White Washed Walls

"Shhh, Bradley listen! Do you hear the trees?"

"No Katie. Trees can't talk."

"But their leaves can. Listen."



He could never really understand why hospitals were always white. White walls, white sheets, white machines, white uniforms, white curtains, and even some of the furniture was white. Wasn't it blinding? Did it irritate the patients? Did anyone ever think of re-painting, of re-decorating? Even the children's ward was white washed, with a few colors splashed on the walls here and there. He remembered the children's ward.

He spent most of his childhood there.



"Katie, you look sick."

"I'm not sick Bradley. Just really tired."



He kept his hands stuffed inside his jean jacket, his head down and his eyes closed. He knew his way around the halls, up the elevator, to the check-in desk and down another hallway to her room. He knew the path better then he knew the way to his room from the kitchen. He knew he'd find her with his eyes closed no matter where she went.



"Bradley! You cheated!"

"I did not. You're just really bad at hiding."



He stopped walking and fixed his eyes on the brass door knob in front of him. Reaching out slowly, he opened it as quietly as he could, in case she was sleeping. He didn't have to bother, he knew, because she was always sleeping. Peeking in, his eyes fell upon her still form, wrapped up in those white sheets. The only movement inside the room was the television and her chest.

He stared at her chest for a moment, unconsciously matching his own breathing with hers. It was the only proof she was alive, besides the annoying beep from one of the many machines around her. They surrounded her, and they were all attached to her, keeping her there. Keeping her alive.



"I want to be a robot for Halloween!"

"Why? That's so stupid."

"So I can shoot lasers from my eyes. Duh."



He pulled a chair to sit next to her, and slowly sat down, never taking his eyes off of her chest. He glanced at her face, hoping for some sort of movement, some sort of sign that she was awake. He hoped she would open her eyes and smile at him. He hoped she would get up and tell him to stop worrying and that she could take care of herself.

He would always worry though.



"Bradley, I don't need you to hold my hand anymore. I'm eight years old now."

"It's a busy street."

"Fine! But I can still take care of myself!"



He shivered, a chill running down his spine. He was cold. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair.

It was how he felt, inside and out. Cold, monotonous, and apathetic. He felt completely empty, almost like a shell. It was over used, a cliche, but it was how he felt. Like a shell.

An empty, hollow, completely useless, shell.



"I hate peanut shells! They cut up my mouth!"

"You're such a baby."

"You're not even supposed to eat them, Bradley! You're so stupid."

"Shut up Katie."



She made him watch her stupid television shows with him. Her favorite episodes were always the same. The girlfriend always got stuck in the hospital, sick or injured, and the boyfriend would walk around for days, angry and depressed. Picking fights, slamming lockers, doors, whatever he could slam, and driving around town too fast. He had always scoffed at them, at the fake actors, demeaning them for changing who they were over some girl they would replace within weeks. She always hit him, of course, saying it was love, and then cry when next week's episode came on and they would break up.

And when she cried, he hugged her. She was always warm, though she whined about being cold all the time. He suspected it was a girl thing, as he gave her his jean jacket, while telling her to stop complaining.

Even after that, she'd still hug him. Cling to him, and bury her face in his chest whenever she was scared, sad, or even happy. She hated her smile, so she hid it in his chest, gripping his shirt while her shoulders shook from laughter.

He never once complained.



"Bradley, don't hug me! I'm contagious."

"You are not. The doctor said so."

"But I don't want to get you sick too."

"Fine. You hug yourself, and pretend it's me. 'Kay?"

"'Kay."



Glancing at the calendar, he frowned and looked down at his lap, slightly angered.

A month.

She had been there, in that same bed, hardly moving, hardly breathing, for a whole month.

She had never stayed this long. A week or two, maybe, but never this long. Swallowing hard, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger before sighing.

For a month he had visited her everyday. For a month he had prayed to a God he stopped believing in when he was little that she would get better. For a month he had stayed awake, keeping his phone on, in case she woke up and called him.

For a whole damn month.



"Bradley, just pray to God, and I'll get better!"

"No. I don't like Him anymore. He won't make you better."

"Bradley! Don't say that! If you pray and believe, it'll all be OK!"

"No, it won't Katie."

"You just wait! We're going to live forever Bradley, just you and me."



Minutes turned into hours until finally, a nurse popped her head in.

"Visiting hours are over."

He barely nodded, never removing his eyes from her still face. Getting up slowly, he moved the chair back and headed towards the door. Opening it, his eyes widened a fraction when he remembered something. Turning sideways, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Bye Katie."

With that he left, the door clicking shut behind him. Stuffing his hands back in his jacket, he let a small smile take over his face as he bent his head down.

"I love you."



"I love you Bradley!"

"What did you say that for?"

"Mom says you gotta say it to someone who means a lot to you! So, I love you!"

"Hm."

"Bradley!"

"Yeah, I guess I love you too."