Things I Still Know

The edges of my mind feel fuzzy, like I can’t quite grasp the thoughts that are rushing past in my head. People are here now. Everyone is looking at me, like they want me to say something or do something, but I am not sure what.

Everything aches, from the ends of my short gray hair to the tips of my fingers and toes. I glance briefly down at my hands, the skin is mottled with age spots and protruding veins, but something new too; a dark bruise where a needle is puncturing my skin. I hate needles. I don’t know many things at this moment, but I know that fact deep in my bones. It is buried deep inside of my consciousness. I have been poked and prodded for years, and I cannot stand it anymore. I reach for the needle, just to remove it from my hand. Everyone in the room jumps up, the looks of sorrow and regret and boredom replaced with alarm. A nurse enters the room and says something to them. The words aren’t quite clear to my ears. Another needle is pushed into my arm. I try to fight it off, but my hands aren’t fast enough. The room spins, it feels as though I am sinking through the bed, my vision fades to black.

My eyes open again. I don’t know where I am, but I feel the scratchiness of the blankets and a dull aching all over my body. Faces swim in front of me, familiar, but unplaceable. I recognize one of the faces, but it is different now. The hair is gray like mine and there are lines and valleys in the face I don’t remember. I remember her laughing as the wind catches her blond hair in the breeze. I don’t know what she is laughing about, but I want to laugh too. I can feel the muscles working on my face and I hear a strangled sound come out of my throat. The woman frowns and holds my hand.

Sister Sue, the words bubble up to the surface, breaking through. I don’t know what it means, but I’m glad to have her touching me so gently. The warmth of her hand spreads up my arm, which is so cold. I want to ask for more blankets, the one that is laid over me is so scratchy and thin, but I can’t quite form the words with my mouth.

The woman, Sister Sue, says something to me. I watch her lips, hoping to capture the words with my eyes that my ears are unable to grasp. I see her pink lips form a circle, cold. I try to nod my head but my neck won’t work. I blink my eyes, or at least I think I do. She gestures to an unfamiliar face, and a warm blanket is laid over me. I like this Sister Sue. I hope she doesn’t leave. My eyes have been open too long; I don’t have the strength to continue to keep them open. I feel them flutter shut.

I slip into a dream world where my legs are working, I stretch them and my arms too. There are no longer any spots or bruises. The muscles are ropes around my bones pulled tight and waiting to be used. Sister Sue is there, no, just Sue. My sister Sue. She is younger than the woman in the room. “Kay,” she says, tugging my hand, but it doesn’t hurt.

We run, the wind rushing past us, our wild hair whipping across our faces. We fall laughing to the ground and roll onto our backs.

“What do you think heaven looks like,” she says, propping herself up on an elbow.

I turn my face to the soft cotton of the clouds above us. I hope that it will be just like this. That when we are old and gray we will get to be young again and play in the creek behind our house forever and Ma will never tell us to come inside and Daddy will never make us eat peas again.

She rolled back to her back and settled into the grass. I look at her. I want to stay here, memorizing the lines of her face, how beautiful she is. How much I love her. I don’t know many things, but I know that deep in my bones.

My body is pulling back, she doesn’t seem to notice. I try to call out to her, but it’s too late, I’m swimming again in the darkness. My eyes open.

The woman, no, my sister, is still there. Her shirt looks more rumpled and a redness rims her eyes. She is still holding my hand. I enjoy the feeling. I don’t want her to let go.

There are so many things I want to say. I want to tell her I love her and that I’m scared. I don’t know where I am going or if I will see her again. I don’t want to leave her. Please don’t let me go.

A doctor comes in, he has papers in his hand and a serious look on his face. I can’t read the words he is saying on his lips, he is turned away from me towards my sister. Look at me I want to yell. Tell me what is happening to me. Why is Sue crying? She’s nodding her head. I try to smile, I want to comfort her. I want to stroke her hair and wipe away her tears like she used to do for me when we were young. I want to tell her good bye. I don’t think there is much time left.

I can feel it in my bones, the fading sensation. I no longer feel my finger tips or my nose. I want to fight it, but I’m so tired. I am afraid that if I close my eyes again, I won’t be able to open them. I blink hard, trying to prolong the sleep that is pushing down over me like a heavy hand.

Ma is there next to Sue now. Her blond hair arranged in a beehive on top of her head. I smell her perfume, jasmine and oranges. I want to breathe it in and wash away this awful smell of antiseptic that has soaked into everything around me. She reaches out her gloved hand, baby blue. They match perfectly with her favorite dress, the one she is wearing. The buttons gleam under the fluorescent lights. Everything is getting brighter now, not darker.

“Come along Kay,” Ma says, beckoning to me.

I want to tell her that I can’t walk anymore, my legs won’t obey me. But then I am on my feet, the aching in my limbs is gone. I reach out to touch Sue’s face. I can finally touch her, as I have been so desperately wanting to. I wipe away her tears, but she doesn’t look at me. Her hand raises to the place I have touched her cheek.

I follow Ma towards the soft light. I don’t know what is on the other side, but I’m not scared anymore. I want to tell Sue not to cry, not to be afraid. But it is too late. Ma is calling and I need to follow.