Jack Wilder listened to the slow,
muffled beeping of the machine next to his bed as he watched the ceiling fan
spin above him. The useless hearing-aids in his ears made it difficult for him
to hear anything, so he just listened to all the muffled noises around him. He
didn't like to look around much because it only confused him more. People
walking in and out and back and forth throughout the day. Some people sitting
next to him and crying or talking to him and laughing about God knows what.
Everything was a blur. His used-to-be-green eyes were now a pale blue and his
skin hung from his bones like his body couldn't withstand the force of gravity
anymore. Many days he would find himself watching the tree outside his hospital
room window. Over the months that he had resigned in the room, the tree had
lost much of its grandeur; it was growing weaker as winter crept upon it, its
branches bending in protest and only a few brown leaves still barely gripping
onto the tree that gave it life. But it remained a constant in the function of
chaos.
One
day, a few people walked into his room and sat around him, placing their hands
on him at times or holding his hands. He sometimes felt happy about it, like he
was glad these strangers were in his room, talking to him and paying him some
sort of attention. But most of the time, he was sad. He always felt lost,
always felt like he needed to be somewhere, doing something; he just didn't
know what that something was. He looked around at these people's faces. Two
women and a child. And he wanted to smile at them, but he found no reason to.
So he looked from them to the tree, his breath coming in slow waves.
* * *
“Or
when dad convinced you that he had forgotten your anniversary, and when I came
home from school that day, I could hear Carly Simon all the way down the
sidewalk,” Lucy said as she smiled. She tightened her grip on her father's hand
as she sat next to his bedside, peering at her mom who sat on the opposite side
of the bed with both of her hands placed delicately on his arm.
Her
mom smiled as she laughed and nodded, saying, “You're So Vain.” She sniffed,
wiping her eyes.
The
room filled with laughter as Lucy's daughter smiled obliviously, holding onto
the edge of the hospital bed as she stood on her tiptoes to get a decent look
at her granddad.
Lucy
watched her child. The young girl's innocent, ignorant eyes and accepting smile
were enough to take Lucy out of the reality of the brittle world she was so
heavily dwelling in for an unnoticed moment. The sound of laughter dissipated
into her mother's quiet sobs. Lucy stroked her father's hand, taking in his
sunken cheeks and pale face as her own eyes began to water.
They
sat and watched him, clinging to every single beep of the monitor and every
rise and fall of his chest. This man was a giant made small by the reality of
mortality. His shoulders, on which he carried the world, were once strong and
durable. Yet, here lay Atlas, weak and unresponsive.
The
final leaves of autumn shed from the tree outside Jack's window, and his family
exited the hospital room.
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