The Boy from the Band

Maybe Not?

"Tell me again what happened," says Gina.

This is the third time I'm having to tell her this. "I'm lying in bed, half asleep and sort of dreaming. I hear these footsteps tapping and I wake up.  I look up and there's a woman standing at the foot of my bed saying, 'Who are you?' Then, when I pick up the remote and call the nurse, she leaves. Period. End of story. Now, doesn't that sound suspicious to you?"

"Look," said Gina patiently, "Number one, you had surgery a couple of days ago. Number two, you're pumped full of painkillers so you might not be thinking clearly. Number three, you and Rick are kind of scared of being discovered—right? It just might be your body, and the drugs, and the stress of surgery messing with your head. Doesn't that make sense?"

"So you think I shouldn't tell him."

"No, I know you shouldn't tell him. He's been worried about you though he's trying to pretend he's not. And, by the way, he paid your rent for next month, he bought you a bunch of groceries, and he's had a housekeeper come in to clean your apartment. Don't you go telling him that I told you this, you hear? It's supposed to be a surprise. Oh, and I bought a couple of new nighties for you, and makeup for when he comes to see you, which should be tomorrow. Don't you think he deserves to see a happy girlfriend who's getting better instead of one who's going to stress him out?"

I sigh. Gina's probably right, it could have been someone who accidentally came into the wrong room, but it doesn't feel that way. After all he's done for me, he should see me looking pretty and cheerful, especially since the doctor says I'm doing better than he expected. I've talked him into letting me have a month off work. I have a paycheck waiting that Gina's promised to pick up and I may borrow some money from my parents and head to Mazatlan to get some color back because I'm pasty white.

I put the thought of the mystery woman out of my mind and drift gently off to sleep. There's something about being in a hospital that takes you out of the real world. I'm not ready to go home yet, but I'm looking forward to it. I just wonder what it's going to be like to not be waited on. Or lose those lovely Demerol injections whenever I'm in pain.

The next morning I wake up feeling happy—Rick's coming. No matter when he shows up he'll be here sometime today. I take a shower and wash my hair which I can't do much with since it's too tiring to stand. I put on one of the nighties Gina brought me, a moss green trimmed with gold ribbons. Over this goes a black kimono jacket and I must admit I'm happy with the way I look. For the first time in days, I put on makeup.

I get a few whistles as I walk down the hall and it puts a spring in my step. Walking still isn't the easiest thing to do, but I want to get better. The happier the doctor is with me the sooner I can go home. And the sooner I can get better the sooner Rick and I can have sex again.

I'm cheerful as I wait and the nurses notice. I'm being teased but that's okay. No one knows who he is, he's just my boyfriend. I get a hard time and even some sympathy about his taking so long to show up, but I know he'll be here.

At seven o'clock I hear the familiar thunk of his cowboy boots on the linoleum. He sets down his guitar--I swear the guitar is attached to him--and he takes me in his arms, trying to avoid the IV lines. It feels good to have him hold me.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay," he whispers in my ear and squeezes me tightly, then holds me at arms' length. "You're a little pale, but you look really good. And you put on makeup! You look really hot in that green nightie, I'd like to take it off."

"Not advisable, if I have to wait, so do you! I'll be home in a few days, I hope, and we can see what we can do to make each other happy."

"Umm, sounds good, but are you sure we can't do anything now?" he said with a mischievous grin.