Within These Walls

by J. L. Berg

  Silence filled the room as I stared at our dark shadows against the wall. I finally looked down at Jude sitting back in the old blue chair. He’d grown incredibly quiet and still.

  “And you said this happened here—at this hospital?” he asked.

  “Yes, here,” I answered, wondering why he was asking.

  “How long ago?”

  “Um…it was right around my nineteenth birthday so it was three years ago. Towards the end of May I guess.”

  More silence filled the air as Jude remained motionless. I didn’t understand this abrupt change in pace.

  Did I upset him somehow?

  Suddenly, almost startling me, he rose from the chair and turned to me. “I’d better go. I think my lunch break is just about over,” he said in an almost monotone fashion.

  “Oh, okay,” I answered.

  “I’m off the next two days, and when I get back, I might be pretty swamped, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get away,” he said rather quickly, taking a step backward toward the door with each word uttered until he vanished.

  Looking around the room, I took a deep breath. Then, my eyes returned to the closed door.

  I was alone—again.

  I stared down at the abandoned board game, which we’d barely begun, and my empty pudding cup lying next to it. At that moment, the reality of my day finally caught up to me.

  No amount of chocolate, silly games, or odd visits from nurses’ assistants could hide the fact that my heart was giving up on living.

  What if I’m not ready for that?

  After I’d found out the family had changed their minds, I’d been so upset that I asked Dr. Marcus to do anything he could to hold off on the need for a transplant. He wasn’t thrilled with my decision but he’d managed to make it work, finding alternate treatment methods over the last few years. That night had scared me and reminded me of how precious life was.

  One life had to be given in order for another to live on. I hadn’t been ready for that responsibility yet.

  After taking one last look around the room, I closed my eyes. Finally breaking down the walls I’d constructed around myself to keep my emotions at bay, I curled into my bed, succumbing to the emotions of the day and cried myself to sleep.

  I COULDN’T REMEMBER the rest of my shift after I’d left Lailah’s room that night. I just remembered moving through the motions, going from one task to the other, while her words had echoed through my head over and over until they had practically seared themselves into my very soul.

  Finding a match and in the same hospital was like angels bringing me a miracle.

  The family changed their minds at the last minute.

  It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it was true.

  By the time I’d clocked out and driven home, I’d convinced myself I was out of my mind for even thinking about it in the first place.

  But then, as I sat in the dark recess of my lonely apartment that night, I allowed myself to do the one thing I’d sworn I wouldn’t ever do again. I let my mind drift back to those horrible moments in the hospital three years ago when I’d found myself sinking into the most selfish parts of me

  “You can’t do this. She’s still in there. You’re killing her!” I screamed in desperation, the hoarse sound of my voice echoing through the stark white hallway.

  “Jude,” Megan’s father, Paul said in a passive tone meant to be soothing.

  It wasn’t soothing though. It only fueled my aggression even further.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “This is hard on us, all of us.” His voice cracked, and he brought his shaking fist to his chin in an effort to steady his emotions.

  Megan’s mother, Susan, took a step forward and wove her tiny hand through his and gave it a loving squeeze. I turned away.

  “The doctors said there is nothing else they can do. She’s gone, son. We have to let her go now.”

  His words hit my chest like a battering ram. She wasn’t gone. I could see her. She was just behind that door.

  “Her heart is still beating. I can see her chest rise when she breathes. I can still touch her skin. She’s not gone,” I stated my case, my voice growing small with every word.

  “The doctors said that because she’s an organ donor, we could let someone else live. Her heart is still healthy. She’ll live on through someone else. This is something she would have wanted Jude. We’ve already told them yes.”

  I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t stand the thought of them making this decision, snuffing out her life. They didn’t know what the future held.

  “How do you know she’s gone? What if you’re killing her?” I shouted, the words making them wince, as tears clouded my vision. I slumped against the wall and collapsed to the floor.

  My future was behind the door. She was my everything. They couldn’t have her. I wouldn’t allow it. No one would take her heart or her life—ever.

  I’d won the battle that day. After a few more rounds of arguing, Megan’s parents hadn’t had the strength left to fight anymore. I’d planted the seed of doubt in their minds, they’d eventually crumbled. They’d told the doctors no to any organ donations and I’d spent the rest of the day by Megan’s side, holding her hand and trying to bring her back into consciousness. I’d wanted to prove everyone wrong and thought I could will her back with my love alone.

  But not even love could bring someone back when the mind was lost.

  She’d died three days later.

  At that time, Megan’s parents could have still donated her heart and many of her other organs that hadn’t been damaged in the car crash, but by then they’d lost the will to do so. By giving them hope that she’d somehow come back, I’d made those last few days hell for them. Two different doctors had pronounced her brain dead, but somehow, I’d thought I knew better. I hadn’t allowed her parents to mourn the way they needed to. I never attended her funeral, and I hadn’t left California since.

  I’d lived with the guilt of that horrible, selfish day ever since. Megan’s parents had been able to look past their own grief and see the bigger picture. They had known someone else could live on even if their daughter couldn’t.

  Why couldn’t I?

  I had been selfish, so damn selfish.

  Was my selfishness also the reason Lailah was still sitting in a hospital room, watching life instead of living it?

  I needed to find out.

  My first day off, I spent the entire day caged inside my apartment. I hated my days off. I lifted weights, ate ramen, watched a football game, and by the end of the day, I was stir-crazy. Days like this were why I would end up working so many shifts at the hospital. Unlike most people, I couldn’t stand to be alone. When I was by myself, I had nothing but the haunting memories of my past to keep me company. Nothing could stop the feelings of loss and the overwhelming sense of shame from taking over when I didn’t have the chaos of the hospital to keep my mind from wandering down that dark, deserted path.

  I might not talk much, and my coworkers might consider me a bit odd, but at least the hustle and bustle of my job could keep me occupied. It would also allow me to return to the one place where I still felt Megan. My family had begged me to come home. After canceling my cell service, I’d disowned them and basically disappeared. I wouldn’t go home. I had no home anymore.

  The trip to California with Megan had been a surprise present from my parents. The night of our graduation from college, our families had gathered together to celebrate our joint success. I had gotten down on one knee and asked the girl I’d been in love with since Business 101 four years earlier to be my bride. Everyone had been thrilled, and to celebrate in the typical style of my outlandish family, my father had booked Megan and me a two-week vacation to California and Maui.

  He’d made a speech about how proud he was and how he couldn’t wait to finally bring me into the family business. I’d already been in the family business since I was in middle school. Blessed with the
gift for numbers and analytics, I had been a gold mine in the eyes of my father. At the age of fifteen, I could predict and evaluate the market better than he could at sixty. I’d fought my way out of the house and gone away to college.

  Four years, Jude. That’s all you get.

  From across the table, he’d held his glass high and toasted us, the happy couple. He’d wished us well on our trip as he’d given me a look that said, It’s time to cash in.

  Fun and games had been coming to a close.

  I’d left for California, knowing my father owned my life once again. So, I had done the best I could to make sure Megan and I had the time of our lives in California because I’d been too scared to think about what our lives would be like when we returned.

  A week into our vacation, the day before we were supposed to leave for Hawaii, we’d been hanging out with a few new friends we’d met in the area. After staggering out of the party late at night, we’d played Rock, Paper, Scissors in the middle of a deserted street. The loser of the game had to drive back to the hotel.

  I’d lost three times in a row.

  “I don’t want to,” I whined, dragging my sluggish feet behind me just for effect.

  “Jude! I’m tired, and you clearly lost! You have to drive!” Megan yelled back, walking in front of me.

  Her tight black skirt accentuated her ass as she sauntered back and forth in her heels. I took a moment to enjoy the view.

  My future wife is hot.

  Her tanned long legs went on for miles, and she had beautiful dark brown hair that I loved to run my hands in, and that—

  “Are you checking out my ass?” she said, suddenly pivoting around. Her hand shot to her hip, and she raised an eyebrow.

  Busted.

  “Mmm…maybe. If I tell you how nice it is, will you drive us back to the hotel?” I asked with a wolfish grin.

  “Ugh! Maybe we should just stay here for the night,” she said.

  “No!” I immediately shot down the suggestion. My legs revived in an instant at the thought of spending the night anywhere but in a king-sized bed with Megan, and I jogged to catch up with her.

  We finally made it to our rental car a few blocks away, and I slowed the last few steps.

  Closing the gap between us, I pushed her against the car. “If we stay here, we’ll be sleeping on some nasty-smelling sofa with a bunch of drunk college kids.”

  “We were drunk college kids just a few weeks ago, if you’ve forgotten.”

  “Yes, but we’re not anymore, and we have this amazing”—I kissed her shoulder—“wonderful”—I moved across to her collarbone—“huge”—I left a trail of kisses up to her lips where I stopped and hovered—“hotel room. I really want to make good use of it, don’t you?”

  I could feel her breath growing heavy with each kiss to her skin. By the time my lips were almost touching hers, she was practically panting.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Yes, what, Megan?”

  “Yes, I want to go back to the hotel room,” she answered.

  I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. I quickly planted a kiss on her lips and slapped her ass. “Good, so you’ll drive then?”

  Being the loving, agreeable person she was—she’d taken the keys and gotten in the driver’s side of the car, ready to drive even though it should have been me.

  Those were some of the last moments I’d had with her while she was still conscious. Minutes after that glass had been raining down on us as the screech of metal permanently seared itself into my brain.

  I’d looked over at her as the world spun and thought of all the things I wanted to say before we died and couldn’t. So many things I could have said in those last few minutes in that parking lot if I’d known.

  We’d never lived together. After graduation, we’d boxed everything up, and focused on finally moving in together, but first, we had a bit of fun planned.

  After she’d died, I had nothing left of her and nowhere to go where she would still be present. Her parents had taken her ashes and buried them in a family plot near their home in Chicago. I was done with school and I didn’t want to go home because she wasn’t there. So, I never left California. I never left the hospital. I’d just roamed the halls until Margaret offered me a job.

  That was why days off were so difficult. I had no life in California outside the hospital. It wasn’t just a job for me. It was where I felt most alive—or as alive as I could be anymore.

  When the person you were meant to spend your life with died before that life had a chance to even begin, how would you survive? For me, I’d just kept putting one foot in front of the other, coming back to the place where I could feel her presence the most.

  I was like a living ghost.

  When I had days that were worse than others, I would find myself returning to that hallway, back to the room where I had held her hand, looked down at her battered and bruised body, and tried to will her back to life. Walking down the hospital halls now, I knew she wasn’t there anymore, but she had been once. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see her there.

  That was kind of like living, wasn’t it?

  In a desperate attempt to flee my dark thoughts and my empty apartment, I tried venturing out into the world on my second day off. Early that morning, I threw on a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, slipped on my running shoes, and took off for the beach. It was at least five miles away from my apartment, which was absolutely perfect. I didn’t want to come back home until I was so exhausted that I could barely stand.

  By about mile four, I’d established a nice rhythm, and my legs were burning. My feet hit the pavement, one after the other, and my mind went blank as I listened to the white noise around me. It was a weekday, so the streets were mostly absent of laughing and playing children, but there was still plenty of life to listen to. A group of mothers walked by, chatting about whatever it was that moms talked about, lawnmowers buzzed, and cars zoomed by. I let my mind zone out, and in what felt like a matter of minutes, I found myself staring out at the crystal-blue water of the Pacific.

  It was early June. Even though California kids were still in school, the rest of the U.S. was happily enjoying summer vacation. It hadn’t quite reached peak season yet for tourism, but it was starting to. The Santa Monica Pier was busy today. I decided to steer clear of my normal run down the pier. Instead, I headed left to cool down and walk through the sand.

  I kicked off my shoes and headed down to the water. The sand was warm from the heat of the sun, and I felt the stark contrast when the chilly water from the ocean hit my feet. The turquoise waves were endless, stretching out in every direction as far as my eyes could see. The rays from the sun above flickered and sparkled on the water as it danced its way back and forth to the shoreline.

  I’d made it probably a quarter of a mile down the beach when I heard my name being yelled from behind me. I knew maybe four people in the entire LA area—five, if I included my pizza delivery guy—so at first, I didn’t respond. But how many people in the world were named Jude? My mother hadn’t exactly stuck with the top ten baby names.

  I turned around and saw Dr. Marcus approaching me. With sand still in his hair, he was clad in a sleek black wet suit.

  “Hey, J-Man!” he greeted me, giving me a hard wet pat on the back. His wet suit was unzipped to his waist, baring his tanned chest and surfer physique.

  I had to give the man props. For a middle-aged dude, Dr. Marcus was built.

  “What are you doing out in the sun and in my neck of the woods? Did you finally decide to take me up on my offer for surfing lessons?” he joked, grinning, as he looked at me through his shades.

  I took a quick glance out towards the waves and shook my head. “Definitely not. I’ve still got a little too much New Yorker in me to surf any waves,” I joked. Immediately, I regretted my words. I’d never told Dr. Marcus where I was from. Trying to avoid any follow-up questions regarding my city of origin, I added, “Just out for a run, an
d I thought I’d cool down for a bit.”

  “Nice. Well, I’m headed up, he said as his eyes drifted up to the boardwalk. “Waves are shit today. Want to grab a bite with me? They make great fish tacos.” He pointed to a Mexican place just up the way.

  I hesitated, worried my little slip-up might bring on an onslaught of personal questions, but Dr. Marcus appeared to be nothing but genuine in his offer. In the many years we’d known each other, he never pressed me for personal information. I didn’t know why, but I was suddenly paranoid he would do so now.

  “Sure. Sounds good,” I answered.

  We stopped at his truck, and he did that magical quick-change thing that surfers did. Less than two minutes later, he was out of his wet suit and sporting a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I looked down at my trashy T-shirt and thought about the fact that I’d run five miles here, so I probably didn’t smell too great.

  As we walked through the parking lot and entered the restaurant though, I felt the tension ease.

  The place was small and had maybe four tables that were all mismatched green and white plastic with a few similar tables outside. The menu was written with a dry-erase marker on a white board, and no one spoke a single world of English. With the laid-back and casual atmosphere, I figured my less than stellar appearance wouldn’t be an issue.

  We picked a green table outside. I swore the plastic chair legs bowed a little when I sat in it. An old tube television was mounted in the corner with CNN streaming. Dr. Marcus ordered for us—in Spanish, of course. Besides knowing the words dos and gracias, I had no idea what he had said.

  My father had spent a fortune on private language tutors, so I’d have a leg up on several languages when I went to prep school. We’d quickly found out that language was not one of my strengths. I believed my tutor had told my father that based on my aptitude for language arts, I was lucky to have learned English.

  “You into trading?” Dr. Marcus asked, pulling my head away from the tiny numbers scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen.