It was nearly
dark
as Mark fought the crowds of Christmas shoppers fighting their way on
the
freeway. He just wanted to get away
from the hospital as he fought his way
to the fireplace in nowhere. The
Christmas holiday to Mexico had really taken a surprising turn. From looking at 10 days in the sun, supping
margaritas, smoking cigars, and eating lobster in Puerto Nuevo. Mark
was now
dealing with the biggest crisis he had ever faced.
The possible loss of his loved one.
Mark was just leaving the CCU room when
she asked “Aren’t my stitches pretty”
He said “I will not tell you your stitches are pretty but I will tell
you, you are still pretty.”
Pretty intelligent, pretty lucky, pretty
creative, and pretty amazing. You will never be merely pretty. And with that Mark was out of the room. Ten steps down the hall and before he could
get to the elevator tears were flowing down his cheeks.
She was sliced and diced from neck to
toe. Red from the
incisions and
dripping blood like a vampire.
Reaching the turn off road about 20
miles out of town the snow was beginning to fall. The nigh sky filled
with
heavy moisture laden clouds made the night air temperature drop faster
than the
late night weather-caster could keep up.
The fireplace was still there and
without a fire it was as cold as Mark’s heart.
Climbing
out of the truck and throwing the car blanket over the rock hearth Mark
huddled
down with his back to the wall. They
had found this fireplace on one of their walks together and it had
become a
favorite hiking spot. It was where
they
had shared some of there most intimate thoughts and moments of
vulnerability. Now it was his quiet cold
place of solace
and reflection.
Wrapping
his arms about himself, and with no desire to build a fire Mark
replayed her
last words. Not the words she spoke but
the words she did not speak.
Am
I Pretty? There she laid with her
breast severed and pulled back together with talons. Skin stapled and
glued.
Her body having been opened with saws and hands that pulled her ribs
apart. Her heart taken out and then
attached to an
artificial heart machine while other hands sliced her arteries open and
inserted parts of her veins stripped and stolen from her leg. Holes in
her body
where six tubes acting as volcanoes were bursting with the spilled red
life
blood fallen within cavities that were once sealed to the world. Blood as red cells breathing and white
soldiers fighting and platelets healing.
All being plucked from within with the help of gravity. Am I
Pretty?
Mark
could not tell her she was pretty, she
could not be lied to.
All
he could say was “I love you, and Yes you are pretty!”
He
sat in the dark for a very long time. He sat in the cold night air,
letting the
cold seep into every pore of his body, letting the days events drain
from his
body knowing just how close he had been to loosing the one he drew all
his love
and warmth from. He knew, if he had lost her, he
would be as cold and
lifeless as the fireplace he sat upon.