The scent of antiseptic filled the air. The soft warm glow of the hallway light seeped into my room from beneath the heavy wooden door. As I lay awake, she was the only thing on my mind. Tomorrow was the day I would finally do it.
My mind had drifted to the first time I lay my eyes on her. The spark of memory illuminating the dark, cavernous depths of my conscious. She was a light in this monochromatic world. A glimmer of hope in an otherwise melancholic place.
The memory became a vivid reality and I allowed it to consume me.It was not long after I had been admitted to the unit and I was not in good shape. Since then I have managed to grow from the skeletal figure I was. But at the time I was a ghost in this place, barely present.My daily, arduous task of trudging around the ward was almost complete. Accompanied by a physiotherapist, wheeling my pole of machinery, my journey was strenuous and I was almost spent. I had nearly passed the final ward before my room when I noticed a silhouette against the wall. Looking in, what little breath I had left was taken away.She was more beautiful than anyone I had ever encountered. Her outline illuminated by the setting sun, streaming through a window behind her. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, pencil in hand, entranced by her art. Her delicate hands moved gracefully across the page. Her long brown hair hung loose around her slender shoulders and her pale skin radiated in the light. Even in her plain, white gown she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.
As she lifted her head I noticed her eyes. Pale blue they were the like the ocean on a summer's day. I have heard that the eyes are the window to the soul; hers were the window to eternity. The corners of her mouth raised into a gentle smile as she looked at me. I could see insecurity in her face as she lowered it back down.
Hospital does that to you, all the security that is built around you in a healthy body is destroyed, replaced with nothing but an overwhelming sense of powerlessness and vulnerability.
Over the next few weeks I had caught sight of her every now and then, always from a distance. My daily exercise was an opportunity to see her and my physiotherapist was starting to catch on. She would give me a knowing smile as I habitually hesitated while we passed her ward. More often than not, the curtain around her bed was drawn, an impenetrable wall, shielding her from view. A glimpse was now a luxury, only granted occasionally and I was becoming frustrated, determined to know the sound of her voice. The idea of introducing myself to her terrified me. I spent my childhood as an outcast, my constant absence and illness alienating me from my peers. I had formed attractions over my adolescent years of course, often to girls I had never spoken to. Those feelings were short lived, one-sided, and ultimately ended in a sense of helpless loneliness. What I now felt for this girl was different from any feeling I had encountered. A feeling so intense, I knew it must be acted upon.
My days inside the unit were routine and repetitive and time merged together into an inseparable block. I would find ways of escaping my situation, losing myself into the fantastical worlds of my novels or writing my own stories. I would become other people, living lives far more exciting than the reality I find myself in.
Each night as I lay awake, listening to the tuneless rhythm of the machine attached to me, I would think of her. I would imagine we were together, away from this prison and out in the real world. Sometimes I would take her to the cinema, we would laugh at ridiculous action sequences and she would cry when our favourite character was tragically killed, her head pressing into my shoulder. Sometimes I would take her to dinner at our favourite restaurant, a small family business where the flamboyant waiter knew us both by name and our favourite dish. Holding hands on our late night walks to nowhere, talking endlessly until dawn broke. Our lazy Sunday afternoons, free from illness and pain, secure in the comfort of each other's presence.
It was like I felt homesick for a place that didn't exist and nostalgic for I time that I haven't experienced.
It was not until a month had passed that I decided I would finally talk to her. I had spent all night awake, building up the courage to follow through with my carefully constructed plan. I had achieved a level of strength that enabled me to wheel my mechanical companion around the ward on my own now. I would make one final stop before returning to my isolation. I would introduce myself to her and I would finally hear her speak.
The time had arrived. I was standing outside the doorway to her ward. The hallway was empty, a rare and precious moment of silence inside the usually frantic unit. The walls that surrounded her bed were drawn and threatening, daring me to approach. I could feel the dull thud of my heart in my chest as I drew near, a fleeting moment of doubt gripping me before I slowly pulled back the patterned, plastic sheets.
It took my mind a second to process the empty bed that lay before me, the freshly made sheets glowing under the sterile white light. The identification board above her bed had been wiped clean and no trace of her remained.What little strength I had left drained from my body as I dropped my head, shoulders hunched in defeat, returning to my room.Had I lifted my head as I walked, I would have noticed the knowing smile of the physiotherapist as she passed me.I almost missed the little blue envelope propped up against the pile of books on the bedside table next to me. Lifting it to the light I saw my name pencilled across the front. Inside was a page, three sentences followed by an address, written in the clean, graceful script of an artist.
"My name is Evelyn Brown. I could never build up the courage to talk to you. When you get out of here, please find me."
