Quiescence

He was crazy in the way he laughed, and it wasn’t a darling laugh, I assure you. I had never heard his laugh per se, but I knew it was gloriously obnoxious, from the way his jaw bobbed in time to his nose scrunching up and down, like an accordion, with a viscous melody swirling about the folds of its make. He had one of those smile that just made you want to pack your suitcase. I was like Daisy, I wanted to bring him home and throw all of my dresses down on him and laugh as the flowery fabrics rained down on top of him, tears nestled earnestly in the corners of my eyes. He was my Gatsby, and perhaps this was all just as prohibited as their jazz-age love. They only way to go on about him is to be strange, to use similes and metaphors about his elements and the compounds we made together, because we were strange together. We were caught in the blissful awkwardness of our mutual adoration of one another’s oddities, and it was all perfectly unrealistic.

Lying isn’t, though.

Lying is real.

Being deaf is real.

Car accidents are real.

Our love was – no, it wasn’t love. Our quaint bond wasn’t real, and it never would be. And I don’t think either of us minded, or even looked that far ahead. It was the latter for me. For I was too afraid to.

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My carrot-top nurse wheels me out of the room, thankful to wade through the tension and bizarreness of the scene. The sheets are an ugly crimson color – nothing like the cherry blossom outside my window, or the shade my cheeks turned when I spun around on the narrow path back home to see Laci trailing haughtily behind me.

“Second hit and run accident this evening”
The nurse shouts over all the hustle of the hospital corridors. I presume she shouts, at least. She’s taken the initiative to stand by my bedside and wheel me so I can at least see her lips.

“That’s- ver terreble” I don’t even try to annunciate my words, they come out thick and poisonous, bringing a whole new meaning to choking on your own words.

“You’ve got pretty great dialect, I’ve worked with a few people who are deaf in my time here and not one of them could read lips, let alone speak like you do.” She pats my arms and I wince, to where she immediately retracts it.

“Come on, Evan stay with me now. You’re going to be alright, you’re going to be alright.”
Her frame starts to distort as the rooms picks up speed, and noticing the sense of panic in my eyes she slows down her pace to a slower level. She puts her face right up to mine so I don’t lose focus, making her brisk military-style march an awkward side waddling.

I can tell we’ve moved into the emergency surgery ward now because the sense of urgency in the room has picked up four notches, and the hallways are somewhat less crowded with loiterers. More doctors sprinting around like it’s the damn Olympics. I don’t’ know if that comforts me or terrifies me more.

We’ve pushed past four more sets of doors when I start to cry. I can feel my face twist up into a knot, and the tears are the most uncomfortable thing about me right now, because everything I can use to wipe away my tears is either shredded up or too bashed to lift up to my face. They just pool in the indent below my eye and my raised cheeks as I grimace in pain and loneliness. What would my parents think? I shudder thinking the next time they see me is on these awful sheets, drowning in my own blood. My mother would have a fit at the size of these stains. Even on my deathbed, I never cease to amuse myself.

The nurse is heaving, sucking in breaths like they were her last, when the bed swings around in a corner, the wheels locked into place. A boy running towards us with three doctors and a receptionist chasing after him halts at my bedside. I turn my head on my pillow so I can see him. His eyes are red from the salty snowflakes of depression but also outline his sea-green eyes. I imagined going to the sea with Laci would be fun.

“You can’t be back here!” One of the doctors has his hand clasped around Laci’s trembling wrist. My nurse shoos them away, her hand flying manically back and forth. Laci kneels down so he’s eyelevel with me.

“Come on, boy. Every second counts!” I silently take a moment to appreciate my deafness – I could only imagine how much more chaotic this would all be if I could hear not only the roaring urgency in my nurse’s voice, but also the shakiness in Laci’s.

“Evan, look. I don’t care that you’re deaf. And up until the SUV hit you, as far as first dates go, this one will always be my favorite.” He presses his lips into mine with such force I feel myself sinking further into my moistened pillow. They interlock like we’re some safe, with a code so clever we’d be the only ones to enjoy its pleasures. The intertwine like the swaying naked branches of my cherry blossom during the winter. But most importantly, our lips connect in a way where everything around us fell away because we simply fell into place.

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I’m in surgery prep, as the now-present Cal signs to me. Instruments are laid out beside me as a new bed with brilliantly white sheets is being made. I can feel myself going into shock or sleep, or maybe both but not before I stop to wonder what would have happened if I told Laci I was deaf as we were leaving the restaurant. Those four measly seconds very easily could have saved my life.