Bring Glory(Us) Life

Chapter 15- When the Lights go Out

        It was the first day of school, the start of his junior year. A few miles away, the local high school was bustling with students, rushing from class to class, chatting, laughing, balancing textbooks and notebooks. The sun shone brightly on a day to remember, but Lachlan wasn’t there. He sat, immobile, in the hospital lobby, watching people filter in and out. A nurse had assured him that when Kilay came around they would let him know, but he couldn’t make himself leave. As he sat, he half wondered if his parents had had an aneurysm yet, out of rage.

            At some point someone came by and pressed a breakfast sandwich into his numb hands. It was warm, comforting scents tickling his nose, but when he bit reflexively into it, it was tasteless, and caught in his tight throat. He set it down half eaten, stomach churning like the ocean during a storm.

        There was a high pitched noise and the clicking sound of the intercom crackled to life. Lachlan had jumped anxiously at each one through most of the night, before his nerves were desensitized. A voice echoed through the white walled rooms, intoning someone’s name. Lachlan didn’t hear it as his senses fuzzed in and out, the world blurred from exhaustion, but he was determined to be there for her.

            “Lachlan Barclay?” a voice came from behind. Lachlan straightened, looking with bleary eyes at the nurse. She smiled at him.

         “You may come up now.” Lachlan nearly flew out of his chair, legs weak, arms flailing. He was led into one of the lower floors, down long, luminous halls. It reminded him of the labyrinth in his heart, the polar opposite, but equally devoid of life. The nurse led him to one room and ushered him inside.

       Kilay lay under a thin white sheet on a bed of white sheets, pale skin almost blending in. Everything was white, blindingly so, to the point it no longer seemed like purity — innocence— more bleached, corroded. She was hooked up to a feeding tube, IV and oxygen tank, like someone in a coma who would never wake up, maintained only out of human sympathy. The room was lit by faint sunlight bleeding through the closed curtains, and the faint glow of monitor screens and flickering buttons. The room echoed dully with the sounds of life: the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the hiss of oxygen.

          “Kilay?” he called, voice hollow. She didn’t answer, didn’t move. Obviously, he chided himself. She’s probably sedated.

        “Ok, well, uh, I guess I’ll leave you to rest, then. Get well soon,” he said to the still form. Lachlan turned toward the door, glancing back sorrowfully.

        “Please, just...don’t die yet,” he whispered, swiping a hand angrily over his eyes, and left.

       The peace lily had grown two more flowers since he had received it. It sat next to his bed on the table, where it could be close to him. Sometimes, like now, when he felt particularly alone, he would hold it, touch the delicate blooms with the tip of his nose, feeling moisture on its petals from the weekly spritz with water. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but his room seemed cleaner, more pure. Cleansed.

        Lachlan looked at it now, lying on his side in bed, staring at the slightly wilted leaves. It needed to be watered. Since Kilay’s hospitalization, he had neglected the poor plant.

         “I’m sorry, that was heartless of me,” he told the lily, taking up the spray bottle to wet the wilted greens. “I just don’t know what to do. And now I’m talking to a plant,” he sighed, trimming back extra leaves so that it was contained in its pot. Lachlan set it down again, watching tiny, shimmering droplets fall from the shiny leaves into the dark, rich dirt.