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The scent of disinfectant scorched my nose with
cleanliness as I slowly walked down the long searing
white hallway. I had come to the hospital as though on
a mission to conquer my own fear of the truth. To make
a concrete creation out of my fears. One of my best
friends and the only man I loved had been in a nearly
fatal car accident. The artificial cold makes me feel
dry all over except around my eyes, which anxiously
begin to fill with moisture. It is so cold it is like
fire. As I head toward the door to his room, I shiver
both with anticipation, and burning. As I grasp the
door handle, my hand becomes a slug, refusing to move;
refusing to turn.
It has always been a habit of mine to take a
breath and hold it before any situation that scares
me. I let it out only once I am completely aware of
my new surrounding. That way there is no gap between
the past and the present. I take a part of the
unknowing past with me.
I inhale deeply and force my hand to turn the
knob. The corner of my eyes catches the first glance
of his body, and it feels like falling. My eyes run
the course of his body, flat under the sheets. He is a
corpse but not. His arms are crossed over him, as
though holding him inside of himself. His back lays
flat. His head is a peeled banana turned brown; blood
incases it, thick and dark. My eyes meet his, he is
watching me watch him. His eyes seem blank and empty,
hollow. Something in those eyes made me aware. He did
this on purpose.
I exhale.