I Fell in Love with Hope(109)

—

Some doctors like to call unlikely remissions miracles. I find this a tad insulting. It isn’t called fighting a disease for nothing. Henry was right when he called it a war.

When Sam wins against the illness, he isn’t left unscathed. His skin is permanently scarred, blotted in dark, freckled blemishes. His face is sallow, the upturned lines of past smiles sunken. He will never walk the same again. His organs will never function as well as they did.

The pain is gone, Sam assures me. I smile at that, close to tears with relief. Sam, however, isn’t overjoyed by his victory. His boyish grins and playful manner that fell into hibernation do not wake with him.

Together, we phase into winter, the months gradual, the days long. I spend them all caring for Sam. Our routine is as it always has been. Every day, I ask Sam if he is ready for our escape.

Every day, he says maybe tomorrow.

—

Winter is here. The first day comes about with the wind’s cool breathing and extra blankets for all. I spend the day going to every room, ensuring that patients are being kept warm. Nurse Ella used to do that every first day of Winter, albeit in a harsher, more scrupulous way.

When I finish, it’s nearly nightfall. The old dirt roads are now cobblestone. They freeze over outside. The bakery across the street closes early. Civilians are scarce. All disappear back into their homes, nested with their families for the coming cold.

“Good evening, Sam.”

I walk into his room. The curtains are drawn, the light kept out, unable to kiss its little gardener or the potted plants on the sill.

Sam sits up on the edge of his bed, looking at the ground rather than the window. I undo the curtains and press a passing kiss to the side of his face.

“Everyone gets extra blankets today and no pudding, but I got us sweet bread.” I lay down the treats wrapped in wax paper on the side table.

“Do you want to go outside tomorrow? I’ve never been outside in the winter,” I say. Sam hasn’t either. The air is too dry and pathogens search for a home in bodies this time of year. But now that he’s recovered, if he wears his mask and gloves and I am with him, we can share the adventure, no matter how slight.

“Sam?” I call. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t react to me. “Sam, are you alright?”

“Do you think the sun rises because it fell?” he asks. He looks through the glass now, at the colors fanning across the sky, each darker than the last.

“Maybe,” I say. “But I trust the sun to rise no matter what.”

“Do you think it ever gets tired?” Sam asks. He talks the way he breathes. As if he is exhausted of it. “Do you think once the sun sets, it wishes it could set forever?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, gazing out at the same colors. Only their fading makes me turn away while it entrances Sam all the more.

I kneel before him, pressing my hands on his knees, smiling the way he’s always done for me. “I think the sun knows that without it, we’d be lost forever,” I say. “I think it keeps rising for us.”

A conflict brawls on Sam’s face. He bites down, his brows knit as if his nerves have been pulled like threads stuck in a needle.

“I’m so sorry, my sweet Sam,” he whispers.

A wallowing sort of worry stirs through me then.

“Don’t apologize to me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” I say. “You’re getting lost in your head again. Let’s play cards and go get some dinner. We can pack your things tomorrow and go on that trip. It can be as short or as long as you want it to be. What do you say?”

I stand up, tidy myself, patting Sam’s legs. I take his hand in mine, only when I try to lead him, he doesn’t move. My body is jerked back to where he sits.

He swallows once, forcing himself to mimic past expressions. A crooked smirk, a little glint of yellow clinging to life like a dying bulb in his eye.

“I never deserved you, did I?” he breathes.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I can’t do this anymore.”

I still completely, a sudden sense of dread pooling in my stomach.

Sam was born during a storm. His mother left him when he was a baby. He grew up without the protection people need to survive. I tried to shield him, protect him myself like armor.

At first, Sam’s life was like any other child’s. His home was what he made of it. The hospital was our palace, we its knights. But the taller Sam got, the more he saw of what lay outside. The more he saw what he was missing.

I remember the look on Sam’s face when he took me to the school dance. He peered at the children on the other side, reminded that he would never have what they had. He told me it was okay. Because he had happy years with our patients, with Henry, Ella, and me. But I see the look on his face now and I know.

It’s spelled out between us.

The only reason Sam fought this hard to survive is that he wanted to live for me. For all the fond memories we share, they are also full of his suffering. From the way Sam stands, and guilt runs across his face, it’s clear that I am no longer enough to overshadow it…

Our palace is a ruin.

Ghosts haunt its halls.

And Sam is too tired to keep pretending his cage is the world.

He holds my hands, waiting for me to say something.