My Hand Mitten

by Austin Thacker

  ◆◆◆

  Mark’s dream was short-lived and faded away into nothing but a voice, a blurry voice that began faintly but grew stronger and stronger until the face of a blonde nurse emerged, rushing him into the ambulance and yelling at the driver.

  “Go faster! He’s bleeding out from his head. If we don’t get blood soon, we’ll lose him!”

  Mark woke up and nearly sprang out of his bed, icy sweat dripping down his forehead. Mark’s usually strong voice was replaced with a raspy, misty murmur, and then pain surged through his head and spine. Mark, still half asleep, quickly checked his head and found no huge gashes on his crown, except an old scar.

  “Wha—Where am I?” Mark quickly yelled in a weak and awakened voice.

  “Whoa, Mark, calm down!” Aaron woke up from his light doze and sprang from an old hospital chair in the sun with great speed, gently pushing Mark back toward the blankets. He was lean and quick, just like in his youth, with very dense bags under his eyes and a flimsy smile. Tom was in the light from the window of the small pine-green room as well, more bulky and small, but he never moved; he just watched with a smile.

  “Don’t move around. You don’t want to create any more problems with your neck. You already look terrible! You’re lucky nothing even remotely serious happened to you,” Aaron chuckled lightly.

  “Where am I?” Mark asked with a shiver of his stiffened body.

  Aaron hesitated with instantaneous fear and recovered very poorly, Mark could tell.

  “Y-You got into a car accident last night. I called your cell…umm…multiple times, and it wasn’t like you to, you know, not pick up…” Aaron began playing with his fingers like a child. “But before I could track your phone, we got a call that there were EMTs assisting you out of your automobile. Though they didn’t have to go far, since your car was right next to the hospital. All the ambulance had to do was drive a block or two down Elm Street and back to the hospital, a quarter-mile round trip. Others from our squad were here earlier to see how you were doing, but…but the doctor kicked them out and—“

  “What day is it?” Mark yelped while springing up and noticing the pain his back carried. But Mark, with a quick tear that fell across his rough and pale face, sucked in the pain.

  Aaron was shocked from the way Mark brushed the entire accident to the side, as if he’d just told him to think about his breakfast from the day before yesterday; it was irrelevant.

  “Well, it’s Sunday.”

  “My Hand Mitten—“

  Aaron easily interrupted, “Is fine, her nurse checked on her last night and got everything she needed.” Aaron patted him on the leg and gave off a very friendly smile, with a little more ease.

  “And this morning? What about this morning?” Mark yelled. He didn’t smile or breathe (and probably wouldn’t until Aaron spoke) while thinking about the possible pains she would be feeling if not given her medications.

  “It’s—” Aaron checked his poor and used leather-band watch. “Five thirty, buddy, the sun just came up no more than half an hour ago, give me a break. But y-yes…she did.”

  “Dammit!” Mark yelled out of his usual anger.

  Tom, in the light, frowned. “Mark, language, please!”

  “Now you’re asking too much,” Aaron said immediately after Tom spoke; then he laughed and shook his head. It had become a habit, something Aaron always said without a single thought tied to it. It was as if Aaron had taken a step forward or swatted a fly from his eye—the words were natural. But Mark felt frightened, and his mouth dropped as he thought about his dream before.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said you ask for too much.”

  Mark looked down at the thin white blankets, pet them with his right arm connected to the IV he hadn’t yet noticed, and calmed down from the thought of their beautiful past.

  “Now isn’t that so…” Mark paused and looked up at Aaron. “How was she?” He stared at Aaron with desperation for an answer of hope. Aaron smiled lightly and began to tear up from the question. He was always upset when Mark asked.

  “She’s good… She’s real good,” Aaron said emotionally.

  Mark nodded, and led his eyes toward the bed blankets, then continued petting again, flattening out the creases. Other things invaded his mind, and Mark forgot about everything with the young druggie and the car chase toward the smugglers. Does she mention me? he thought. Does she miss me? Has she painted? Is her hair the same? Impossible. She’s still there, next to the air-conditioning unit, sick and in need of my me and my warmth. Mark stayed silent, and Aaron frowned because he knew what Mark was thinking, what he always thought about, and then began to fiddle with his fingers once more.

  “Don’t take it personal, Aaron,” said Tom. “Mark needs his time to think.”

  Mark’s pondering of the past grew, and he became unresponsive. He fell back on the pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling.

  He now thought of the dream, their history of arguing. There was so much. He first thought of them on the bridge during their argument about the stunt girl. How cute that reality would have been; then he thought of how Aaron never enjoyed Mary’s company. Mary, her brunette hair, rosy cheeks, and beautiful smile, but Aaron was always so mean to her.

  He began to venture through the past now, so overwhelmingly deep that those thoughts sent him into a thick, conscious dream. He knew that those daydreams wouldn’t help him now, but what other way could he enjoy the simplicity of the past? How else could he marvel over the beauty of their friendship? The year was 1985, around the end of winter, when pollen and a few patches of grass and weeds began to run free across the desert floor. Mark was seventeen, and Aaron was sixteen.

  ◆◆◆

  “She’s good, she’s real good,” Mark muttered with sarcasm. “Oh yeah she’s fine, especially when you yelled her out of the house!” he said, exploding with anger and wiping the sweat off his forehead in a jolt.

  “It’s not my fault she can’t take a joke, and this wouldn’t have happened if YOU haven’t started dating her!” Aaron yelled. He had a thin face freckled with zits and a dark purple bruise on his right cheek. Mark stepped closer—he was half a foot taller at an even six feet, despite Aaron’s skinny appearance.

  “Don’t you dare bring this on me! It’s been years, and you still can’t accept her. This is on you.” He walked away and then turned back. “I can’t believe you yelled her out. Have you forgotten that it’s only been a week? And may I remind you, you didn’t attend!” Mark paced in a little circle, then turned back again. “You couldn’t hold it in? You couldn’t just stop and think how she felt to just lose her mother?”

  “I didn’t know the chick, and this has nothing to do with—”

  “But you knew her! You knew Mary, and that’s all that mattered.” Mark stared angrily while pointing at Aaron, who shoved himself toward Mark, with their noses the width of a toothpick apart. Aaron almost threw a punch—the moment was right and ducks were all aligned, in some ways he waited for this moment, for Mark to finally snap. Mark’s calm and kind nature was undeniably dazzling in its constant promise of stability. Aaron wanted to show Mark how he truly felt about Mary; in fact, with every outburst Aaron had, a part of him wanted Mark’s reaction to be less unpredictable, more rash and outrageous. Aaron wanted a reaction the world would have given him for his appalling actions, and now Mark has finally offered a chance of reality. But Aaron backed up, turned around, and cast his attention to the ground. A pause in time occurred, one of those rare moments where nothing was said but everything was intended, and Mark finally knew.

  “Why do you even stay friends with me if I’m a jerk-off to your girlfriend?” Aaron whispered and began to walk to the other side of his living room while rubbing his left forearm. “You’d be better off with just her.”

  Mark thought for a few seconds before speaking. He was dist
urbed by Aaron’s less aggressive approach. He was confused. Except Mark’s infrequent anger was still burning in his heart, defending Mary, and in the tears she’d cried over Aaron’s disgusting personality.

  “Honestly…I have no idea. Maybe there’s some truth to that,” Mark said viciously and stormed out. After Mark left, Aaron stood in grief, astonishment, staring at the ground and racing through his thoughts. He’s angry. Aaron thought. He blew up from my actions but doesn’t even know how much he has pained me. Aaron Hudson stood there, listening to the indoor fan and hearing the washing machine growl and shake. Then he whispered under his breath, in an unconscious reflex to the pain, a phrase repeated over and over again just like his famous “now you’re asking too much” to convince himself the actions were not made up from his own insanity. “I loved her first.” A tear from his right eye broke off and ran through those zit-filled cheeks, down the chin, past his skinny complexion, and toward the ground. That face soon fell into a spell of rage, and he stormed out of the house. Except what Aaron didn’t see was Mark’s large body, hiding behind the screen door from outside. His wonder made him devious and curious, knowing that Aaron had a secret. A secret he now knew, a secret that he may take to his deathbed.

  ◆◆◆

  The curtain swung open and Mark broke out of his daydream.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to change Mr. Wegman’s antibiotics,” the young, blonde British nurse muttered. She was unamused, with too many drinks the night before and a dull headache. Aaron sprang up, pulled to this attractive woman.

  Once the nurse removed her face from the clipboard, she spotted Mark. His hypnotizing tan muscles, well-aged and attractive face. She couldn’t stop staring. Who could blame her? Mark was very good-looking. She brightened for the man of her dreams, this man she’d read about in those many romantic novels late in her apartment. It’s him, she thought. It’s Rodriguez, ready to save me from the orphanage fire and build me a house on the hill where we first met!

  “You mean my best friend?” Aaron began. “Yes, he’s here. He was beginning to tell me about how grateful he was that I saved his life, but I was having trouble explaining to him how terrible of a condition he was in and how the amazing hospital staff saved his life, like you…nurse. You’re a nurse, right? Anyways, may you please help me? Explain?”

  She never looked at Aaron, too occupied and flustered from Mark and his (jawline, even five o’clock shadow, sparkling green eyes, broadness, popping chest) appearance, but Aaron’s heart was beating too fast to notice anything but the side of her face. That beautiful cheek, Aaron thought.

  “Umm, thank you, kind gent, but I’ll let the doctor explain things.”

  Aaron melted over her accent and couldn’t control his lips from blurting out whatever came to his mind while Nurse Jane Taylor edged over to Mark with flirtatious eyes. “Oh, you’re fine, I’m just, just terrible at explaining instances. I can give you examples if that’s what you’d like. We probably have lots in common.” Aaron nervously giggled with his now clammy hands and blushing face.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I have another patient to tend to,” she lied. “I just need to change Mr. Wegman’s bag.” The nurse finally turned to Aaron, and he saw those blue eyes, those elegant, blue eyes. He calmed down and began to think straight. Come on, play it smooth, what to say, oh what to say?

  “Yeah, I have to use the bathroom, anyways,” Aaron said after two unnatural snorts came out of his mouth from an awkward, hearty laugh. He then left for the bathroom on the other side of their floor, five rooms down to the right and past the front desk on the left. For him, she was too much to handle at once. In the bathroom, Aaron kicked the ground over and over again, rethinking what he’d done wrong and what he could have said instead.

  “‘I have to use the bathroom’?” Aaron said with a big kick. “‘We probably have lots in common,’ I said. I should have told her I was the chief of police, how much power I have, she could have been the one!” he said while tearful mortification emerged. Aaron then forced two more embarrassing blows toward the bathroom tile and the wall under the sink. “She’s never going to talk to me again!”

  Mark, back in the room, was trapped by the beautiful, flirtatious nurse and the embarrassment Aaron had left behind.

  Tom leaned toward Mark’s left ear and whispered, “Did you see Aaron? He needs more help than every sick person here.”

  Mark laughed, and then the nurse laughed, breaking the tension in the room. Then she saw Mark’s bright smile and knew she had to have him.

  “Your friend is really…something,” she said, laughing again. Her bright blue eyes showed intent, but Mark never took count of her flirtatious signs.

  “Aaron? He’s a man full of mysteries.”

  “I’d like to consider myself a mystery,” she said deviously. “For instance, if you could read my mind, you’d be very shy.”

  “Do you talk in your head as much as you talk right now?” Mark asked.

  “Well, I…I guess so,” the nurse said puzzled.

  “Then I’m glad I can’t,” Mark’s newly scratchy voice stated with great disinterest.

  She was shocked by his answer. It stopped her heart. I’m beautiful, have a cute accent, a cute nose, bright blue eyes, a sexy vocabulary, and a young body. What does anyone else have that I don’t? He must mean something else! she thought. Jane didn’t notice his ring; Mark’s simple yet severely tarnished silver wedding band had been taken off and placed in a plastic clear bag while in the emergency room by a young yet skinny intern, and then in the early morning another doctor, Dr. Kenny, had slipped the band back on Mark’s left index finger before he awoke. When the new antibiotic was attached, and the machine set to pump the medication at a safe, steady pace, she turned to Mark, flipped her beautiful hair, and began to speak again.

  One last try. I have to make it right, Jane thought while chewing on her thin nails.

  “Now listen to me Mr. Wegman.” The nurse let out an adorable giggle. “After this antibiotic, we will discharge you. But you cannot leave until you speak to Dr. Kenny.” The nurse fluttered her eyes at Mark, but he never took notice, didn’t care. He thought of the name Kenny—it rang in the vast desert of memories, but where? It was as if it were a face misted by time. Now the nurse, who was disturbed by the lack of attention, gave one last signal to win that amazing, beautiful man.

  “Or you can stay until seven thirty, that’s when I get off.” She placed two hands on the bed and stared at the side of Mark’s face, trying to be seductive in her basic blue scrubs.

  Mark’s eyes were loose, but loose from the search through his own thoughts. His reaction to Nurse Taylor’s desperate attempt for a date (and maybe even a kiss or two) made it seem as if she were a ghost in a far-removed parallel universe. “No thank you, I need to get back to my wife.”

  There was a silence of shock and disappointment. Jane felt torn as her hand gently covered her widened mouth with surprise, grief, and embarrassment. She feet like Jessie Wright in Passion for Fire, Book 3. Where Perry Jones’s memories spark back, and he leaves Jessie, his high school sweetheart, for his wife and children. Then he informs them that he works for the CIA as a sleeper agent, and the evil “Dr. Grits” had taken control of his memory, whisking his mind. But love had brought them back.

  “Don’t you have another patient?” Mark said with annoyance. Then he finally glanced over, and for a second they locked eyes. She finally saw them, those sparkling, rough, green eyes. Later she would say they seemed menacing, the eyes of a madman, but at that moment in time, Jane thought they looked more like dreamy emeralds, or freshly cut grass in a garden, and the rejection only made her burn with desire. But he was married, it was too late, the act was done. In the end, Jessie had Thanksgiving with everyone and she became an addition to their secret CIA circle, but that wasn’t going to happen here.

  Jane Taylor a
pologized as she quickly gathered her equipment, hiding her scarlet cheeks. “Yeah, I almost forgot, my, um, other patient. Cheerio, Mr. Wegman…Cheerio.” She began to rush out of the room almost like a child. While Mark sat there thinking about the familiarity of the name Kenny, he drifted back to the thought of Aaron and their history once again, flowing from argument to argument with a smirk on his face, like a middle-aged Walmart employee remembering when he was a football star in high school. Then the events from the night before struck his attention. All at once they rushed back into his memory with deep clarity. The accident, the junkie, his uncontrollable hatred he had for the boy, and the tears he shed before it all. Mark had forgotten the accident so easily, even when Aaron had explained the event no more than twenty minutes ago. His mind drifted off because of the thought of Mary, his constant fear for her safety and preservation from the moment that would inevitably overtake her life. What have I done? he thought to himself. Mark remembered that he had collided with the ignorant and young owner of that yellow Toyota Camry while enflamed with his own self-agony. And with a simple observation of the event, he knew that the drug enthusiast’s body had no cushion for ANY type of impact, especially at the speeds they were at. Was he alive? What happened to Tyler Castillo?

  “Nurse,” Mark’s hoarse voice called. Jane sprang back like a dog hearing their owner’s brakes screech in the driveway. She trotted over to stand on the side of his bed, twirling her hair and thinking about yet another supermarket novel called Passion’s Peak.

  “Yeessss?” she said, now understanding that she now had his full attention. The nurse saw those glistening eyes, a man well-aged yet complemented by it, with those gray hairs and faint wrinkles around his cheeks and forehead. She was ready for the confession. She was born ready. How is he going to word it? Will it be romantic? she asked herself. I bet it’ll be as smooth as a stone. Just like Donovan in Love Me, Book 2. When Mark began to speak, the nurse cut off even her thoughts for a more defined sound of his voice.