A Thousand Boy Kisses(88)

I gave my friends a moment, as Jorie and Ruby began to cry quietly. But I didn’t break. I just silently counted down the hours until she came back to me. Imagining the moment I would see her smile once more. Look up at me.

Squeeze my hand in hers.

After an hour or so, my friends stood up. Judson dropped papers on the small table beside Poppy’s bed that I used as a desk. “Math and geography, man. The teachers wrote everything on there for you. Hand-in dates and such.” I stood and said goodbye to my friends, thanking them for coming. When they left, I moved to the table to complete the homework. I’d finish this work, then take my camera outside. My camera, which I hadn’t removed from my neck in weeks.

The camera that was a part of me again.

Hours must have passed as I ducked in and out of the room, capturing the day outside. Later that evening, Poppy’s family began filing into the room, Poppy’s doctors following closely behind. I jumped from my seat and rubbed the tiredness from my eyes. They had arrived to begin bringing her out from the coma.

“Rune,” Mr. Litchfield greeted. He walked over to where I was standing and embraced me. A happy truce had settled between us since Poppy had been in her coma. He understood me, and I understood him. Because of that, even Savannah had begun to trust me with not breaking her sister’s heart.

And because I hadn’t left, not once, since Poppy had been admitted. If Poppy was here, so was I. My dedication must have showed that I loved her more than any of them had ever believed.

Ida came over to where I stood and wrapped her arms around my waist. Mrs. Litchfield kissed me on my cheek.

Then we all waited for the doctor to finish his exam.

When he turned to us, he said, “Poppy’s white blood cell count is as good as we can hope for in this stage of her illness. We’ll gradually reduce the anesthetic and bring her around. As she gets stronger, we’ll be able to unhook her from some of these machines.” My heart beat fast, my hands clenching at my sides.

“Now,” the doctor continued. “Poppy, at first, will slip in and out of consciousness. When she is conscious, she may be delirious, out of sorts. That will be from the medication still in her system. But eventually, she should begin to rouse for longer periods of time and, all being well, in a couple of days, show us her usual happy self.” The doctor held up his hands. “But Poppy will be weak. Until we assess her in her conscious state, we won’t be able to determine just how much this infection has weakened her. Only time will tell. But she may have limited movement that restricts the things she can do. It is unlikely that she will regain full strength.”

I closed my eyes, praying to God that she would be okay. And if she wasn’t, I promised that I would help her through—anything to give me just a little more time. No matter what it took, I’d do anything.



The next couple of days dragged by. Poppy’s hands began to move slightly, her eyelashes fluttered, and on day two, her eyes began to open. It was only for a few seconds at a time, but it was enough to fill me with a mixture of excitement and hope.

On day three, a team of doctors and nurses came into the room, and began the process of unhooking Poppy from the machines. I watched, heart pounding, as the breathing tube was removed from her throat. I watched as machine after machine was carted away, until I saw my girl again.

My heart swelled.

Her skin was pale, her usually soft lips were chapped. But seeing her free from all of those machines, I was sure she’d never looked so perfect to me.

I sat patiently in the chair by her bed, holding her hand in mine. My head was tipped back, as I stared in a trance at the ceiling, when I felt Poppy’s hand weakly squeezing mine. My breathing paused. My lungs froze. My eyes darted to Poppy on the bed. Her fingers on her free hand moved, softly twitching.

Reaching over to the wall, I slammed the call button for the nurses. When one entered, I said, “I think she’s waking up.” Poppy had made slight movements over the past twenty-four hours, but never this many and for this long.

“I’ll get the doctor,” she replied and left the room. Poppy’s parents came rushing in shortly after, having just arrived for their daily visit.

The doctor entered seconds later. As he approached the bed, I stepped back to stand beside Poppy’s parents, letting the assisting nurse check her vitals.

Poppy’s eyes began to flutter under her lids, then they slowly rolled open. I inhaled as her green eyes sleepily took in her surroundings.

“Poppy? Poppy, you’re okay,” the doctor said soothingly. I saw Poppy try turn her head in his direction, but her eyes couldn’t focus. I felt a tug somewhere inside me when her hand reached out. She was searching for me. Even in a confused state, she was searching for my hand.

“Poppy, you’ve been asleep for a while. You’re okay, but you’re going to feel tired. Just know that you’re okay.”

Poppy made a sound like she was trying to speak. The doctor turned to the nurse. “Get her some ice for her lips.”

I couldn’t stay back any longer, and I rushed forward, ignoring Mr. Litchfield’s call for me to stop. Moving to the other side of the bed, I leaned down and wrapped my hand around Poppy’s. The minute I did, her body calmed and her head softly rolled in my direction. Her eyes fluttered open. Then she looked right at me.

“Hei, Poppymin,” I whispered, fighting the tightness in my throat.