by James, Ella
Sweet Barrett.
Mine.
I look at Barrett, and I want to hug him. Want to touch his hair and rub his scratchy cheeks. I want his lips on mine, his strong legs intertwined with my soft ones. I want him beside me at night so I can hold him, he can hold me.
It’s the little things. That’s all life is, when you really start to think about it. Little things that are your story. No one knows them—no one but you and yours—but they’re what make a life. The twinkle lights I strung up on the ceiling for him. Him smelling gardenia petals. The flying pig bird bath.
It’s the little things that make a life, and I’ve learned that they are all I need. Just Barrett in his Jeep. Just shower sex. Just my lover’s smile as I lie in his lap on our rock in the woods.
All things I don’t have, because I haven’t even seen his eyes in forty-six days.
* * *
“Hey there, sleeping Beary…”
I climb into bed with him, the way I always do, crossing my legs before I take his big, warm hand in both of mine.
“You know, I should tell you, hibernation season’s ending. I’ve seen Papa almost every day the last two weeks. Even Cinnamon is waddling out of her little nook some days, and you know females are the last ones to wake up. I want to let you know. As a Bear, you have a certain schedule that you need to follow.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. I look down at his hand and trace the scars on it, trying to tickle with my fingertips. Some days, I’ll feel his fingers twitch a little, and my whole body goes hot, then cold—with hope he’ll wake up and fear that he won’t.
It’s just so tricky. So confusing. So unknown. His number on the Galsgow Coma Scale is an eight. A three means totally unresponsive, and a fifteen is the best score: what I’d score. Anything over an eight would mean he’s not technically in a coma anymore. If he would just say anything—even words that don’t make sense—he’d be a nine. But…Barrett doesn’t.
When the nurses or one of the therapists do something that hurts him, sometimes he’ll recoil. Last week, when they re-casted his broken ankle and moved it in a certain way, his eyes opened. He drew a deep breath, and I thought I would pass out from pure joy. Then his eyes shut and his vitals leveled out again.
If he can feel pain, he’s still here. That’s what I tell myself. If he can feel pain, he can feel pleasure. So I spend some time each day massaging joints the PT thinks are sore, rubbing his feet, stroking his hair. I kiss his cheeks and face, his hands, even his arms. I put my own scented lip gloss on his lips and kiss them softly.
If only life were like a fairy tale. I know I would have the magic kiss that woke him up.
Nic only lived four days after the gunshot. On that fourth day, he got a blood clot. Before he died, on the third day, when he was seeming more stable, he confessed to hitting me, to leaving me there in the snow rather than taking me with him in his car. It’s true, he didn’t have cell phone service, and after he left, he called as quickly as he could. But I find I don’t care about those details. In my mind, he left me there because he didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. I doubt that I would feel this way had he not done what he did in the woods that day.
Had he not tried to kill me. Had he not tried to kill Bear. Had he not deceived my best friend, wasted years of her life and now broken her heart and strained our friendship. Things are getting better slowly, and I know time will heal the awkwardness between Jamie and I right now. Our friendship is too strong, too old, to be severed—even by my murder of her lover.
Barrett threw a martial arts star at his back, aiming for a certain spot between two vertebrae. But Bear’s left handed, and his left hand doesn’t work, so the star got buried in Nic’s shoulder. When Nic was on the ground, he somehow pulled it out and that’s how he got Barrett in the throat.
I have the star—it’s cleaned up, hiding in an old pot in my garage—and that thing is razor-sharp. So it’s not surprising that it did so much damage to poor Barrett.
How he went from almost bleeding out and suffering a broken ankle to being in this coma… That’s the part that no one really understands. He went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. That’s why they had to shock him. I’m told that happens sometimes when people get really low on blood.
Then they got him to the hospital, and they couldn’t tell whether he was stable enough to put him under general anesthesia, so they went ahead and cauterized his artery with him awake. Sometime around then, Barrett’s blood pressure shot up, then he passed back out. No one could find evidence of a stroke—they still can’t; images of his brain look perfect—but in retrospect, they think something must have happened around then.
At the time, however, he seemed okay, so they put him under. They operated on his ankle, adding screws to keep it stable, and then they fixed his trachea and closed the torn up tissue around it.
When I got to him in the ICU, he had a temporary trach—so, a tube punched into his trachea a little further down from where the damage was. He was covered with hot blankets, because losing blood makes the body temperature drop. His ankle was elevated, in a cast, and his beautiful face looked gray.
A few times those first two days, his eyelids fluttered. Both times, I leaned in close to him and whispered to him, kissed his cheek, and told him how much I loved him. They still had him on painkillers, and after the fourth day, everyone had realized something was wrong. Maybe his old brain injury had flared up somehow. Maybe something with the painkillers. So they cut back on those. They took him for imaging of his brain, and Cleo, Kellan, Dove, and I all sat together, terrified. (Michael had to go back overseas). But everything looked fine.
And still does.
The trach is gone, and he can breathe. As of last week, every single medicine they had him on, the anti-seizure meds, a sedative, a sleeping pill… All, gone. And still, he sleeps.
I’ve heard the nurses talking about moving him out of this hospital. Somewhere designed for longer-term care.
Cleo and Kellan are still here, and they come every day, and we watch movies, eat dinner, talk—so Barrett knows he isn’t by himself. No one is more empathetic than Cleo. She knows exactly what I’m going through. In the mornings, Cle and I go for a run together. It was her idea, or rather her insistence. She tells me it will keep my brain chemistry balanced so I don’t get super depressed. As if…
Midday, while I’m here, they watch out for the bears and do their Cleo-Kellan things. They ride our bikes sometimes, which I know Barrett wouldn’t mind. And in the afternoon, when I leave home to run errands, they go sit with him. I come back at dinner, and we’re all there, and then “we” leave. I think it’s funny they don’t know I spend the night most nights. I guess because I leave the hospital at 5:30 every morning, drive back home, and shower, they wake up and see my car and think I stayed the night in my own house. I know when Cle finds out, she’ll be on me about how I should stay at home in my own bed, but I’ll call her a hypocrite.
Today, I watch Fifty Shades of Gray and giggle with Bear’s nurses as they come in and out. When it ends, I pull the covers down and climb in bed with him. I can’t always do this, but one of my favorite nurses is on, and she doesn’t care. There are some tubes and wires, but I know how to rearrange them so there’s room for me. Right after Shayna checks on Bear and leaves, I duck under the covers and rub my finger over his pig tat. Dove told me that he got it two weeks after New Year’s: a pig flying through a snowflake storm. It’s done in gorgeous color, just over his left pec. The tattoo means a lot to me, because without it, I’m not sure how I’d have known for sure that Barrett really wanted me. Not out of guilt, or out of loneliness, but out of love.
I try not to think about what Dove and Michael told me, about how Barrett only had some bear spray and the throwing star because he’d moved all of the knives and guns out of his house. And why he did that.
I like to imagine when he wakes up, all of that will be forgotten. He will say my name first thing, and we will hug. I
’ll get under the covers with him and we’ll snuggle. I can give him water, wash his hair…
I’ll shave his beard and kiss his lips all night. And I won’t care that we’re still here. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this man beside me. His warm skin, his old familiar scars and tattoos. I know everything about him now, every mark and curve of muscle. I will see him sleeping in my dreams for all my life and think how beautiful he is, and want to wake him up and see his eyes.
How much have I fantasized about that moment? Seeing his eyes open, focus on me. God, I want it more than life itself. Barrett wakes up, and we can talk. We can move forward. We can heal together. I know things like walking will be hard because he’ll be weak, so I can take him to my house since it’s a one-story. I’ll do what his physical therapist here does to help his muscles stay active. He’ll regain his strength, and I’ll cook all the best foods for him. They’ll take out the tiny yellow tube that’s threaded through his nose into his stomach, because he’ll eat my food. He won’t need that. In my fantasy, he won’t need anything but me.
And so, of course, it has to happen that he wakes up on a Wednesday night—the first night I’ve been booked to sing at the Bluebird in almost five years.
I get the text when I dig in my purse for my car keys, after. I’m already sweaty and exhilarated, so when I see Cleo’s words, I nearly pass dead out.
Barrett’s awake!!!!!!!! Don’t come back yet though. They have to do a few things first. I’ll keep you posted!!! :D
What the fuck?
Just…what the fuck?
I drive straight to the hospital. Cleo can sit on a cactus. When I get near his room, I bump into Kellan on his way out. I know something’s wrong the second his gaze touches mine.
“…Gwenna.”
My knees are so shaky, I’m forced to grab his arm. Compassion overtakes the weirdness in his eyes. He leads me not into Bear’s room, but over to a hallway chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down! Kellan…”
“He’s okay. He’s doing great. Ray the PT was in there and Barrett didn’t like the way Ray moved his left hand.” Kellan’s eyes widen. “He could feel it.”
“His left hand?”
He nods. “Not sure if it’s all the way or what. He’s pretty sleepy, but he said some things to Ray and asked ‘What’s this shit in my nose?’ and tried to pull the NG tube out.” Barrett chuckles. “He did pull it out. It’s gone. He’s drinking juice.”
My pulse surges. “What’s the catch?”
Kellan’s eyes dart down to his feet. I see his jaw flex. “Gwen… He asked where Lyon was. He remembered when I told him. He asked how I got cleared to come to Germany.”
“He thought he was at Landstuhl.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a problem? Does that mean—”
“After a few minutes, he remembered what happened. With Nic.”
“You’re scaring me! What aren’t you saying, Kellan?”
“He called you Snowflake. He said, ‘that girl. The snowflake girl.’ I started to ask him what that meant and he said the one with red hair. I told him you were okay, and he tried to ask about the accident. We kept telling him you were okay, but he got upset. They weren’t going to give him anything but they ended up giving him a small amount of Xanax. When we asked if he wanted to see you, to see Gwen, he told us no. I’m so sorry, Gwen. It might be different tomorrow. But tonight, they want us all to go. He’s very tired. I’ve woken up after a long sleep before, and trust me, he’s not going to be looking for us. They just want us to leave him starting now until sometime in the morning. Let the nurses and the doctors check him over. See if he’ll wake up in another few hours and say more then.”
My throat is so tight, when I try to speak, nothing comes out. “You would leave him?” I manage.
Kellan’s face goes gentle. “He’s my brother, Gwen. I’m not saying we go far. We can stay at that hotel across the street. If he wakes up again and asks for us, we come right over.”
I open my mouth and try go get some air into my lungs. “Did he remember you?”
“He did.”
“Cleo?” I rasp.
“Yes. He remembered Cle.”
My voice wavers. “He didn’t ask for me?”
“That’s why I didn’t want you to go in just yet. He had the Xanax, now he’s trying to sleep. If you get upset Gwen, Barrett might, too.”
“No he won’t! Not if he doesn’t remember me. He called me Snowflake New Year’s Eve! In 2012.” I grab onto Barrett’s wrist. He wraps his arm behind my back. “If he didn’t call me Gwen or Pig, he doesn’t know me! Kell, I have to know! I have to know if he knows who I am…” Against my will, I start to cry.
He pulls me close. “You want some Xanax too?” He makes a sound like a chuckle, but it’s darker. His face, when I draw away and look into his eyes, is tight and pale.
“I don’t want Xanax. I don’t want your help!” I run blindly down the hall, and I don’t stop until I’m outside in the parking lot.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gwenna
Kellan is crazy. You couldn’t pry me away from Bear right now to save the planet. Also, it’s not true what Kellan said. What he implied. That we can’t see Barrett right now.
We can if we want. Even I can. All the doctors are saying is they want him to have a solid night’s rest because sleep is important for healing of the brain, and if we want him to stay conscious, he needs to sleep.
Did Kellan think I would run into his room and make him more upset? The thought fills me with fury until sometime in the wee hours when I’m dozing in the waiting room—and I realize that if Kellan hadn’t kept me away, maybe I would have burst into Bear’s room and made a fuss.
So what?
I can still be mad at Kellan.
I can still be mad.
I look out the window in front of me, out at the Smoky Mountains, green hills wreathed with blue-gray fog, and I wonder what I’ll do if he doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t remember us. How will I cope with that?
How is this even happening right now? After everything…
I shut my eyes and think of myself up there on stage last night at the Bluebird. How good it felt. And how I thought of Barrett the whole time because I knew how proud he’d be of me.
Once his friends told me how he felt, and I saw that pig tattoo, everything shifted back to normal in my head. Even if it had been me he hit… It would have been weird, yeah. Of course. A sensitive subject. But I think we’d have learned to joke about it. I think we could have gotten through it.
What kind of universe—what kind of God—takes that kind of love and just…erases it?
Tears fill my eyes. I need to get up. Walk around a little. Breathe, before I go into hysterics and the woman at the waiting room security desk makes me leave.
She’s talking on her phone as I elbow through a one of the double-doors, bound for the cafeteria. I give her a tight smile.
“Ma’am?”
I look over my shoulder.
“Gwenna, right?”
I nod.
“They need you down the hall.”
My stomach flips. “Which hall?”
She laughs. “The other way.” She waves across the room, toward the other double-doors. “The one with all the patients.”
I push through that set of doors with clammy hands. Is something wrong? I’m met mid-hallway by Nancy, one of the nicer nurses. When I see her face, my head goes airy.
“Gwenna.” She looks troubled. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
I grab out for the wall, leaning against it as her dark brows draw together. “Barrett is awake, which is phenomenal, but he’s…”
“What?” I snap.
“He’s very upset. We can’t seem to get him calmed down. The charge nurse, Sue, is in there now and has paged the on-call, but…I think it’s
psychological rather than physical. Honestly? I think he’s having some kind of flashback.”
I suck a deep breath in and start off toward his room. “I’ll know what it is.”
Nancy trots along beside me. “He has said your name a few times.”
I burst through the door to find the room still dark. Barrett’s on his side, curled up and shaking with soft, muffled sobs.
“Barrett?” I reach his bed, then freeze. My head is spinning so hard, I almost feel dizzy. I reach out for him, my hand touching his arm. “Bear? It’s Gwenna.”
I can’t breathe as I lean there against his mattress. So surreal…
I see his shoulders shake a little, and the shock of seeing him in motion wakes me back up.
“Beary… Hey, it’s Gwen.” I squeeze his shoulder. “You all right?”
With a knot in my throat, I look behind me at the nurses, and then climb carefully up on the bed.
“I do this at home,” I murmur to them as I move in close and wrap an arm around him. He’s so thin. He’s shaking. God, my Barrett. It’s so weird to feel his body moving…
My clumsy hands sift through the sheets, feeling the smoothness of his shoulder, then his neck, his face… His throat still sports a small bandage. I stroke alongside that, the way I always used to when I’d try to wake him up.
“Bear? It’s Gwennie.” My voice cracks on my name. What if he doesn’t know it? I inhale as his head comes to rest against my shoulder. “Bear.” Tears fill my eyes. I cup his warm neck. “We’re okay…”
I can feel his face against my shoulder, feel his body pause…
His forehead tips back, eyes rising to mine. “Pig?”
A little sob slips out, mixed with a crazed laugh. “Yes.”
Bear’s arms come around me, pulling me to him. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt.
Epilogue
Barrett
May 28, 2016