Hourglass

I take a breath.

Then another, deeper one.

The air hits me, stale and plasticized, filling my mouth, plugging my nose. I gag, the taste of latex and formaldehyde spilling over my tongue.

It’s then that I realize there’s something on my face, something tight and suffocating, something preventing the real air from reaching my lungs. I claw at the intruder, my fingers sinking into plastic tubes, elastic bands, metal switches. Something steel-cold grabs at my wrist.

A hand.

“Madame,” a cool, condescending voice sinks into my ears as I continue to struggle.

“Madame! Arret! Stop! That object that you are currently defacing is an oxygen mask, which happens to be the only thing that is keeping you on this earth. I strongly suggest you leave it alone.”

I let my hands fall to my sides, sighing, expelling the plastic air. My eyes flicker open, only to snap shut, blinded by harsh florescent light. When they finally adjust, I see the outline of an older man in a white coat. He is holding a clipboard, a rusty fountain pen tucked behind his ear.

I try to lift my hand again, but am overcome with exhaustion. Every movement requires my full body’s energy. I squint at the man, feeling the sharp springs of the hospital mattress creak beneath my body. But I am unable to shift my weight. I groan. The man chuckles.

“Madame Steel, you should consider yourself quite lucky. You are suffering from an advanced form of tuberculosis. Were it not for a certain Noelle Fournier, you would still be lying on the floor of your apartment.”

I open my mouth and attempt to speak. No words come out. My throat is dry and heavy.

“Mister–“

“Doctor”

“Doctor,” I croak, clearing my desiccated throat, “what do you have to do to get a cigarette around here?”

He sighs, ignoring my question. He makes a few marks on his clipboard, straightens his lab coat, and continues as if I had never interrupted him.

“Miss Fournier and her mother are outside in the waiting room. I believe you owe the former a large thank you.”

A nurse appears at his side holding a colorful piece of paper in her hand.

“Shall I send them in, Doctor?”

“No!” I say, my voice suddenly strong, “no, please. I just… can’t.”

The doctor makes an obnoxious clucking sound with his tongue, “Why ever not, Madame?”

“It’s… hard to explain. I can’t let Noelle see me like this.”

The doctor shakes his head, rolling his eyes. The nurse smiles sadly and extends her hand, offering me the piece of paper she has been holding. It’s a card.

A messy globe is sketched on the front. Two stick figures are perched atop it, hand in hand, a tall one and a short one. “You and me,” a scraggly arrow explains. I open the card. “Get Well Soon!!!” it proclaims in sloppy, handwritten letters. My eyes wander downwards, to the bottom of the page. Slowly, I read the smaller, sloppier script.

“People like you and me have to stick together.

Promise?

Love,
Noelle”

I bite my lip, feeling the stale air cascade down my aching throat.

A perfectly sculpted hourglass, quickly, painfully, running out of time.

“Madame? Madame!” the nurse pulls her other hand out from behind here back. She is holding Grey’s Anatomy, a quizzical expression spreading across her face.

“Noelle wanted me to give this to you.”

I shake my head, an inexplicable sense of panic washing over me.

“No,” I say, “Tell her to keep it.”

The nurse turns slowly, confused.

“Wait!” I say. She starts. “Can I see the book for one second?” She nods, hesitantly, laying it down on the pink plastic table next to my bed. My fingers close around a pen. I bring the book to my chest, carefully flipping to the last page. With thin, shaky strokes, I write my message and press the covers back together.

“Can you bring this back to Noelle? It’s hers now.”

The nurse nods again, slowly.

The doctor scowls. “It will have to be thoroughly disinfected first.”

“Of course, Doctor.” The woman props Noelle’s card up on my bedside table before walking briskly out into the loud, light-soaked hallway.

The doctor scribbles a note on his clipboard and turns to leave. I stop him with an obnoxiously inquisitive look.

“Tell me the truth. How bad am I?”

“Quite bad… but I think you’ll pull through. You’re young.”

I scoff. “Young. Honestly, don’t feed me that crap. I won’t last long. I can just feel it. Not that it really matters anymore.”

The doctor hangs his head and sighs, “Madame Steel–“

“Please, you don’t need to lie. Just do me a favor and pull the switch on the oxygen when you walk out.” I smile, half-heartedly, noting the disapproval spreading across his face.

The lines in his graying face deepen. “Have some faith.”

I smile, sincerely this time, “Tell me, Doctor, what faith is there left to be had?”

His clean, white shoes leave no footprints as he walks out, into the world.