What I Couldn't Tell Him

46 - Burning Out Like a Star

JAIMIE PERRON

It is warmer today. I can imagine the sickly trickle of sunlight through the blinds and the grey landscape blooming with the pastel hues of spring . I can't see it, so my somewhat optimistic imagination will have to suffice.

The door opens in the morning. A nurse, I assume, judging by her nervous movements. She is young, maybe a couple of years after university judging by her youthful lilting voice and hands entirely clear of calluses. I make an image of her in my head; honey coloured skin, gentle features, deep brown eyes. I am likely wrong, but it doesn't matter. 

I gave them all names too. I call her Rose. The oldest doctor, with dry, slow hands, is called Charles. He hardly speaks to .e, but when he does it is a scratchy complaint. Dave is a calm man with a welsh accent who seems to get in and out as quickly as possible. There is a young man who I call James, I guess at twenty, with a kind voice. He sang once and always asks me if I am comfortable. 

I don't want to see what they really look like. Its like reading a book and imagining an entire world, and then having the casting for the movie ruin it. I think I am probably closest to the real Charles. 

The door opens again. No voice. Its not James. He always announces his presence. Its not Charles, because he comes in grumbling about this or that. It could be Dave? Not Rose; she is quieter than this. 

They clear their throat. Probably a male? It smells like heavy deodorant. Definitely a guy. They shuffle, not touching anything that I can feel. Not a doctor then; they seem uncomfortable. Maybe it is a new nurse, who doesn't really know what they are doing.

"Its, erm, Brooklyn."

I would not have guessed that. It explains the discomfort. He moves closer and I realise that the deodorant was to disguise the smell of cigarettes. It didn't work. 

I don't know him that well, so why is he here? It must be daunting. I would say he was a friend, but we weren't particularly close, only really linked by Alden and Jenni. 

Maybe they put him up to this?

"Jen suggested that I went to see Alden after... yesterday. I figured I should tell you, you know, just in case."

Just in case? Just in case I can hear him? Just in case it has been eating away at me since he left? Just in case nobody else would have the balls to say it?

He lets the implications hang in the air for a moment, "He feels really guilty. He was drinking a lot 'n getting really angry. I think he misses you..."

Damn. This wasn't mean to happen. Another thing I have done wrong. Right now would be an ideal moment to get up. I strain.

 Nevermind.

"He needs you back. I have something to, erm, play for you. Jenni's idea. They, erm, gave me leave from school to show you. They said that the others were off too much and... well yeah."

He backs off. He rummages through a bag, the contents clinking. I think back to the skate park, the spray paint bag. Maybe he has been decorating the lower echelons of the town again. 

A beep. He turned something on. 

Jenni's voice comes through the recording. 

"Hi Jaimie! We (me and Lucy) thought that there were loads people who wanted to talk to you. They aren't all allowed to visit  so they recorded messages. Here you go!" Her voice is bright as ever.

"Hi Jaimie. Its Reannah. I miss you! Science is so dull without you." She laughs, "Theo asked me out, like you said! I hope you get better soon, my grades have slipped a bit without your help. We love you!"