A Suitable Companion

Chapter 11: The worst day of the year

I wish I was better at following my own advice, I really do. The advice to talk, that is. When Charles returned home from the hospitalisation at Headley Court I was set on telling him about myself when I found a good opportunity to do it, but so far, I have cowardly bailed out. I know it would probably be good for me, for him, for our friendship but the words just will not come out of my mouth. It seems like there is a disconnection somewhere between the speech centre of my brain, where words are phrased, and my lips when it comes to this particular topic. And I'm obviously not ready today either even though I have struggled for weeks.

Tomorrow is The Day. The worst day of the year. I would like to take the day off and do what I always do, but I have put off asking Charles for a leave. I'm not sure why, but maybe because I'm afraid he will ask me what I plan to do with my free time. I do not feel prepared to share the truth with him and I'm not sure I'm capable of pulling a lie either, so I have postponed asking. But now I must.

He is reading a book when I find him.

"Charles, there's something I need to ask you."

He looks up.

"Okay?"

"Can I take the day off tomorrow?"

"How come?"

There it is, the dreaded question.

"I have some personal business to attend to."

He considers it briefly, then says;

"I'm sorry I can't agree to that. If you had asked earlier, I would have arranged for someone else to take me to Headley Court but now you give me too short notice. I have a special evaluation session to assess my current condition with both the physiotherapist and the doctor tomorrow, so I have to be there. You can have another day off if you like, just let me know when."

With that, he considers the conversation to be over and returns to his book, leaving me feeling devastated. He is right, I should have asked earlier, and he has no way of knowing that this day is special to me, in the worst way, and cannot be exchanged for any other random day. I do not want to tell him though, or maybe I want to but do not feel I'm capable, so I just leave with tears burning behind my eyelids.

Next morning, I wake up, even though I do not want to. I drag myself out of bed wishing I did not have to face reality, but I have learned that there is no escape. My family give me extra hugs before I'm off to work but they know since long that I prefer not talking about it. Only mum says;

"Couldn't he have given you the day off? Even Louie used to agree to that."

"I asked too late mum, I have to suit myself. Maybe it's good to break traditions."

She looks at me with sad eyes, although I guess my own would look even more sad if I bothered to take a look in the mirror.

-O-

When I help Charles to enter the car I talk as little as possible. The entire drive I talk as little as possible, although Charles tries to pick up a conversation several times. Normally these days, our drives are a mix of banter and comfortable silence. Today it is only silence and I'm not sure Charles finds it comfortable, but it is what I can offer. Meanwhile he meets with his treatment team for the special assessment, and then go through his usual exercise schedule, I wait in the cafeteria. Time is passing by so slowly, I can hear the tick tock from the oversized clock on the wall meanwhile I sip bitter tasting coffee from a plastic cup, and I'm feeling worse and worse about being here and not doing what I should be doing today.

Once Charles is ready and we are back in the car, again driving in silence, I feel desperation building up inside of me. It feels like a growing tsunami wave that is going to devour me. If I'm not there, he will think I have forgotten about him, he will think I have moved on, he will...