Misalignment | ✔

low

The hospital
is just as terrible
and cold
and obscenely white
as I remember it.
As Matty and I
walk inside,
a chill runs through me -
and it's from more than just
the over-air conditioned drafts
contained within the place.
Though I hadn't
acknowledged it much before,
I really don't want to
speak with the woman
who made my mother's
early years
a living hell for her -
and judging from
her immediate perception
of me,
she probably returns
the sentiment

I don't think
this will be easy,
not by a long shot.

For more reasons
than one,
I almost wish that
my mother
had protested this visit
with more than just a vague
'Are you sure
you want to go?'
I sort of wish that
I hadn't made this trip
a necessity.
And I really wish that today
could be put off
until maybe next year.

Almost as if
she can read my mind,
Matty gives my hand
a comforting squeeze
and flashes a smile
my way
as I glance over to her.
Everything will be
just fine,
it almost seems to say.
You'll be
fine,
I promise.
And I sincerely hope so -
because I don't know
what I'll do
if worst comes to worst
and Grandmother decides
to take her anger
from our last visit
out on me today.

Before I can
say anything to Matty,
we're at the front desk
and the receptionist is asking
who we're here to see.
After assuring her that
I do indeed
remember the way to
the elderly Mrs. Shills' room
(which I probably don't,
in all honesty),
we set off,
followed close after
by a warning
not to wake her
should she be sleeping
at this time.

We're silent
the whole way
down those winding
asylum halls
from my last visit.
The door to
Grandmother's room
is ajar when we
finally reach it,
as though someone
had just left the room,
meaning to return
in a moment.
I pause
momentarily
to collect myself,
take in a deep breath,
and then push it open
the rest of the way.
I catch another of
Matty's smiles
in the corner of my eye
as I step inside.

The room smells like
old medication
and bleach
and the sickly smell of
rotting fruit -
probably because of the
deteriorating get well basket
on the windowsill.
Grandmother,
lying upon her bed,
looks significantly worse
than she had
over a week ago
when I'd last seen her.
She's asleep,
her chest rising and falling
jerkily,
like a puppet moved
by strings
held in shaking hands.

This should be the part
where I turn around
and leave -
because I can't
wake her up,
according to that nurse,
and I'm pretty sure that
this late in her life,
Grandmother won't want to see
the child
of her least favorite daughter,
even if they are on
a mission of apology.

"This was
a bad idea,"
I whisper to Matty -
but she shakes her head
and motions for me to
sit in a chair
at Grandmother's bedside.

"Let's wait
just a few minutes,"
she suggests.
"If she doesn't wake up,
then we can try again
some other time."

"And if she does
wake up?"
I know the answer
to my question
before it leaves my mouth -
but somehow,
I've lost the courage
to say the words
I've wanted to say
to my grandmother
for some time now.
Now, in the lion's den,
I want nothing more
than to turn tail
and run right back out.

"You know what you
have to do,"
Matty says simply,
patting my shoulder.
"Even if it's hard,
I know you can do it."

"What about you?"
I retort,
thinking back on her
unspoken 'incident'
and briefly -
inexplicably -
growing defensive.
"Don't you have something
you have to do,
too?
Even if it's something
that is difficult
and that you
don't want to do -
shouldn't you do it
before it's too late?"

And just like that,
her expression falls
back into the saddened,
introspective visage
I've become all too familiar with
in the past week.
"It's not the same,"
she mutters with
a frown.
I can practically see
the doors of her emotions
slamming shut
with the words.
"It really isn't-"

"And why not?"
I don't
see her point,
even if I do see
and understand
her reluctance
in confiding in me.
It's all so
hypocritical,
isn't it?
Why can't she do
what she wants me to do?

"Because,"
she mutters,
"I want to tell you
everything -
I want to tell
everyone
everything
without hesitation -
but I can't.
I just
can't do it,
Cam.
I'm not as strong
as you."

I'm not as strong
as you think I am,
either,
I want to say -
but she's already
turned away,
distancing herself from
the conversation
and taking her fears
along with her.
In the reflection
of the pale window glass
she stops before,
I can see her expression -
pale, worried, tired -
and I can't help but wonder
yet again
how such a lively girl
could ever be brought down
so low.

×

Here is part one of the drama-fest. Does this count as Cam and Matty's first fight?  I mean, they didn't exactly yell or wake up Grandma Shills, so maybe not. Still, thar be drama and angst. Good times.

Anyway, if you guys liked this chapter, please feel free to vote and leave me some feedback below! I would love to hear from you guys!!

(Also, if anyone wants to guess what has been bothering Matty for the past few chapters, I would love to see what you guys think c: I wanna see if the big(ger) reveal I have coming later will be as much of a surprise as I think it is.)