[ The second week since the accident. Hospital Lounge. ]

The second week since the accident. Hospital Lounge. 1

Debartier Street.2

Paul sat on the black bench with his hands holding his forehead, elbows leaning on his knees. He still blamed himself for letting her drive at night, although all the sane people around him told him he was being silly for thinking anything was his fault. 17-year old girls are going to fly whether you tell them to or not. His knees shook, hands sweated.3

A nurse in purple pants came out of the adjacent room. Paul could only see her white rubber-soled shoes.4

"The examination's done. She's fine. Physically. And she's still in the four-week safety period. Lots of people come out of it in four weeks."5

Paul didn't say anything. Tilted his head so that he saw her purple knees. He felt a pat on his shoulders.6

So much weight on them, so early.7

Standing to his feet, Paul drew a deep breath. Entered the sterlized room. He didn't turn on the light, because it didn't matter if the occupant of the room preferred darkness or not. Lou was comatose. Her dad's bi-plane crashed in a grove of trees. Engine failure. Her dad would never use his left arm again. His leg was broken, but even worse, he was losing his daughter.8

Paul loved Lou, she was his and he was hers. It wasn't cheesy or cliche, it just was.9

It was a huge sacrifice for him to be there, and he felt it, but didn't realize that was what was happening. He just felt the sickening sadness, despair, hopelessness, regret. Weakness and fraility. 10

He saw, truly, the difference a soul can make on a body. And it was time to relearn that, in the room, over and over, compounded each second he would be with her. Even when he was just thinking of her lying stil. How eyes that were bright and inquisitive were lidded and thick. Breaths that came in excited bursts when she laughed were even and heavy. Her skin no longer tinted pink, but sallow. Color of the washed out sheets under her thin hands.11

A small cough from a neighboring room awoke him. His feet moved. 12

The room was cold and bland like the hallway, and Paul couldn't help but feel angry. Lou was cold-blooded, dammit! She couldn't be comfortable, sleeping or not. Didn't they know that...? His Lou was always chilly, and needed lots of sunshine.13

Without glancing at the bed, he strode over to the bed and forcefully yanked the thick curtains away from the window. Sunshine flooded the room a dull afternoon yellow. A crayon drawing on the wall was illuminated by a window pane, the light highlighting "Get Well Lou" from a little cousin.
Paul scanned the room some more, angry at how it was so... un-Lou. Unloving and uncaring and harsh and gray.14

She was bright and a go-getter and Sunlight Incarnate.
Paul was the solemn one by nature, the rock, the rare smile, Pietro.15

He finally made his jaw turn his head towards the bed he had tried to ignore. Hard to turn. Lou was very still. Very quiet. Green, almost, in her ugly little bed.
Paul wiped a tingling spot near the corner of his eye. So damn ugly, gray and zizaged purple. Thin cheap sheets. Lou hated those, she would have known instantly that they were only 180 count. Not 250. Not even a pillow. No bright colors. Lou liked debating and analyzing colors with Paul. They both agreed that dark green or light blue where the best colors to sleep on, because the invoked visions of quiet forests or airy skies. Paul pictured his bed, his own green comforter. They had lain on it quietly so often. He had tried to bring it in to her, but the hospital staff protested, saying that she would get too hot.16

How would they know? They didn't know Lou. Paul shrugged his body into the visitor chair, and could only bring his gaze to her slender hand. There was an IV needle through the back of her hand. Repulsive! They both hated needles, and it was so unnatural. Needles didn't go with her hands. His hand did. 17


not finished