Endless

The door creaked open and a woman stepped in. Eyes followed her as her shoes tapped against the polished floor. One by one, she passed the beds, nodding her head and smiling until she reached the corner, where dark curtains draped the floor, blocking the small patch of sunlight that filtered into this pale room.

Drawing the curtains aside, a thin man propped up against three pillows sat in his bed, no different from the other patients. She pulled up a chair and sat herself down, as if they were well acquainted. He waited for an introduction. When silence greeted his inquiring gaze, his brows furrowed.

“Who are you?” he blurted.

He waited for an answer, but she just smiled, her eyes twinkling with a secret. Letting out a low breath, he looked at a nurse imploringly, but she shifted her attention elsewhere.

The woman pulled out a black book and started reading.

The patient listened carefully to every word that poured out of her mouth. He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, transporting him out of this curtained place. The further the woman read on, the further he allowed himself to roam in the sunlight imaginary world and away from the crisp sheets of the hospital.

Slipping away from reality, he immersed himself in her voice. He didn’t just listen. He lived.

The scent of apple pie replaced the smell of sterilised needles. His mouth no longer stung of boiled peas and carrots, but instead tasted the charred meat of a disastrous dinner without her. He felt the soft touch of her hand against his, as they danced away under the stars, twirling to the music of late night bliss, not the constant beeping of the monitors. His heart was held by her tender hands, not the wires that ran.

For a moment, just for that one moment, he was John and he loved this Beth.

“I would give anything to have a story like John.”

Silence greeted this remark and he peeked at her through his closed lids. Her lips were turned into a frown, and her hands were white from clutching the book. Not realising he was watching her, her hand came up to her face and wiped it free of tears. He pursed his lips and shifted his uncomfortable gaze to the nurse tending to an unconscious man, his family crying beside him.

Realisation slowly dawned on him and he opened his mouth. It was obvious. How could he have not seen it before?

He was John.

He is John.

Her face. How could he have forgotten her face? She was John’s Beth.

No, not John’s Beth.

She was his …

“Beth?”

John reached out to Beth and she held onto him, wedding band shining under the beam of fluorescent light. He cried. His heart broke and he cried for all the times she suffered. His heart shattered as memories flooded his mind. Memories of her reading to him, day after day after day, hoping he would remember her, even if it was just for a second. The pain that was felt whenever blank looks were given caved in. Every small forgotten detail of family scorched and burned his mind. He clutched onto Beth tighter, terrified that if he let go she would go back to being a buried box in the back of his mind. A box that was locked and hidden behind the curtains, unwilling to be opened from fear of tarnishing and breaking.

John released all but her left hand.

“How is our baby girl?”

“She’s good, honey. She’s happy.”

With that, she pulled herself away. He watched her walk, knowing very well that by tomorrow morning, he would have forgotten everything and she would be back again in the afternoon. Back again to read from the little black book that held the lost pieces. Back again, uncertain as to whether he would have a good day and remember, or if he’d just look at her blankly. Either way, he’d be asking for her by tonight. He’d be asking for the story without an ending.