To listen to actress Lucy Mabbitt reading the story, click here: While You Were Sleeping MP3
I let my head fall against the chair's faded leather upholstery. "Today would be the second anniversary of our first date. A year ago, you argued that I mis-remembered. My name came out of your mouth every fifth word like 'Molly' was suddenly a vulgar swear."
I listen to the ventilator for a moment and scoff. "You know, Hannah … I remembered all of our anniversaries. I remember that it took you six full months to agree that we were official. Another three to meet your parents."
Silence greets me -- as usual. "You'd never admit it, but I always suspected I'm your first girlfriend."
A frog jumps into my throat, and for a minute, it's hard to speak.
"Do you remember how long the two of us sat in that corner booth? Our drinks ran dry, and that dinky light bulb blew out. It took forty minutes for our waitress to notice."
I sneak out before the nurses come by. They try to thank me but it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Nothing about the situation seems appropriate for gratitude.
Tomorrow is another day, I think as I leave the yellow-lit, claustrophobic, dying room. The sun hits my face, and memories fade. For a little while, I can feel warm — alive. I can re-energize away from people.
And their emotions.
*
A lonely dinner and restless night’s sleep later, and I'm back in the ugly blue chair. I watch as an older, stern-looking nurse takes Hannah's vitals. For a moment, I wonder how folks like her manage it all. How do they sleep at night with the weight of their patients in their heads?
The older woman squints at me as she leaves – passive-aggressive disapproval. It's something about that generation. The generation that glared every time we'd held hands; the generation that shoved me aside, telling me to wait in the lobby the night Hannah came into the hospital.
That generation can screw themselves.
None of them do the things I make time to do.
They don't have to live inside the world that they judge.
As the nurse leaves, I stop wondering. She probably sleeps just fine – dusting her work off at the door.
The nurses and bitchy older women don't sit here every day. They don't have to pretend to converse with a vegetable. They don’t have to wonder if Hannah will wake up with a memory.
God help me if Hannah wakes up and remembers the accident, that gruelling tumble down those concrete stairs.
"I remember the first time I saw you." One of my favourite memories. Before the fights and the backstabbing, before things progressed too far for either of us to walk away. "You took my breath away that time. I was so distracted by your smile that I forgot where I was going. After we spoke, I ended up back home, only to get a call hours later."
I never told her where I'd been going that day. Hannah had asked, but it always seemed like a questionable divulgence. She wouldn't have wanted to hear about the woman she'd replaced, the woman who'd been in a dim room that was quite similar to this one.
It wasn't as if Hannah could have helped. That relationship had also ended by my hands.
"I never made it back to that room, y'know. You were mine from that moment. I realized I loved you pretty soon after. Did you know that before you slipped away?"
*
Later, I slide into a lemon-smelling chair, burnt coffee threatening to spill out of its cup with every move. Muted sounds fill the cafeteria. The scrape of a fork against a glass. A cup settling onto a tray. Chairs sliding against tile floor. The ice machine groans.
Finally – laughter.
It's smooth, light, and feminine. Trying to find the source of the sound, as I set my coffee down, I miss the table. It tips, landing on my legs, and I scream.
The moments that follow are a blur of the room going quiet and me trying to clean the boiling liquid off my pants until someone pulls on my arm. She whispers in my ear about third-degree burns and tells me I need to lose my pants.
A single inappropriate thought crosses my mind as I read her name tag.
Rachel.
It isn't until much later that a pang of guilt rolls through me. I'm still technically a committed woman.
*
"Remember August?"
I watch as a young, handsome nurse walks through the door, but I keep talking. "We went to every pet store we could find. Every single day. No matter what, you would latch onto the smallest dog at every pound and demand to meet them."
The nurse draws blood, wipes down Hannah's IV site, and changes her pillow.
"The employees knew what we were up to, you know, even though they never stopped us. I guess our visits benefited someone — somehow."
The nurse glances my way as he exits, raising an eyebrow. Sometimes it seems like they can see straight through my facade.
Not that it matters. I know things he doesn’t. The handsome nurse has never listened to Hannah go on and on.
He's never had to fish out the truth of her lies, and he wasn't the one that had to decide when enough was enough.
They'd never understand what a chore it all was.
An hour later, I go the same way he went. I take the elevator down two floors and wander into the cafeteria. I fill a cup with Diet Coke and sit down in the far corner of the room, where I can see almost everything and recoup just a little energy.
I watch a group of giggling nurses walk through the door, and the ball in my stomach shrinks. Sometimes getting to sit back and watch other people feel things helps. Hearing their laughter and knowing that maybe there is someone who would watch out for me instead of focusing on how I handle my comatose girlfriend.
It helps.
*
Rachel holds her glass in both hands, watching the ice melt. "You go every day?"
The words hang between us.
"Yeah. It's something I gotta see through to the end, you know?" I lean further into the bar. I have three shots of whiskey in my stomach, and I'm feeling the earth spin. It’s like liquid courage, the push I need on a first date. "To be honest, I'm tired."
Rachel finishes the rest of her drink and nods. "I'm sure you are." She smiles, and my heart beats against my ribs.
We order another round of shots, and then I throw a wad of money on the bar. I didn't count it, but it doesn't matter. I know at that moment that Rachel is mine, and I try to stop myself from falling in love so fast this time.
*
When I go to the hospital again, I stand next to Hannah's bed. The chair knows my shape, and the thought makes me uneasy. As I look down at her pale skin, I think about picking up a hand, holding her one last time. Instead, I blurt out, "I'm sorry."
A beat passes before I collect my thoughts again.
"I don't know if you will wake up, Hannah. I did everything I could, and maybe none of it worked. I can only hope that someday the doctors tell you how long I waited. I hope you remember all the good times and none of the bad."
I don't tell her I hope she forgets the end of it all. I don't tell her I hope she doesn't remember when my hands curled around her throat, or find out about the pills I put in her coffee.
Neither my words nor my silence make it through. Hannah doesn't stir. With nothing left to say, I make my way out of the room. If I were in a mood for honest revelations, I'd say I don't want anyone to come in and ask questions.
It's true, but I also don't care enough to stay and watch her wither away. I have more important places to be — I have a date with a woman who hasn't betrayed me yet.
Someone who hasn't snooped around into my past.
Maybe this one will be a good pet and won't make me put her in the hospital.
*
As I settle in my car, my phone rings.
Rachel.
A smile crawls across my face. The nagging voice in the back of my head screeches a little, reminding me that I think the same thing with every new girlfriend. But I can’t help myself.
Maybe this time will be different.
(c) Alyson Tait, 2023
Alyson Tait lives in Maryland with her husband, daughter, and two pets. She has appeared in (mac)ro(mic), HAD, and Wrongdoing Magazine among others, and has a story forthcoming in Pseudopod. She has three chapbooks (published by Querencia Press, Bottlecap Press, and Fahmidan Publishing) and several novellas on Amazon.
Lucy Mabbitt is an actress from Derbyshire in the East Midlands: she is a graduate from Guildhall School of Drama and is based in London. She recently appeared in Gambit for Exeter Fringe at The Northcott and previously read “Kaleidoscope Girl” for Liars’ League.
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