodded, “One, two, three.” He slipped it under the palms of my hands. I continued to press down and tried not to think about Michael's blood that was coating my hands, my wrists, part of my arms. I could hear the sirens in the distance. I heard my dad rummaging around in his tackle box of a med kit. He pulled out a pen light and checked his pupils, he placed his fingers against Michael's neck, checking his pulse. Dad's fingers left two bloody marks on his neck. I started to panic as I felt more of Michael's blood seeping through the folded towel. There was so much blood. Blood on the floor, blood on the carpet, blood on Michael, blood on me. The air felt so thick, it smelled so sticky sweet - only with a tang of something that was bitter. The sirens grew louder, closer, but they were still too far away.
All at once time seemed to stretch and a shower of tiny gold motes floated down around me, dusting me with a fine web of sunshine. They seemed to sink into my skin, absorbed by my body. My skin tingled like goose bumps, the feeling you get just before it rains. I shook my head and looked down at my arms. They looked normal - except for the blood.
“I can take it from here, Miss. Miss?” I looked up at the medic and wondered where he had come from. He gently but firmly shoved me out of the way.
“…He has a sucking chest wound on the left side of his chest - don't know what caused it - about half an inch in diameter, his pulse is 110, he has labored reparations, asymmetric chest rise and fall.” I looked up at Dad as he rattled off this information to the medics as they placed a pulse ox. on Michael's finger.
“His blood was bubbly…” I stammered.
“What?” The medic who was leaning over Michael's head with the oxygen mask looked up sharply at me.
“The blood… when it came out of his chest. It had bubbles.” The medic nodded at me, indicating that he heard what I had said. The other medic peeled off the soaked towel and cut away the remains of Michael's shirt. Quickly he placed a bandage over the hole in his chest and taped it down, but only on three sides.
“So the air can come out and not go back in.” My father said when he saw my puzzled face. Quickly the medics got him into a stretcher and started wheeling him out the door to the ambulance. My father grabbed his coat and followed, climbing into the back of the vehicle with them. Already my mother was starting to clean up the blood on the floor. There was too much of it on our carpet. I didn't see how Michael could have any left. I pushed past Mom, my shoes squishing and sliding on the slick surface. I grabbed my keys and purse off the table and ran for the garage, hitting the door opener as I went past it. It took me two tries to unlock the car door, leaving handprints and smudges on the side panel. I backed out quickly and barely missed the mailbox. I didn't even bother to touch the brakes as I skidded past the stop sign. Once I had caught up to the ambulance I felt as though they weren't going fast enough. They were going too slow, they were going to kill him with their tardiness. People on the freeway slowed and pulled to the right watching first the ambulance and then a small white car with a bloody handprint on the side speed past.
I finally pulled into the parking lot, the clock in my car read 6:00. I barely remembered to take my keys out of the ignition before shutting the locked door. I ran up the walkway to the entrance of the ER and saw the EMTs pull Michael out of the back of the emergency vehicle on a stretcher. The automatic doors opened before me and I walked up to the reception desk.
The clerk didn't look up, “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I'm Matthew Collin's daughter. He's a doctor - “
She cut me off, “I'll buzz you back, dear.” I turned and walked through the double doors into the ER proper. To my left was a hallway, to my right rooms closed off by flimsy white curtains. In from of me was Michael.
“20 year old white male with a sucking chest wound. Pulse 110, pulse ox. 88%, BP 70/50. We started two large bore I.V. lactated ringers.” The medic quickly relayed this information as one of the nurses quickly cut off his clothes leaving him bare on the table. “Asymmetric chest ride and fall with bubbly blood. We placed a three cornered bandage to keep the air out. We needled him.” I grimaced as I imagined the large needle being jammed into his chest. I could also hear the puncture popping sound. The nurse placed sensors on his chest, and flipped on the monitors and hooked him up to a ventilator through the ET tube. The EMT continued talking. I watched the response team place a tube down to his stomach, pull his blood and send it off the lab.
“Give him uncrossed match blood massive transfusion protocol.” She put a tube into his chest, almost as soon as it was in place 600 cc. drained out. I felt like I should gag, but I just stood there. “We need to get him to x-ray. Get pictures of his neck, chest and pelvis. Then get a cat scan of his head.” She looked up and saw me stained red, blood halfway up my forearms. It was smeared on my face, splashed in my hair, soaked through the thighs of my jeans. Her face softened as she saw me not moving, just starring. “Someone get her some scrubs.”
A nurse came up behind me, gently steered me to an empty room and helped me wash my hands, all the way up to my elbows, just like in all the movies and TV shows. My shirt was stiff, it was partly dry despite being liberally soaked. The nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors, just like the ones the nurse who had cut off Michael's clothes had, and in the same way this nurse cut off my shirt. My bra was soaked through in spots.
The nurse sighed, “Well, there's not much we can do about that.” And handed me a blue scrub top. I stepped out of my shoes, unbuttoned my pants and slipped them off. At first they stuck to my thighs, but they pulled away, sending flakes of blood floating down. I slowly reached down and pulled them off, one leg at a time. I just stood there in front of the nurse just holding the set of scrubs that she had given me. She left me standing there, and for a moment I wasn't quite sure what to do. Then, slowly I put on the pants and then the shirt. I looked at the bloody clothes on the floor and wondered what to do with them. I couldn't just leave them on the floor. I picked them up and folded them, getting the blood that hadn't dried on the palms of my hands that I had just washed. I slowly walked to the doorway and just watched the organized chaos that seemed to reign in the ER.
“What are you doing in here?” Dad rushed up to me.
“One of the nurses gave me clean clothes.” I looked down at the scrubs, “See?”
“You shouldn't be back here.” He ushered me back out into the waiting room. “I called Michael's family and they should be here soon. I want you to wait for them, alright?” I nodded idly and chose a seat in the corner next to the window. I watched the TV across the room that was playing the news; the newscaster was explaining the forecast. It was supposed to rain. A little girl was running around, she tripped and fell. Her eyes welled with tears and after about a second she opened her mouth and started wailing. It took her mother only a few minutes to calm her down and set her off running around the waiting room again. I sat there watching her play, after a while she just stopped, sat down and fell asleep on the floor. Her mother sighed and walked over, picked her up, set her down on one of the chairs next to her and covered her with a blanket. The doors slid open and Mr. and Mrs. Triclin rushed in. They went to the front desk and started to ask questions about Michael. I slowly stood up and absently rubbed my hands on my pants, leaving small red streaks down the front.
“You'll have to wait, I'm sorry, I can't say what's going on right now, but the doctor should be out soon.” The receptionist said. “Please have a seat in the waiting room.” They just stood there; looking horrified and panicked, not knowing what was going on. I slowly walked over; Mr. Triclin saw me first and took in the scrubs and the now brown smudges on my face and in my hair. I opened my mouth to say something but at that moment Dad came out of the ER and saw the three of us standing there.
“Mike, Megan. I'm glad you're here. Follow me.” They quickly turned rushed after them. Slowly I followed passing again through the doors.
“What's going on? What happened? Is he going to be alright?” Mr. Triclin demanded. He looked older than I ever remembered him looking
“Michael's currently in surgery, shouldn't be too long-“ Mr. Triclin cut him off. Slowly their voices faded and everything was quiet. I could see them moving, but everything was still. The beeps of the monitors were gone, so was the hubbub of conversations, as well as the faint sounds of pain. Even though my hearing was gone, I didn't feel deaf or like a part of me was missing. Everything was just serene. Once again time seemed to stretch and everything around me seemed to freeze in place even though I felt like I could move freely around the room. There was no golden shower, but the fine golden web that I had seen settle on my skin glowed lightly, encasing my skin with golden fine-knit lace. Idly I flipped over my hand and looked at my palm, the gilt net seemed to cover my hand like a glove, all the way up my arm and under my scrub top. And then I saw him.
What he was I don't know. He seemed to change shape as soon as I thought I had figured out what he was. Constantly morphing from one thing to another I could never tell what was standing there. He too was encased in a golden net that covered him from head to toe. His was much brighter than mine, and there seemed to be tiny pinpricks of stars at the end of each stand of hair or at the joining of two or more strands of the fine thread. Sometimes he looked human, sometimes like a large ferocious lion, or like an eagle, others like horse. Even though he was constantly changing, it always seemed like he had wings, like an angel or a Pegasus. Even the lion had wings. He was never fully one thing or another, endlessly transposing itself into something new. There seemed to be music emanating from his being, even though I could not hear. He was just standing there, enfolded by this light, his very own source of sunshine. I stared at him, even though my eyes burned and watered, I could not look away. It was enchanting, I was transfixed; there was nothing I could do but continue to watch.
Then he called my name. I felt him call me, he uttered no physical words, but he called me by my true name, the name I didn't know I possessed until he had told me. Even though he did not move, he beckoned me to him, called me closer. So slowly I moved; it seemed to take me an eternity to stand before him. Even though the rest of him was constantly shifting, his eyes stayed the same. They were unvarying, yet boundless at the same time. There seemed to be galaxies in his eyes. They had no irises or pupils, everything was black and filled with stars; they were infinite in their nature and strange in their complexion. I reached out my hand to touch his face, the closer my hand got the brighter my hand became until it was close to the same dazzling color. His hands come up and he placed one hand against mine, and held up his other hand. Slowly I lifted my palm and pressed it against his. I marveled at the fact that his hands felt solid, but at the same time I could see them transforming. Images started flashing through my head; true names of people; events - both past and present; and knowledge of things, places and people.
I saw an image and seized on it. I watched Michael being pulled roughly out of his car at the construction site where he had been working at for the last few months. He was being shoved around, someone demanded for his wallet and he calmly handed it over. It was empty; not a lot of cash, no credit cards, no bank card, no social security card. Just receipts, a driver's license, and a few business cards. He shrugged and said how working construction didn't pay much. The same person who took his wallet threw it to someone across the way who continued to riffle through it. Michael turned to go when someone shoved him into a cement block. His chest was slammed forward, and his hands went out and he caught himself. Slowly he straightened and touched a hand to his chest. Protruding out of the cement block was a stick of rebar. Because he had caught himself, the rebar didn't completely penetrate his chest cavity. Clichely he looked down and touched his chest and stared dumbly at the blood that coated his fingers. Slowly he walked, stepping very carefully to his car he started the engine and drove out of the lot. I saw him pull into my parent's driveway and climb up the porch. I saw myself open the door and Michael collapse into my arms. The scene was wrenched away and another took its place, then another, and another. Rapidly they changed before me filling my mind with the true knowledge of things; I could see atoms bonded together forming elements and the elements forming objects. The world whirled around, slowly going faster and faster until it was a spinning sphere of white punctuated by spots of blue and green. Suddenly it burst and the tiny fragments sparkled like stars as they spun out into space.
A small pinprick of light formed at what had been the center of the earth, it sent out tiny tendrils of light in every direction. It grew larger and larger until it was blindingly bright; it seemed to twirl and the ends of the offshoots shimmered and gleamed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the golden being join the bright light; he was pure golden light, no figure was visible, just shinning bronze gilt. Slowly they entwined themselves around each other. At first it seemed that they were spinning, but the closer I watched the more I realized that they were dancing. Then, in a blink of an eye, they were gone and the world hung fully formed on its axis. I looked down and I could see the Great Wall of China, everything was as it should be - and I understood.
I closed my eyes and when I had opened them I was back in ER. My dad was saying, “-shouldn't be too long now. No more than a half hour.” Dad continued to explain the nature of Michael's injuries and what the ER staff had done and what was going on in the operating room.
“How did this happen” Mr. Triclin asked gravely.
“He accidentally impaled himself on a stick of rebar at the construction site.” I said quietly. Everyone turned to look at me.
My dad nodded, “Makes sense. It fits with the nature of his injuries.” I looked down at the floor and saw a flash of gold reflected off of the floor. I looked over my shoulder and saw the being standing there, changing and morphing as he had before, then he was gone. I smiled slightly, turned back and took my seat in the waiting room. It was just over 40 minutes before the doctor came out and told us that the surgery had gone well, that Michael was in the intensive care unit and they would be able to tell if he was going to be all right and if there was any neurological damage when he woke up.
“Can we see him?” For the first time that night Mrs. Triclin spoke.
“In about a half hour or so.” The doctor said, he turned to my dad and shook his hand, “You did a good job getting everything under control, if you hadn't, I don't think things would have gone as well as they did.” Dad nodded and tried to smile. We headed up to the ICU. I waited outside as Mr. and Mrs. Triclin went in to sit by their son; they didn't stay long, they planned to go home tell their other children what had happened and come back in the morning.
I slowly walked into the room and stood just inside the door. I looked at Michael lying there on the bed, hooked up to monitors. The tube that they had placed down his throat was gone; I took a tentative step closer and brushed the foot of his bed with my fingertips. The lights in the room were dimmed, my watched read 10:00. I walked over to the head of his bed and gently ran my fingers through his hair. I leaned down and whispered his true name in his ear. All of a sudden his eyes opened and the monitors started going off. Nurses and doctors rushed in, I was pushed back against the far wall. I slid down to the floor where I was out of the way and watched the nurses and doctors try to jolt Michael back to life.
“Time of death,” the doctor paused as he looked at his watch, “10:14.” I looked down at my bloody hands, hung my head between my knees and understood.
Veritas
I dropped my bags in the entryway and smiled. I was finally home. I had forgotten how much I had missed the way the picture over the mantle was always a little tilted, and how the closet door never quite latched all the way. You had to push down on the handle at the same time as you shoved the door shut.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to drop things in the hallway.” I smiled at my Dad as he climbed over my many bags to give me a hug.
“I missed you too.” I said. I still didn't move my bags. I heard Mom's voice in the kitchen and I clamored past my dad to reach Mom. I hugged her, when I pulled back I saw that her hair was more grey than brown and her blue eyes were surrounded by more lines than I remembered seeing. She looked tired, so did Dad. I walked into the kitchen and opened the oven. I “mmmm” appreciatively at the wonderful smells wafting under my nose. Gigantic stuff shells, one of my favorites.
“Oh, Michael will be here for dinner as well.” Mom's eyes sparkled as I blushed at the mention of my friend's name.
“You realize he only comes over for your cooking, right?” I teased.
“I'm sure that's the only reason he comes over, dear.”
I paused and looked over to where Tripod's, my three legged chinchilla, cage normally was. It was gone. “Mom, where's Tripod?” I asked looking around to see if they had just moved it.
“He's at the vet, making sure that we don't have any little Tripods running around,” I shook my head, she still talked like I was 12 even though I had gotten back from my second year at college. I turned and looked around the kitchen to see what else had changed. Mom had told me about how she had changed the wallpaper, but she hadn't told me about the new couch that was in the corner of the living room or about the new tile on the floor. I started to comment about how nice it looked when I heard a car door shut. I smiled.
“I'll get the door!” I rolled my eyes at the knowing look on my parent's face and went to get the front door. I opened the door, and my greetings died on my lips. Michael's face was covered in blood. It was dripping the left side of his face and staining his green suede jacket. He stumbled forward as his foot caught on the bottom of the doorframe; I caught him and jerked as I lurched over my luggage. I laid him on the floor and tried to assess where all the blood was coming from. His pants were ripped and torn, but there didn't seem to be a lot of blood on them. Most of it seemed to be coming from his head.
“Dad! Dad! Call 911!” I screamed over and over again.
Dad took one look at Michael lying in the floor and ran upstairs, yelling “Jade call 911. I'll get my bag.” My mother took one look at Michael lying on the floor, her face paled and she sprinted back into the kitchen; I could hear her speaking into the phone. My dad pounded down the stairs, a blue and green tackle box in his hands. In his haste to open it, he almost spills the contents over the floor. I watch him sort through different bandages before he found the stack of alcohol wipes. He tore it open and started cleaning the blood off of his face.
“I don't understand where all this blood came from.” He muttered, “His cuts aren't that deep.” I looked down at Michael and saw a wet darkening on his jacket. I tore open his jacket and almost gagged at the sheer amount of blood on his shirt. I grabbed at his keys that he had dropped on the floor when he stumbled in. My fingers slipped over them, making them slick with blood. I finally got the pocketknife open and quickly cut open his shirt from neck to navel. I slowly peeled back the left side and immediately stopped what I was doing. I snatched a thick bandage out of Dad's hands and pressed it hard down on top of Michael shirt where I was sure the hole that I had seen in his chest was. The blood was thick under my fingers, filled with tiny pink bubbles.
“There's a hole…” Dad looked at me, not understanding, “There's a hole in his chest!” I screamed. I pressed down harder on the wound. I could feel the blood seeping through the bandages and over my fingers and hands.
“Jade! Bring dish towels!” Mom came in carrying an armful of clean towels. Dad looked at me and said, “Whatever you do, don't let up on the pressure.” He folded up one of the towels; “On three I'm going to slip this under your hands. Ready?” I nodded, “One, two, three.” He slipped it under the palms of my hands. I continued to press down and tried not to think about Michael's blood that was coating my hands, my wrists, part of my arms. I could hear the sirens in the distance. I heard my dad rummaging around in his tackle box of a med kit. He pulled out a pen light and checked his pupils, he placed his fingers against Michael's neck, checking his pulse. Dad's fingers left two bloody marks on his neck. I started to panic as I felt more of Michael's blood seeping through the folded towel. There was so much blood. Blood on the floor, blood on the carpet, blood on Michael, blood on me. The air felt so thick, it smelled so sticky sweet - only with a tang of something that was bitter. The sirens grew louder, closer, but they were still too far away.
All at once time seemed to stretch and a shower of tiny gold motes floated down around me, dusting me with a fine web of sunshine. They seemed to sink into my skin, absorbed by my body. My skin tingled like goose bumps, the feeling you get just before it rains. I shook my head and looked down at my arms. They looked normal - except for the blood.
“I can take it from here, Miss. Miss?” I looked up at the medic and wondered where he had come from. He gently but firmly shoved me out of the way.
“…He has a sucking chest wound on the left side of his chest - don't know what caused it - about half an inch in diameter, his pulse is 110, he has labored reparations, asymmetric chest rise and fall.” I looked up at Dad as he rattled off this information to the medics as they placed a pulse ox. on Michael's finger.
“His blood was bubbly…” I stammered.
“What?” The medic who was leaning over Michael's head with the oxygen mask looked up sharply at me.
“The blood… when it came out of his chest. It had bubbles.” The medic nodded at me, indicating that he heard what I had said. The other medic peeled off the soaked towel and cut away the remains of Michael's shirt. Quickly he placed a bandage over the hole in his chest and taped it down, but only on three sides.
“So the air can come out and not go back in.” My father said when he saw my puzzled face. Quickly the medics got him into a stretcher and started wheeling him out the door to the ambulance. My father grabbed his coat and followed, climbing into the back of the vehicle with them. Already my mother was starting to clean up the blood on the floor. There was too much of it on our carpet. I didn't see how Michael could have any left. I pushed past Mom, my shoes squishing and sliding on the slick surface. I grabbed my keys and purse off the table and ran for the garage, hitting the door opener as I went past it. It took me two tries to unlock the car door, leaving handprints and smudges on the side panel. I backed out quickly and barely missed the mailbox. I didn't even bother to touch the brakes as I skidded past the stop sign. Once I had caught up to the ambulance I felt as though they weren't going fast enough. They were going too slow, they were going to kill him with their tardiness. People on the freeway slowed and pulled to the right watching first the ambulance and then a small white car with a bloody handprint on the side speed past.
I finally pulled into the parking lot, the clock in my car read 6:00. I barely remembered to take my keys out of the ignition before shutting the locked door. I ran up the walkway to the entrance of the ER and saw the EMTs pull Michael out of the back of the emergency vehicle on a stretcher. The automatic doors opened before me and I walked up to the reception desk.
The clerk didn't look up, “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I'm Matthew Collin's daughter. He's a doctor - “
She cut me off, “I'll buzz you back, dear.” I turned and walked through the double doors into the ER proper. To my left was a hallway, to my right rooms closed off by flimsy white curtains. In from of me was Michael.
“20 year old white male with a sucking chest wound. Pulse 110, pulse ox. 88%, BP 70/50. We started two large bore I.V. lactated ringers.” The medic quickly relayed this information as one of the nurses quickly cut off his clothes leaving him bare on the table. “Asymmetric chest ride and fall with bubbly blood. We placed a three cornered bandage to keep the air out. We needled him.” I grimaced as I imagined the large needle being jammed into his chest. I could also hear the puncture popping sound. The nurse placed sensors on his chest, and flipped on the monitors and hooked him up to a ventilator through the ET tube. The EMT continued talking. I watched the response team place a tube down to his stomach, pull his blood and send it off the lab.
“Give him uncrossed match blood massive transfusion protocol.” She put a tube into his chest, almost as soon as it was in place 600 cc. drained out. I felt like I should gag, but I just stood there. “We need to get him to x-ray. Get pictures of his neck, chest and pelvis. Then get a cat scan of his head.” She looked up and saw me stained red, blood halfway up my forearms. It was smeared on my face, splashed in my hair, soaked through the thighs of my jeans. Her face softened as she saw me not moving, just starring. “Someone get her some scrubs.”
A nurse came up behind me, gently steered me to an empty room and helped me wash my hands, all the way up to my elbows, just like in all the movies and TV shows. My shirt was stiff, it was partly dry despite being liberally soaked. The nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors, just like the ones the nurse who had cut off Michael's clothes had, and in the same way this nurse cut off my shirt. My bra was soaked through in spots.
The nurse sighed, “Well, there's not much we can do about that.” And handed me a blue scrub top. I stepped out of my shoes, unbuttoned my pants and slipped them off. At first they stuck to my thighs, but they pulled away, sending flakes of blood floating down. I slowly reached down and pulled them off, one leg at a time. I just stood there in front of the nurse just holding the set of scrubs that she had given me. She left me standing there, and for a moment I wasn't quite sure what to do. Then, slowly I put on the pants and then the shirt. I looked at the bloody clothes on the floor and wondered what to do with them. I couldn't just leave them on the floor. I picked them up and folded them, getting the blood that hadn't dried on the palms of my hands that I had just washed. I slowly walked to the doorway and just watched the organized chaos that seemed to reign in the ER.
“What are you doing in here?” Dad rushed up to me.
“One of the nurses gave me clean clothes.” I looked down at the scrubs, “See?”
“You shouldn't be back here.” He ushered me back out into the waiting room. “I called Michael's family and they should be here soon. I want you to wait for them, alright?” I nodded idly and chose a seat in the corner next to the window. I watched the TV across the room that was playing the news; the newscaster was explaining the forecast. It was supposed to rain. A little girl was running around, she tripped and fell. Her eyes welled with tears and after about a second she opened her mouth and started wailing. It took her mother only a few minutes to calm her down and set her off running around the waiting room again. I sat there watching her play, after a while she just stopped, sat down and fell asleep on the floor. Her mother sighed and walked over, picked her up, set her down on one of the chairs next to her and covered her with a blanket. The doors slid open and Mr. and Mrs. Triclin rushed in. They went to the front desk and started to ask questions about Michael. I slowly stood up and absently rubbed my hands on my pants, leaving small red streaks down the front.
“You'll have to wait, I'm sorry, I can't say what's going on right now, but the doctor should be out soon.” The receptionist said. “Please have a seat in the waiting room.” They just stood there; looking horrified and panicked, not knowing what was going on. I slowly walked over; Mr. Triclin saw me first and took in the scrubs and the now brown smudges on my face and in my hair. I opened my mouth to say something but at that moment Dad came out of the ER and saw the three of us standing there.
“Mike, Megan. I'm glad you're here. Follow me.” They quickly turned rushed after them. Slowly I followed passing again through the doors.
“What's going on? What happened? Is he going to be alright?” Mr. Triclin demanded. He looked older than I ever remembered him looking
“Michael's currently in surgery, shouldn't be too long-“ Mr. Triclin cut him off. Slowly their voices faded and everything was quiet. I could see them moving, but everything was still. The beeps of the monitors were gone, so was the hubbub of conversations, as well as the faint sounds of pain. Even though my hearing was gone, I didn't feel deaf or like a part of me was missing. Everything was just serene. Once again time seemed to stretch and everything around me seemed to freeze in place even though I felt like I could move freely around the room. There was no golden shower, but the fine golden web that I had seen settle on my skin glowed lightly, encasing my skin with golden fine-knit lace. Idly I flipped over my hand and looked at my palm, the gilt net seemed to cover my hand like a glove, all the way up my arm and under my scrub top. And then I saw him.
What he was I don't know. He seemed to change shape as soon as I thought I had figured out what he was. Constantly morphing from one thing to another I could never tell what was standing there. He too was encased in a golden net that covered him from head to toe. His was much brighter than mine, and there seemed to be tiny pinpricks of stars at the end of each stand of hair or at the joining of two or more strands of the fine thread. Sometimes he looked human, sometimes like a large ferocious lion, or like an eagle, others like horse. Even though he was constantly changing, it always seemed like he had wings, like an angel or a Pegasus. Even the lion had wings. He was never fully one thing or another, endlessly transposing itself into something new. There seemed to be music emanating from his being, even though I could not hear. He was just standing there, enfolded by this light, his very own source of sunshine. I stared at him, even though my eyes burned and watered, I could not look away. It was enchanting, I was transfixed; there was nothing I could do but continue to watch.
Then he called my name. I felt him call me, he uttered no physical words, but he called me by my true name, the name I didn't know I possessed until he had told me. Even though he did not move, he beckoned me to him, called me closer. So slowly I moved; it seemed to take me an eternity to stand before him. Even though the rest of him was constantly shifting, his eyes stayed the same. They were unvarying, yet boundless at the same time. There seemed to be galaxies in his eyes. They had no irises or pupils, everything was black and filled with stars; they were infinite in their nature and strange in their complexion. I reached out my hand to touch his face, the closer my hand got the brighter my hand became until it was close to the same dazzling color. His hands come up and he placed one hand against mine, and held up his other hand. Slowly I lifted my palm and pressed it against his. I marveled at the fact that his hands felt solid, but at the same time I could see them transforming. Images started flashing through my head; true names of people; events - both past and present; and knowledge of things, places and people.
I saw an image and seized on it. I watched Michael being pulled roughly out of his car at the construction site where he had been working at for the last few months. He was being shoved around, someone demanded for his wallet and he calmly handed it over. It was empty; not a lot of cash, no credit cards, no bank card, no social security card. Just receipts, a driver's license, and a few business cards. He shrugged and said how working construction didn't pay much. The same person who took his wallet threw it to someone across the way who continued to riffle through it. Michael turned to go when someone shoved him into a cement block. His chest was slammed forward, and his hands went out and he caught himself. Slowly he straightened and touched a hand to his chest. Protruding out of the cement block was a stick of rebar. Because he had caught himself, the rebar didn't completely penetrate his chest cavity. Clichely he looked down and touched his chest and stared dumbly at the blood that coated his fingers. Slowly he walked, stepping very carefully to his car he started the engine and drove out of the lot. I saw him pull into my parent's driveway and climb up the porch. I saw myself open the door and Michael collapse into my arms. The scene was wrenched away and another took its place, then another, and another. Rapidly they changed before me filling my mind with the true knowledge of things; I could see atoms bonded together forming elements and the elements forming objects. The world whirled around, slowly going faster and faster until it was a spinning sphere of white punctuated by spots of blue and green. Suddenly it burst and the tiny fragments sparkled like stars as they spun out into space.
A small pinprick of light formed at what had been the center of the earth, it sent out tiny tendrils of light in every direction. It grew larger and larger until it was blindingly bright; it seemed to twirl and the ends of the offshoots shimmered and gleamed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the golden being join the bright light; he was pure golden light, no figure was visible, just shinning bronze gilt. Slowly they entwined themselves around each other. At first it seemed that they were spinning, but the closer I watched the more I realized that they were dancing. Then, in a blink of an eye, they were gone and the world hung fully formed on its axis. I looked down and I could see the Great Wall of China, everything was as it should be - and I understood.
I closed my eyes and when I had opened them I was back in ER. My dad was saying, “-shouldn't be too long now. No more than a half hour.” Dad continued to explain the nature of Michael's injuries and what the ER staff had done and what was going on in the operating room.
“How did this happen” Mr. Triclin asked gravely.
“He accidentally impaled himself on a stick of rebar at the construction site.” I said quietly. Everyone turned to look at me.
My dad nodded, “Makes sense. It fits with the nature of his injuries.” I looked down at the floor and saw a flash of gold reflected off of the floor. I looked over my shoulder and saw the being standing there, changing and morphing as he had before, then he was gone. I smiled slightly, turned back and took my seat in the waiting room. It was just over 40 minutes before the doctor came out and told us that the surgery had gone well, that Michael was in the intensive care unit and they would be able to tell if he was going to be all right and if there was any neurological damage when he woke up.
“Can we see him?” For the first time that night Mrs. Triclin spoke.
“In about a half hour or so.” The doctor said, he turned to my dad and shook his hand, “You did a good job getting everything under control, if you hadn't, I don't think things would have gone as well as they did.” Dad nodded and tried to smile. We headed up to the ICU. I waited outside as Mr. and Mrs. Triclin went in to sit by their son; they didn't stay long, they planned to go home tell their other children what had happened and come back in the morning.
I slowly walked into the room and stood just inside the door. I looked at Michael lying there on the bed, hooked up to monitors. The tube that they had placed down his throat was gone; I took a tentative step closer and brushed the foot of his bed with my fingertips. The lights in the room were dimmed, my watched read 10:00. I walked over to the head of his bed and gently ran my fingers through his hair. I leaned down and whispered his true name in his ear. All of a sudden his eyes opened and the monitors started going off. Nurses and doctors rushed in, I was pushed back against the far wall. I slid down to the floor where I was out of the way and watched the nurses and doctors try to jolt Michael back to life.
“Time of death,” the doctor paused as he looked at his watch, “10:14.” I looked down at my bloody hands, hung my head between my knees and understood.
posted by Rebecca at 10:20 AM
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