When Time Stood Still

by K. S. Adkins

  “Dammit, I want to help—”

  “You can help by not telling me I can’t do something. Accidents happen, I had one. I’ll have plenty more, Drum, or do you want to scream at me about those too?”

  “You’re pissed at me?”

  “I’m pissed at me,” I growl. “I’m pissed I got caught bleeding on the carpet. I’m pissed I woke you up and I’m really pissed that I need to piss but I can’t because you’re treating me like I need a time out!”

  “I didn’t mean to yell,” he whispers in despair. Despair I fucking felt. Despair I caused. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”

  Stowing the anger wasn’t easy. Staying on the floor wasn’t serving a purpose either, but damned if I had the energy to move. Bella approaching was a soft sound; I could hear her nails clicking on the hardwood. Sniffing me, she uses her nose to lift my arm so she can nestle under it. Petting her calmed me enough to let my head fall back and rest against the wall. “I worry about him, Bella,” recently I started talking to her. Telling her the secrets I was afraid to say out loud. “It’s coming so fast, I know you feel it too. When it happens, don’t let me depend on him too much okay? I don’t want him to ever regret marrying me.”

  While I gave myself a few more minutes to get a lock on my emotions, I’d never know my husband listened from the doorway. I’d never know how scared he was for me, because like me, he had secrets too.

  Time was very understanding that the center kept me away from home longer than I’d like. Opening it ahead of schedule was a goal of mine. I pushed everything forward hoping she could see it. The reality was this probably wouldn’t happen. There were delays, issues with permits and of course, miles of red tape. Simply put, the disease was working faster than the city.

  While I’m gone, she keeps herself so busy she’s hardly still. When she isn’t preparing the house for her needs, she’s commuting outside of the city three days a week for braille class. I know this because on those days, I follow her. I continue to follow her even though she’s using a car service. These people don’t know her, understand her needs, and so help me Christ, if one of them touched her…

  My father spends a lot of time with her too. He’s even told me he doesn’t like her being alone and so she won’t catch on, he pretends to be in the area several times a week. Bella however, is a huge blessing for my wife. She’s come to rely on her more and more but I know it’s because she wants to rely on me less. Time worries that I’ll regret marrying her.

  Not fucking possible.

  Every day, every second of that day, she is an inspiration to me. Time challenges me to be better, to view the world with fresh eyes. I never wanted to be a doctor but I became one to spite my father, however, I was never a good one. Especially, when it came to the patients like Time. Now here I was, building a center to focus solely on helping people like Time. She yelled at me about that recently. She said we’re people, not patients.

  She was right.

  But I missed spending time with her. With everything happening, we haven’t had an adventure in months, she hasn’t even mentioned it and again, it’s for my benefit. Opening up the door eager to kiss her, I stop dead in my tracks when I saw her standing on the steps. No cane in hand, no Bella at her side.

  No, it was simply Time standing on the steps in a lace nightie waiting for her husband.

  Of course I worried about her constantly, wondering if she fell or was hurt. I watch her count her steps, often using her hands for guidance around the house. Two weeks ago, she decided to stop having me check her eyes. When I told her she was at ninety five percent vision loss, she accepted it with a sad smile and simply said, okay now we wait.

  Even with the best impairment equipment, a person still has to come to terms with their blindness on their own. Time, like anyone going through this, has struggled but she has also blown me away with her progress.

  What I was seeing right now told me that she was starting to trust herself. And I’m the lucky bastard that got to see it.

  Dropping my bag and coat, I charge the steps without even a hello. I pick her up under her ass and carrying her to our bedroom. With her legs wrapped around me, I give her my weight and she gladly accepts it. Slowly she undresses me and I watch as her fingers guide her. She’s memorized the tiny buttons, the notches in my belt and the laces on my dress shoes. Sliding the material aside, I join us with one deep thrust. Arching up she moans beautifully and I watch as she does.

  With her eyes open, I know she can only see blurred images of my face. She was so beautiful, so fucking alive that I wanted to give her my eyes so she could see what I see. When she pulls me in for a kiss, I pick up my pace and her nails in my scalp tell me she loves it. It didn’t take long to make her come, it never does because she loves my cock, she loves me.

  Pushing me onto my back, she runs her nails down my chest while squinting trying to bring me in focus. “What color are my eyes?” I ask her. “Espresso with flecks of jade,” she smiles.

  “My hair? What color is it?”

  Reaching forward she runs her fingers through it and says, “Black like a raven’s wing, soft like a worn blanket and it smells like home.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” thrusting up catches her off guard but she grips my shoulders and smiles. “Green is my favorite color.”

  “What’s your last name, Time?”

  “Green,” she whispers. “My last name is Green.”

  “What happens now?” I ask her pumping into her harder. “We come together,” she says inches from my mouth. “We always come together.”

  And we did. With my wife riding me hard, with me giving it to her harder, we came together like we always did. Because it will always be her for me, and me for her. Later, she was draped over my chest making circles on my skin when she says, “I would lose my sight all over again to have you, Drum.”

  That choked me up, so I held on a little tighter. “I’m ready,” she says softly. “I have hours, days maybe, but I’m ready. The only thing I’m not ready for is not seeing you.”

  “I’ll never let you forget,” I promise her.

  “I know,” she says sadly. “I love you, Drum.”

  Crawling on top of her, she watched as we made love to each other slowly. I knew she was memorizing everything. Every little detail for when she had to rely on memory. My wife never closed her eyes and neither did I. We fell asleep tangled in each other like always, with her cheek over my heart so she could hear it beat. And when morning came and I reached for her for the first time, she wasn’t there.

  She was standing in front of the window looking out, unmoving.

  She heard me sit up, I could tell by the slight tilt of her head.

  Still she did not move.

  That’s when I knew.

  “It’s gone,” she whispers standing stoically, beautifully in front of the window.

  Closing my eyes, I couldn’t fight back the tears. She didn’t need that from me, she needed me to be strong for her but the tears fell anyway. Because the truth was, Time may have been prepared for this but, I was not.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the moment when Time stood still.

  When I fell asleep on Drum last night, I knew.

  But I count myself lucky that I was able to see him clearly one last time. The beauty of watching my husband rest would carry me through the hard times to come. I wasn’t foolish enough to think this would be easy. Deep in my belly, I knew losing my sight was the easy part. It would be learning to live without it that would test me.

  It would test us.

  Standing here in front of the window, I can feel the light on my face and though I can no longer see the colors, I can name them based on feeling. Oddly enough, I didn’t panic or get angry when my eyes opened to nothing. After months of false alarms and constant anxiety, I suppose the shock of it was lost on me.

  Listening to his breathing, I turned my head knowing that though I could no longer see him, I could smell him, taste him a
nd touch him. So that’s what I did. I touched the stubble on his face to remind me that he was real, tangible. When he turned into my touch, I inhaled his morning breath so glad for it. For me, it was the best smell in the world. Following the trail of his breath, I kissed his lips gently to bind myself to him, to our new reality.

  Now, I’m back in front of the window wondering how he’ll take it, sad that he has to take it at all. I hear the covers rustle, instinctively, I feel him reaching for me even though I’m no longer next to him. I knew when he sat up and I knew the moment he felt the shift. Our connection was simply that strong.

  “It’s gone,” came out as a whisper.

  I felt his despair reach out and touch me.

  I felt it as my own, yet I couldn’t move from this spot.

  He needed a minute; I needed to give it to him.

  So I did.

  Drum was crying. My husband was a strong man, always unmovable. But this was a loss for him too. A loss was a loss, we both understood this but you always think, hope, for one more minute, one more day. The clock had been preparing me. He had been preparing me. I had been preparing myself. The clock had run out. My time was up.

  It begins now. I needed to count my blessings and move forward. I was blessed to have been given this long. I was blessed to have Drum. The clock has been reset. It was moving forward again. I could not see it, but I could hear it.

  “What color are my eyes?” he orders me from bed and that makes me smile.

  “Espresso,” it wasn’t easy but I cleared my throat and continued. “With flecks of jade.”

  “My hair? What color is it?” God this was hard. Me, he was always trying to help me. Dropping my head, I couldn’t get the words out. “Follow my voice, Time,” he demands and I turn my head ready to heed his orders. “Take my hand.”

  Still I couldn’t move. That is until, I felt his anxiety. “Follow my voice, you can do this. It’s three steps to me, you could do this in your sleep. I need my wife, follow my fucking voice.”

  I need my wife…

  Screw counting the steps. I literally launched myself into his arms and held on for dear life. I didn’t cry or scream, neither did he. But once the feeling of desolation passed, I was able to sit up and focus on what he needed again. “Breathe for me,” I instruct him. “Breathe in my face.” I felt the bed dip then I felt his breath on my skin. Reaching forward, I use my fingers to outline his features. “So beautiful,” I tell him. “You are the strongest man I know.”

  “Clearly you haven’t met my wife,” he says touching my face in return.

  “You’ve prepared me well,” I tell him. “I can do this, Drum.”

  “I know you can,” he whispers. “I just…”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry?”

  “We skipped dinner last night,” I remind him. “Are you hungry?”

  His pause was for my benefit, but I couldn’t allow it. Not right now. Right now, I needed my routine, a purpose, something to do. I needed it very badly. “Well,” I tell him moving away slowly. “I need to take Bella outside to potty then I’m making breakfast for two, so make your shower quick.”

  Calling for her, she’s at my right in seconds. Leaving my husband speechless on our bed, I take my dog and make my way to the steps. Like she and I have done this for years, she guides me while I count it out in my head. Just in time too because another second in that bed, I would have lost my shit. It was brewing; I just refused to let it out when he was already holding on by a thread. Drum would react to this how I reacted to it, therefore, I did my very best to move forward like it was any other day.

  As for Drum, he stood at the top doing his best to hold it together for me.

  I would never know how difficult that was for him.

  Time was handling the loss well.

  Too well.

  For her, life went on as usual, she transitioned flawlessly. The systems we had in place were working and when I saw she needed help, I provided it without her knowledge. She gave me no choice, unless I wanted her to yell at me. Time made sure I knew she could handle it, alone. When she asked to go on an adventure; something to take our minds off of what had happened, I told her not now, but soon.

  Although my decision upset her, she never brought it up again. When I stayed home to be with her, she demanded I go to the center, that I carry on what would be our legacy. As to respect her wishes, I did.

  Little did I know, it was the wrong thing to do.

  With construction absorbing a lot of my time, I took her at her word that she was able to handle life at home. Every night, I came home to dinner, every morning I was made breakfast. The laundry was done, the bed made and the bathrooms spotless. I was so proud of her that I had no idea what the simple act of housekeeping was costing her.

  Nor did I grasp she was slipping away because of my fears for her. Weeks ago she asked to come to work with me to help, to be an ear. I gently explained that too easily she could get hurt while the construction was finishing up. Every day ladders were moved, tools and dry wall were left out and I feared the noise level would confuse her. Basically without voicing it, I labeled her a liability.

  After a week, she stopped asking about that too.

  With the exception of taking Bella outside to use the bathroom, Time stayed indoors. She stopped going to braille class and she stopped responding to me. Each night in bed, I would ask how she was doing and her answer was always the same.

  Fine.

  I knew my wife better than she knew herself, she was not fine and neither was I. Every time she woke up she faced a new challenge. She met that challenge head on, sometimes she nailed it other times she didn’t. But my wife never gave up. I lived in a constant state of fear and sadness for her. She would hear an unfamiliar noise and I would watch her eyes dart trying to locate it. But she was always able to zero in on the sound of my voice until the day she stopped doing that too.

  I kept telling myself, tomorrow… I’d fix this tomorrow. She just needed a little more time, some space and that she didn’t need me riding her. The more she withdrew the more time I spent at the center. I was afraid to ask her if she preferred me not being around for fear she’d say yes.

  How easily days can turn into weeks. She spends more time asleep than awake and she does this to avoid me. I spend more time at the center than at home to avoid her. Even the smallest conversation turns into a fight and it’s me doing the fighting because Time doesn’t engage. She just stares out of sightless eyes embracing the void.

  I’ve come home to find paper towels with blood on them in the garbage, yet she refuses to explain what had happened. When she does speak, it’s to Bella. The only time spent with my wife is when she doesn’t know I’m there. Unaware, I hear her cry in the shower, or screaming into the towels when she does laundry.

  I was a blind man. One who had no idea when she screamed and cried out, it was for me.

  Being blind blew.

  I started off strong. I convinced myself I was simply a baby calf using its new legs. That it would take time and patience to adjust to my new life. But I didn’t want to take time, I wanted to move forward. I wanted the blindness to adjust to me, not me to it.

  An adventure, I was positive would help us both only he put me off. I needed out of this house, time with him, just us. The second time I mentioned it, I heard frustration in his voice. The third time, sadness. I realized there would be no adventure and mourned that too.

  Trying a different angle, I had asked to go to work with Drum to help. I needed to feel useful, to have something to do. He refused. Not only did he refuse, he had at least a dozen new reasons ready to throw at me every time that I asked. So I stopped asking.

  As far as I was concerned, Drum saw me as a liability. I felt that he was embarrassed to be seen with me. I was positive he no longer wanted me but felt obligated to take care of me. He said the center was for me, but I was allowed no part. He was rarely home and when he was it was twenty questions a
bout the bump on my head or what did I learned in class. I was so sick of being pitied that I quit taking braille and talking to him too.

  I was really fucking tired of being yelled at. Every night he’d come home and find a reason to scream at me. I spent my waking hours in darkness always searching but never finding. His voice that once soothed me, only serves to amplify my anxiety. Drum was always upset with me.

  Shutting down was easier than admitting I was afraid to go outside alone. Telling him that the world seemed to get louder, that my anxiety kept me from stepping foot on my own porch. Right now, staying in was my choice. I felt his fear for my safety like a physical thing and I held off venturing out for him. But his constant list of what could go wrong took root inside of me and now I was literally as scared as he was.

  To make our lives even harder, I now was battling Non-24. A sleep-wake disorder that I hated with every fiber of my being. My cycle made no sense to me. I could sleep a full eight hours then not sleep the following night at the same time. If I went to bed at midnight one night, the following I’d be lucky to find sleep by four am. Sometimes, I didn’t find sleep at all. I went two days, three, until I was so disoriented I passed out from exhaustion. For a woman who needed routine, having the disorder ruined everything.

  It wasn’t easy, but these days nothing was easy for me. While he was home, I kept busy trying to act unaffected. When he was at work, I tried getting a handle on my shit by getting back into my routine at any cost. But there were times where I missed him so much I just lost it. For some reason doing his laundry hurt the worst, and when I felt lost and hopeless I’d scream into the towels. The spray of the shower covered the sound of my wailing and the only person I could talk to wasn’t a person at all, it was my dog.

  I was a letter in a bottle left adrift at sea.

  In my darkest hour, he never came back to find me.

  I had officially entered the void.

  Nothing I did worked.