Second Chance

SECOND CHANCE

For three days gray clouds have sealed the sky against the sun’s influence. As the wind driven rain spays across the windowpane I study my reflection. Frankly I look like hell. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night or ate a full meal. Gulps of cheap whisky I smuggled into the room and cupfuls of strong coffee to counter the alcohol’s effects have occupied most of my time. I’m craving a cigarette but they don’t allow smoking in the building and I am sure as hell not going out in this downpour just for a few puffs. Maybe later if the damned rain lets up.

The walls of this cold clinical room are beginning to close in on me. There is not even enough room to pace without having to go through a maze of equipment. And that beeping is really getting on my nerves. The monitor is linked to the Nurse’s Station so why does the machine have to be beeping in here? Then there are the IV tubes pumping who knows what. Damn what a mess.

I walk over to the bed and straighten the sheets again. It’s hard not being able to do more than just keep a vigil. He is still so pale but I guess that is to be expected considering how much blood he lost. His breathing did improve during the night so the Doctor removed the respirator this morning, but nothing was done about that constant beeping. I wonder if he can hear that irritating noise through the fog of medication they keeping pumping into his system?

Knowing him, if the racket does finally get through, he will wake up cursing and demanding his pistol so the can blast the machine. Perhaps the beeping isn’t so bad after all if it will causes him to fight back.

After four hours in surgery and nearly a week in ICU you would think he would be tired of sleeping. He never slept that much before. There was hardly a night that he wasn’t awake into the early hours either sitting in bed smoking and cleaning his gun or wandering around the ship. He was always so restless like he was waiting for something to happen. He never seemed to be satisfied with where he was or what he was doing. It was as if there was something just beyond his reach and if he didn’t keep moving it would slip away.

He sure as hell is settled now. I think this is the longest time he has been at a standstill for at least a year. He once told me that he couldn’t have a future until his past was put to rest. Now there isn’t anyone left from his past but does he have a future? Come on buddy wake up. That elusive calling is still out there. You can’t give up now.

I wonder if he hears me through that medicative haze? I finish the last of the whisky and toss the bottle in the wastebasket. If the staff wants to complain let them; I am in the mood for a good fight. Now I am strongly considering getting my automatic and shutting up that hellish machine. Beep, beep, beep.

A low groan can barely be heard above the incessant beeping. I can see his eyes moving under his weakness-laden lids. Taking his hand I give it a firm squeeze. That’s it fight back, you have too many things left to do to give up now. I lay my hand on his clammy forehead pushing back that unruly crop of hair.

Slowly his eyes open then slide shut. I call his name and increase the pressure on his hand. Again his eyes open but this time they seem more inclined to cooperate. After a couple of blinks their focus steadies up. Then as I breathe a sigh of relief those mismatched pupils align with my misty sight.

"Spike." I repeat. He seems to follow my voice "Hey buddy welcome back."

In spite of his doped up condition he manages a slight smile. His lips part. Raspy whispered words force their way to the surface. I lean closer to hear.

"Jet." my name struggles through a dry throat.

"I’m here." I answer with another grateful sigh. "Tell me what you want."

Spike cuts his eyes in the monitor’s direction. "Would you stop that damn beeping?"

Yeah Spike is back and he is going to be fine.

Second Chance--Karen Hickman--May 2002