Letters from the Empty

A List

Tuesdays and Fridays.

Simon went into the hospital twice a week.

The nurses and doctors were starting to recognize him. They smiled as he passed through the hallway. The door was open, as it usually was.

"Hey, Baz," he said. This time Baz was rolled over on his other side, facing the window, so Simon had to drag a chair all the way around he bed to look at him. "Are you going to wake up for me today?"

The sun was beginning to set outside and the golden like lit up Baz's sleeping face.

He looked more like he was only sleeping in this position because Simom knew Baz always slept on his side. The only thing that would make it more believable would be if one arm was folded under his cheek. Simon recalled all the nights he had woken to find Baz sleeping like that, facing him, as if he had fallen asleep watching Simon. It had always creeped him out.

But this position was creepier just because of its slight incorrectness and the fact that Simon knew Baz hadn't been watching him, because Baz hadn't been awake in weeks.

For a moment he wondered what Baz's last moments before this were like. He'd already looked up all the possible ways he could've gone into a coma. A surgery gone wrong, concussion, car accident, too much alcohol. There were so many options.

Was it panic? Fear as he felt the impact of another car? Did he have time to think before he was hit? Did it hurt? Or maybe he drowned. Maybe it was some fancy boating party (he was posh enough for it) and fell out of the boat. Maybe the water froze his bones and ate at his muscles. Did he cry out before he went under?

And there was more. Did Baz know that he'd lived? Did he know he was saved only to fall into endless sleep?

Maybe Baz hear him when he spoke. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was dreaming of heaven or hell. Or maybe he wasn't dreaming at all. Maybe it was just blank.

"So I saw this lady on the Tube today," Simon said. "She was wearing a shirt that said, 'I only fall in love with vampires' or something... Um... Work was all right..."

Simon lapsed into long rambles of what had happened since he last visited Baz. He supposed he might be able to bore Baz awake, or annoy him so much that he rose from the coma just to shut him up.

Often he would hypothetically banter with Baz. "I'd say this and then you'd say..." He was getting pretty good at imagining Baz's biting responses, but at the moment he was having trouble thinking of snarky things Baz would say.

So instead he just stared at the emotionless face, his dark hair spread across the pillow.

"Well, that's not right," Simon muttered to himself and leaned forward, gently sweeping Baz's hair back until it was in that posh, sleek look Baz usually fashioned.

But that didn't look right either. It was him but... It almost made everything else that wasn't him worse. None of this was Baz and it didn't help to pretend it was.

Simon tugged at Baz's hair again, pulling some strands forward. Adjusting it. It ended looking worse than before. Matted and tangled. Simon sighed and sat back.

"You're starting to scare me, Baz. You gotta wake up soon or..."

Or you might not wake up at all.

He didn't say that. Instead he added. "Your parents are probably really worried. I know your sister is. You can't do this to them. It's not... It's not very nice.

"C'mon, Baz. Whatever happened to our final battle? We can't fight when you're asleep. You can't--"

Simon felt a knot forming in his throat again. Hard and unforgiving. His breath hitched and he stood abruptly.

"I'm sorry," he said. And left.

----------

"You keep saying that it's not Baz," Simon's therapist mused, drawing her pen across her notebook as if reviewing. "But obviously it is. What do you mean when you say it's not Baz?"

Simon looked out the window, chewing on his lip as he tried to think. His therapist let him. She knew it was better to let him figure out what he was going to say for a few minutes rather than let him try to stutter it out and get frustrated.

"It's like," Simon started. "He's not Baz when he's like that. He looks so-so small and fragile. He looks vulnerable. That's not... Normal Baz isn't vulnerable like that. Normal Baz is strong and ruthless and... Kinda scary. Before I was afraid of him hurting me, but now it feels like the other way around... That's not right. That's not Baz."

"Could it be you don't know how to react to him like this? You're so used to having to fight him and now you can't. You just don't know what to do?"

Simon shrugged.

"Simon, do you care about what happens to Baz? Like do you want him to wake up?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's all right if you do. You're not weak to care about Baz even if you do describe him as," she scanned her notes again, "your arch enemy. He's still a person, and a person that you shared a room with for eight years. That has to tie you two together emotionally to some extent."

Simon nodded slowly, but his thoughts and feelings still felt like a jumbled mess, pile of papers scattered across the floor that he was trying to organize, except they were all written in different languages, making categorizing them impossible.

"Let's try your list exercise. How about you make a list of the things you would do of Baz woke up."

"If he woke up while I was there?"

"Sure."

"It's just if he woke up while I wasn't there I might not be able to find him again."

"Okay, so if he woke up while you were there."

Simon looked out the window again, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He thought for a long time, until he finally said, "I don't know... I-I'm not sure what I would do..."