‹ Prequel: Exit 152
The Falling Man
Ten
He sat in the chair adjacent from the bed, head down and scribbling on a pad of paper that he had managed to scrounge up within the twenty minutes of being here.
It amazed me how I had been there for a good four hours and had barely gotten a drink of water, and he found himself a fucking notebook and pen. Maybe it pays off to be an attractive man sometimes.
Damn him.
I sat below him on the ground, watching the pen quickly move from line to line, writing illegible words over and over again, occasionally scribbling a few out. He had been going at this for the past fifteen minutes or so, but I didn’t mind the silence. I just wrapped my arms around his leg while I sat on the ground, resting my cheek against it. His jeans for some reason were cold, but I didn’t mind much.
He looked down at me, smiling, and set down his papers on the ground next to me.
“Are you gonna let me read?” I asked, beginning to reach for the papers.
He stepped on them, stopping me from taking them, and shook his head.
“I’m not done yet.”
“What is it, though?”
“Writing.”
I rolled my eyes, “Obviously. But is it journaling, or vignettes, or what?”
I wriggled my fingers beneath his shoe and lifted it up slightly, and was able to read a part of a line.
‘-us down when we met in the emergency room
And in our beds, I could hear you breathe-’
“Poetry?” I asked, surprised as anyone might be, “You’re writing poetry?”
He sighed and picked up the papers, folding them and tucking them into his jacket pocket.
“It’s not poetry, Ana. It’s none of your business.”
I chuckled, “Good one.”
His face broke into a smile, rubbing my shoulder lightly, “I try, I try.”
His face became distant as his gaze fell on Katrina once again. His hand tightened on my shoulder slightly, and then moved to play with my hair.
“When do you think she’ll wake up?”
I shrugged then sighed, the same question had been plaguing my own mind. I wanted her to wake up so badly.
“The doctors say at any time. But they’re not sure how much brain damage, if any, was caused when her lungs were clogged.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” I turned to face him, his eyes staring back into mine with deep concern, “That she might not remember a thing. Speech, fine motor skills, I might have to re-teach her everything she knows now.”
He shook his head, “We’ll re-teach her. If we have to.”
He took my hands and laced his fingers through it, the feeling strange and wrong, “We’ll be able to.”
I pulled my hand away from him and tucked it into the pockets of my jacket.
I know Gerard was trying to be nice, probably trying to make up for lost time, but it all seemed so wrong right now. Maybe at a different place in a different time, I would’ve jumped into his arms and kissed him madly. But we were sitting in a hospital room, listening to the sounds of my daughter breathing with help from machines. There were people in the floors below us dying from the towers that were burning outside.
It was just bad timing.
He leaned back in his chair, hurt that I had recoiled from him, and crossed him arms over his chest. His lips were pouting now, I wanted to kiss them so badly. But I knew it would be wrong.
We were moving too fast for where we were.
“Why did you name her Katrina?” He finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. I looked at him, unsure why he asked the question.
“Is there another name that you prefer or something...?”
He shook his head, “Nah, I just don’t think I would’ve named her that.”
I squinted my eyes, “What’s wrong with Katrina?”
“It reminds me of fairies a little bit. It’s a dainty name.”
I rolled my eyes, “She’s a dainty girl. I call her Kat sometimes, if you prefer.”
He laughed louder than he and I expected him to, and then blushed from embarrassment.
“What’s so funny?”
“It reminds me of Katmandu.”
“What?”
“You know, that Cat Stevens song, ‘Katmandu’?”
“Isn’t that about a city in Nepal?”
He just shrugged, smiling crookedly at me. Always, that crooked smile, “It’s just what it reminded me of.”
I shook my head, trying not to laugh at him.
Katrina stirred in her bed, rolling over with her eyes partially open.
“Mommy?”
“Hey, sweetie,” I waved, uncertain if I should go near her or anything. Gerard had wanted to hold her when he went first went into the room, and it took a couple of nurses to convince him that it wasn’t the greatest idea with her breathing troubles.
I stood on my knees anyways, and knelt beside her, holding her hand.
“How are you feeling, baby?”
She yawned, looking at with me with tired eyes, “Sleepy.”
I brushed some hair from her face, smiling softly, “Of course you are. Today’s been rough.”
She nodded, as if she understood what had happened outside, and why it was just so hard on all of us. The young mind of a child, comprehending the destruction and horror that had happened. I don’t think I could even grasp it.
“Daddy’s here. He came to see you.”
Her eyes widened with excitement, and she immediately became more alert as she sat straight up in the bed, her eyes falling on the familiar man in the chair not too far from us.
That’s when she squealed louder than I had ever heard before, and proceeded to leap from the bed onto Gerard, ripping the IV from her arm and knocking down three of the machines.
Nurses came rushing in, coming to see what all the commotion was about, but all they found was some scattered bits of metal on the ground and a daughter clinging to her father, being able to for the first time.
I couldn't help myself from smiling at the sight.
It amazed me how I had been there for a good four hours and had barely gotten a drink of water, and he found himself a fucking notebook and pen. Maybe it pays off to be an attractive man sometimes.
Damn him.
I sat below him on the ground, watching the pen quickly move from line to line, writing illegible words over and over again, occasionally scribbling a few out. He had been going at this for the past fifteen minutes or so, but I didn’t mind the silence. I just wrapped my arms around his leg while I sat on the ground, resting my cheek against it. His jeans for some reason were cold, but I didn’t mind much.
He looked down at me, smiling, and set down his papers on the ground next to me.
“Are you gonna let me read?” I asked, beginning to reach for the papers.
He stepped on them, stopping me from taking them, and shook his head.
“I’m not done yet.”
“What is it, though?”
“Writing.”
I rolled my eyes, “Obviously. But is it journaling, or vignettes, or what?”
I wriggled my fingers beneath his shoe and lifted it up slightly, and was able to read a part of a line.
‘-us down when we met in the emergency room
And in our beds, I could hear you breathe-’
“Poetry?” I asked, surprised as anyone might be, “You’re writing poetry?”
He sighed and picked up the papers, folding them and tucking them into his jacket pocket.
“It’s not poetry, Ana. It’s none of your business.”
I chuckled, “Good one.”
His face broke into a smile, rubbing my shoulder lightly, “I try, I try.”
His face became distant as his gaze fell on Katrina once again. His hand tightened on my shoulder slightly, and then moved to play with my hair.
“When do you think she’ll wake up?”
I shrugged then sighed, the same question had been plaguing my own mind. I wanted her to wake up so badly.
“The doctors say at any time. But they’re not sure how much brain damage, if any, was caused when her lungs were clogged.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” I turned to face him, his eyes staring back into mine with deep concern, “That she might not remember a thing. Speech, fine motor skills, I might have to re-teach her everything she knows now.”
He shook his head, “We’ll re-teach her. If we have to.”
He took my hands and laced his fingers through it, the feeling strange and wrong, “We’ll be able to.”
I pulled my hand away from him and tucked it into the pockets of my jacket.
I know Gerard was trying to be nice, probably trying to make up for lost time, but it all seemed so wrong right now. Maybe at a different place in a different time, I would’ve jumped into his arms and kissed him madly. But we were sitting in a hospital room, listening to the sounds of my daughter breathing with help from machines. There were people in the floors below us dying from the towers that were burning outside.
It was just bad timing.
He leaned back in his chair, hurt that I had recoiled from him, and crossed him arms over his chest. His lips were pouting now, I wanted to kiss them so badly. But I knew it would be wrong.
We were moving too fast for where we were.
“Why did you name her Katrina?” He finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. I looked at him, unsure why he asked the question.
“Is there another name that you prefer or something...?”
He shook his head, “Nah, I just don’t think I would’ve named her that.”
I squinted my eyes, “What’s wrong with Katrina?”
“It reminds me of fairies a little bit. It’s a dainty name.”
I rolled my eyes, “She’s a dainty girl. I call her Kat sometimes, if you prefer.”
He laughed louder than he and I expected him to, and then blushed from embarrassment.
“What’s so funny?”
“It reminds me of Katmandu.”
“What?”
“You know, that Cat Stevens song, ‘Katmandu’?”
“Isn’t that about a city in Nepal?”
He just shrugged, smiling crookedly at me. Always, that crooked smile, “It’s just what it reminded me of.”
I shook my head, trying not to laugh at him.
Katrina stirred in her bed, rolling over with her eyes partially open.
“Mommy?”
“Hey, sweetie,” I waved, uncertain if I should go near her or anything. Gerard had wanted to hold her when he went first went into the room, and it took a couple of nurses to convince him that it wasn’t the greatest idea with her breathing troubles.
I stood on my knees anyways, and knelt beside her, holding her hand.
“How are you feeling, baby?”
She yawned, looking at with me with tired eyes, “Sleepy.”
I brushed some hair from her face, smiling softly, “Of course you are. Today’s been rough.”
She nodded, as if she understood what had happened outside, and why it was just so hard on all of us. The young mind of a child, comprehending the destruction and horror that had happened. I don’t think I could even grasp it.
“Daddy’s here. He came to see you.”
Her eyes widened with excitement, and she immediately became more alert as she sat straight up in the bed, her eyes falling on the familiar man in the chair not too far from us.
That’s when she squealed louder than I had ever heard before, and proceeded to leap from the bed onto Gerard, ripping the IV from her arm and knocking down three of the machines.
Nurses came rushing in, coming to see what all the commotion was about, but all they found was some scattered bits of metal on the ground and a daughter clinging to her father, being able to for the first time.
I couldn't help myself from smiling at the sight.