I feel hope and a determination to fight my way from the unknown to something that is more concrete and welcoming; a place where I could at least be in the company of others. I absorb the outside details that have become more vibrant; voices and mechanical sounds in my surrounding parameters seem to dominate my time.
I concentrate on trying to translate what is being said.
“Why are you even here?” one says, with a bite in his tone.
“Because I love her and I will do anything for her,” he responds.
“She doesn’t need you. She needs me. I’m her husband. I’m the father of her two kids.”
The fight outside me matches the fight within me.
I know that I prefer the darkness and isolation - I can feel it in my soul, but I also know that I can’t continue alone, here, like this. I am growing tired; and I can’t let this become a permanent place for me. I need the energy and the warmth that only light can bring. Like running from the dreaded thundercloud that threatens to soak you to the bone, I flee the drama of the storm and head toward the area outside the gloom of gray and mist, the area where the clouds are like the softest dream, and the rainbow shines further than the eye can see.
I also know that leaving the dark and securing the safeness of the light also means having to face those things that you left behind. The dark is where you hide your sins and your wrong doings in life; those trappings of the immoral that you know your mind put away for a reason. Yet, the light beckons like a winged temptress promising salvation. Forgiveness.
That’s where I am now, at the edge. Do I run back to the dark where all my secrets lie and hope for the best, knowing I won’t make it much longer; or do I face the sordid past I unknowingly created and walk toward the brilliance of colorless lights that I know will save me?
I am ready to face the consequences.
I open my eyes.
I’m beyond pissed and fear paralyzes me. My emotions are swinging like a pendulum. Siena has been in a coma for almost a week now.
I don’t even know how I got here. My life has gone from happily married with kids and a house surrounded by a white picket fence, to shit in the blink of an eye. I sit here beside my wife, holding her hand, staring at her face, willing her to wake up from her perpetual sleep. I study her face, and aside from the bruise above her left eye and a few scratches, she’s just as beautiful as she was the day I met her.
I talk to her a lot. The doctors and nurses say that it’s the best thing for her. I’d like to think that she can hear me, that she can feel me holding her hand; that she can sense that her life means more than anything to me. I talk about our daughters, Alexis and Zoe, and tell her that they are waiting at home with a batch of brownies they baked especially for her. Siena loves chocolate; the darker the better. She thinks milk chocolate is a travesty and white chocolate shouldn’t even be considered chocolate at all. I tell her that her mom and Noel have been by to see her.
I tell her I love her. I want to tell her that she’s ripped my heart out, but I don’t. I just simply remind her about the first time we said we loved each other. Oddly, what I can’t remember is the last time we’ve even shared our crazy back and forth declaration. Sure, we’ve shared ‘I love you,’ as we’re all accustomed to do. Mostly, we all just say it out of habit; in quick passing. Rarely do we say it and take the full meaning of it in when it’s said; the rawest emotions of the words as they are spoken to the most important people in our lives are hardly ever expressed. I realize I can’t specifically recall when we really meant it; when the emotions were there. It makes me both angry and sad. Staring at her face, I know now; it was the younger us, when life was less complicated, when life was easy. When love was easy …
“Siena.”
“Yup.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Truly. Madly. Deeply.”
Where had those days gone?
I try not to let the tension or disappointment I feel seep through my voice when I speak to her. It’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I won’t lie. My anger simmers at the thought of her betraying me. I want to come apart at the seams with the rage that I have managed to keep in check. Ever since he showed up, it’s been increasingly impossible to not be consumed by uncontrollable urges to shake her awake and demand answers. It is a true test of my control and patience.
I have plenty of time to think.
I can’t help but wonder where the hell do I go from here? What the fuck do I do about my wife when she wakes up? If she wakes up. Of course her medical situation trumps all at this point, but can I look past what she’s done?
Can I forgive?
I know I’ll never be able to forget.
I sit here and look back at the last few years and wonder how the hell I got here. How did I miss what was going on behind my back? I pull at my memories and analyze the facts.
Was I just blind?
Or, did I choose not to see?
Could I have been too wrapped up in work and life that I missed the signs?
I just can’t see it.
I cannot pinpoint the moment that she walked away from me and into the life of another man.
I know my time with her is limited. Nick has no idea I’m in here. Noel convinced him to leave Siena’s bedside so they could eat in the cafeteria downstairs. Noel may not like what is going on between me and Siena, but she knows I love her. When she sees me walking into Siena’s room, she turns her head. Like the past three years, she pretends she doesn’t see anything and gets on the elevator. I quietly sit in the chair beside her bed.
I am numb. That pretty much accurately describes my current mental and physical state. The last time I saw Siena was almost a week ago. We were at dinner, doing our best to avoid the elephant in the room: deciding where our future was going. I wanted her to leave Nick and move to New York with me. The girls are young enough to adjust to the change, and Siena’s home office is in the City. It’s an argument we’ve been having for the past year. We ended up fighting. She was in tears and I walked out. I said things I regretted - the moment they slipped though, I knew I couldn’t take them back. But they had to be said.
Now she lays motionless; a tube down her throat, breathing life into her. The repetitive whirl of the machine and the modest rise and fall of her chest are the only things reminding me that she’s still alive.
I stare at her beautiful face, which is decorated with cuts on her cheek and a bruise over her left eye. Her hands are cold. It makes me incredibly sad. I take her right hand in mine and rub it. As I absentmindedly make circles in the palm of her hand, I notice her eyelashes flutter. The movements are so fast, like the flash of butterfly wings in motion. If I hadn’t memorized every movement on her face from the last 3 years, I would have missed it. Equally quick and efficient are the steady stream of nurses that shuffle through her room and fret over her like a well-orchestrated production. They all tell me the same thing: talk to her. She can hear you.
I think it’s crazy, how can she hear me? Certainly, if she can hear, wouldn’t she be awake already? And if she can’t hear me, then I’m just some shmuck, sitting here talking to a person in a coma. I know she can’t respond. My internal war – to talk or not to talk – ends when I realize that I have nothing to lose by telling her exactly what I feel — what’s in my heart.
I turn her music on and pick one of her favorite playlists. Sunday Morning plays quietly in the background and I start talking.
“I love you and you love me. But, it’s not that simple. Nothing worth fighting for ever is.”
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Catch Me Page 37
