This one life

Misunderstanding

There must be some misunderstanding
There must be some kind of mistake
I waited in the rain for hours
And you were late

"Misunderstanding", Genesis

2 Minutes later, I am on my way to room number 211. After some very brief and polite small talk, I was released from the interrogation and am now finally on my way to see Jasmin. Serena has given me the family's landline number, to make sure that I can reach Jasmin even if her mobile is turned off, as she has assured me. Of course I also had to promise Fabi that I would call him. I smile at the memory of Fabi turning around to wave at me enthusiastically when they were already halfway out of the hospital's big entrance doors.

My heart is beating very fast when I finally place my hand on the knob of door number 211. Should I knock? I do it very carefully, but with the hustle and bustle going on in the hallway here, I am not sure whether she heard it; in any case, I wouldn't hear a reply from inside. So I just take all the courage I can muster and pull the door open.

The first thing I notice is that it is somewhat dark in the room, and that she is alone. I quietly close the door and take a few hesitant steps inside. There is no reaction from the bed, and now that my eyes are adjusting to the light, or rather lack of it, I can see that her eyes are closed and that she is breathing regularly.

She is asleep.

Should I leave?

I stand there, frozen in place, only 2 meters or so away from the door, and I don't know what to do. I somehow want her to wake up and am disappointed that she is sleeping, but at the same time, I fear that she will actually wake and see me standing there. What will she say? How will she react? Maybe I don't really want her to wake up. Maybe I am afraid of her reaction. It seems the thing I wanted most – to see her and to talk to her – is also scaring me the most.

If I stay now, I will possibly end up waking her, and then I have to confront her. So it would probably be best to leave quietly. After all, she needs to rest. I'll just leave the flowers with a nurse, and Jasmin will see them later when she wakes up.

I am unable to turn around. The seconds tick away and still I cannot move. Well, it cannot hurt to stay for a few moments, right?

Very slowly, I tiptoe into the room, advancing on the hospital bed that muffles Jasmin. She looks tiny, with only her head and one arm visible, and she is pale. Very pale. Her cheeks are sunken and there are dark circles visible under some mascara smudges around her closed eyes. A terrible feeling of guilt hits me, and I cannot even tell why. Of course it isn't my fault she is in hospital, and I was told the surgery went well. But her face looks so different from when I last saw her that I know this transition did not happen within the past hours. I have seen myself in the mirror often enough these past weeks to know the symptoms when I see them: loss of appetite, too little sunshine or fresh air, lack of sleep. I have lost a few kilos myself and, judging by Jasmin's face, I estimate her to have lost at least 5 or 6 kilos, too. Is this my doing?