Every day for the past two months, fifteen days, and 31 hours; Wesley Jensen did the same thing at exactly five o’ clock P.M. when he closed down the little flower shop called “Emily’s” on 5th Street.
After hurriedly making a brisk report of the day’s successes to his manager, he would wait patiently to be excused as the beady-eyed man looked over him with pity and a form of astonishment.
“Alright Wesley,” he would say in a grisly voice, “you can go.”
Wesley would rush to the inherited beat up truck that waited for him in the same parking spot he chose every day.
His thoughts would race as drove the 13.5 miles to the “local” hospital, wondering—hoping—anticipating.
He would walk briskly to the front desk to check in, no need to say his name anymore after coming so often. The kind, plump secretary smiled warmly at him, her eyes glistening like what reminded Wesley of blue Kool-Aid behind glasses thick enough to be mistaken for magnifying glasses.
“Good evening, Wesley,” she would say in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, “12B—well I guess I don’t need to tell you anymore.” But she did. Every damned day, he thought grudgingly.
He nodded, distracted by unwavering desperation to get to her.
He would walk in quiet patience, holding back the urge to run to room 12B on the second floor. He never took the elevator, no, the elevator took too long. The only way to ease his impatience was to feel his legs moving quickly up the stairs, and feel his arms pushing the thick metal door to get to the second floor’s hallway.
And then as his steps brought him closer, he would abruptly slow them; and the usual feelings of fear and anticipation settled within him.
Would it be today? Oh, please God, let it be today.
He would finally find himself standing at the door he hated—yet loved.
For behind this door, was the one thing that kept his heart beating. Behind the two and one half inch door lay the reasons for his existence; the hindering of his immortal soul. But oh, how he dreadfully hated it at the same time. He had never known fear of real pain until he came to acquaintance with this particular door. For what lay inside lay at irrevocable risk.
He pushed open the door with determination, at that moment a smile forced upon his lips with grim humor at his efforts.
“Hello, Anna,” he said, pausing at the foot of her bed.
Silence would never waver him. He continued,
“I brought you a flower. I know you’re a succor for lilies.”
He carefully adjoined it with the vase now bursting with a variety of flowers. That was the benefit of working at a flower shop. He brought her the most beautiful one he could find every day.
He sat down and watched as she breathed, her face was so peaceful.
He longed for the dark lashes that cast a light shadow across her pale cheeks to flutter open, just so he might see the glitter of her peculiarly lovely grey eyes.
Oh, her eyes. How he missed the way they lit up when she saw him, the way they held such sweet understanding and kindness when he confided in her.
He took one of her soft hands in his, it lay limp as usual, but warm in his.
“You know, I was thinking about how you said we should go on a picnic behind the old oak tree behind my house—just like when we were kids,” he smiled at the memory, lost in the moment as he spoke, “And well, I think it’s a great idea. It’s so pretty over there by that river, and so peaceful. I go there when I feel lonesome, because it feels like you’re there with me.” He glanced at her to see how this remark had settled in, but there she lay. Peacefully still, like an angel.
He sighed and moved a curly strand of black satin hair away from her face. The faint beep that detected her heart beat distracted him as it picked up its pace as he drew nearer to her.
He blinked in surprise, finding himself looking at her more closely. A beautiful statue. Perfect and glorious in her impeccable stillness.
Like Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty, he mused, watching her intently.
Could she possibly sense that he was here? Did she know as her mind contracted in complicated ways that he was at her side every day from 5:00 P.M. to 6:00 A.M.?
Perhaps.
He rubbed his tired eyes, yawning. If only…
Those were words that had taken over his mind these last months. If only he had been fast enough… If only he had stopped her…
He shook his head, knowing it was no use to dwell on the past.
Sleeping Beauty, he thought again, his eyes falling upon her lips. The top lip two perfect curves, her bottom lip pouted slightly.
He had kissed her only twice before, and he retreated to the happy memories gratefully when finding himself disturbed by the present.
One cool August night, Anna had expressed her random desire (as usual, completely spontaneous) to swing at the park.
“It’s going to rain,” he warned her, smirking at her insistence.
“Oh, no it won’t,” she said confidently, her eyes dancing, “Besides, afraid to get a little wet Wessy?”
He chuckled in response to the childhood nickname.
“Come on silly girl, let’s go.” He smiled, ruffling her tangled curls. She beamed at him, and took his hand naturally as they drove to the park.
Thunder began to roar like an ocean wave crashing into the shore; and the sky began to darken behind translucent clouds.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, “Can you hear the sky sing?”
He pushed her gently on the swing, and she laughed carelessly, like a small child at play. After a while they would doddle on their swings, simply rocking back and forth as they spoke.
“Do you remember when we were at your grandmother’s and we picked raspberries in her backyard?” Anna asked, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes I do,” he laughed as he recalled the memory, “Our raspberry kiss.”
“I ate every single raspberry I picked,” she grinned, “You wanted to know what it would be like to kiss raspberry lips.”
He nodded, smiling in spite of himself.
“So did you,” he accused.
“Yes I did,” she looked contemplative, “And when you asked if you could kiss me—”
“You swung your arms around my neck and let me have it,” he laughed at the fond memory, “And then you said, ‘What’s it like?’”
“And you made a face and said, ‘Slobbery raspberries.’” She finished for him, choking up in laughter.
It began to rain, and Anna got off her swing and began to twirl in the rain, laughing freely. He had stood up and caught her in his arms when she became dizzy, and she closed her eyes waiting for them to focus.
He looked at her with an expression he didn’t know he had.
“What are you thinking about?” her eyes were still closed, and she leaned precariously into his arms.
He smiled, and tipped her chin.
Her eyes opened only a little, peeking through the dark lashes before he found her lips. He picked her up, cradling her to him as she swung her arms around his neck. Their lips had not parted, and the rain drenched them.
“Just wondering what it’s like to kiss in the rain.” He finally said, grinning.
Suddenly Wesley knew he would forever love the rain; just as much as she did.
He sighed as he fell back into the dreary present, watching her body softly fall and rise with every precious breath she took.
He lifted her unresponsive hand and softly brushed his lips against it. He closed his eyes, and breathed the familiar scent of her skin. Lilacs, he smiled, holding it against his face. A flood of memories overcame him.
Anna, seven-years-old and stubborn—just as stubborn as now. Caught red-handed trying to sneak a frog into her sister’s bed, her bottom lip protruded in a heart breaking pout. Big grey eyes with insistent determination.
Anna, the spiteful blush of a third grader accepting a daisy he had picked for her out of his mother’s garden.
Anna, a sparkling and proud smile when he entered the classroom in 8th grade with a bloody nose and a pounding heart. That guy was never going to mess with his best friend ever again.
Anna, two months, fifteen days and thirty-five hours ago in a pretty white summer dress, her hair was wild in curls. Beautiful, she stood shyly at the front door with a picnic basket and checked blanket.
“Hey Annie,” he had been trying to get Kelsi out of his house for the past hour. Stupid girl didn’t get it.
“Want to go on a picnic?” Anna asked, bubbling with excitement.
If only Kelsi had chosen another day to pester him with her pointless pleas to come back to her, Annie might not be in a hospital now. For at that exact moment, Kelsi made impeccably terrible timing to make herself known.
“Wes, we’re not done talking,” she called in her nasally voice. Anna looked past him to the couch that Kelsi had conveniently sprawled across.
“Ann—it’s not what you think—”
He would have the hurt expression that dominated her lovely face in his mind forever. It was as if the sun had hidden behind the clouds, for her face no longer glowed with enthusiasm. Her lips trembled, her eyes held disappointment and humiliation with stubborn tears that refused to be shed.
She turned and ran to her little blue car, hurling herself into the driver’s seat and recklessly backing into the street with furious speed. He had frozen in horror as he watched an oncoming car bash into the driver’s side of her little car before he could blink. The force of the much larger vehicle had flung Anna into a series of turnovers.
So now he sat at her side, tears finally shedding when the words of the doctor that spoke to Anna’s aunt and uncle those few months ago echoed in his mind.
“You are her guardians?” he asked, glancing at a clipboard, “Parents gone?”
“Yes, we’re her guardians,” Fred put an arm around his shaky wife, “her parents died in a car accident ten years ago.”
Wesley sat in a chair nearby, his face in his hands, his body trembling.
“And who is this?” the doctor motioned towards Wesley.
The guardians paused, glancing at one another.
“A friend. A very dear friend.” Sally answered, her voice breaking.
“Hm, alright then.” The doctor’s eyes returned to the clipboard, “I’m afraid your niece is in a serious concussion. We don’t know if the impact will have permanent damage, but we have high hopes she’ll life.”
“She will live?” Fred’s voice was hopeful.
“It’s not 100% guarantee, but it’s definitely a possibility. With hope, she may live.”
She may live.
Oh, please Anna, he thought fervently.
“I need you,” he suddenly blubbered, “Wake up darling, I’ll take you on a walk by the ocean, I’ll read to you every night until you fall asleep, and I’ll buy you flowers every day. I’ll take you to Italy—to Rome! I know you’ve always wanted to go there. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, love. Please wake up.”
He let his head fall onto her shoulder as he sobbed, and despite what the doctor had said before, he knew he had to be close to her.
He climbed carefully onto the hospital bed, and very delicately lifted her so that he might cradle her in his arms. He embraced her delicate body very gingerly against his, pressing his face into her hair.
He quieted after a while, still holding her close to him.
Oh, the things he would do for her if she would only wake up.
You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone…
The words of a familiar song jabbed him with a sudden guilt, but gradual determination.
She’s not gone.
He still had her. He held her in his arms and there was still a chance to fix things when she woke up. Yes, she would wake up. She must.
“You have my heart,” he whispered, “I’ll give you my life.”
He gently tipped her head towards his face and pressed his lips softly to hers. He cradled her closer to him, holding in the sobs that might over take him.
“Wesley,” her small voice suddenly murmured, “thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
