Colorful

Surgery wasn't for another hour, so I entertained myself by staring at the ceiling. It was grey and lifeless, devoid of color, and uncaring about my situation. I turned my head and looked out into the hallway. People were walking past in a busy shuffle: nurses, doctors, patients, visitors. All of them looked as though they wanted to be somewhere else.

There was a woman outside, leaning with her face to the wall. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place it exactly. She was crying, sobbing into the wall as though it would absorb all of her sorrows. I turned back to the ceiling.

Annette came in a few seconds later, followed by my mother. I could tell they'd been talking about me, because they both looked like they'd been crying. I wondered briefly if anyone else wanted to come cry near my room; admission was free and it seemed to be in vogue lately.

Mom tried to put a bold face on it and asked me in a half-way level voice if I was doing alright. I said I felt okay, but I could feel the pain lurking behind the meds.

Annette told me I'd gotten lots of flowers from people at church. I nodded. I hoped someone would send me balloons, since all the flowers made me feel like I was gay or something.

Mom said Dad was going to be there soon and that he was late because he'd gotten a speeding ticket. Dad's not good with cops, so it was a wonder he hadn't been arrested.

We were waiting. Annette sat nearby, holding my hand and trying to talk about things that weren't related to my broken, bleeding, half-dead body. I lay there trying to stay on topic. I had a hard time focusing on what Annette was saying about Professor O'Carey, which was something about how he'd forgotten what he was saying in the middle of a lecture. Normally, I'd be listening raptly, but my mind was elsewhere.

All I could think of was the ring in the pocket of my blue jeans. When Annette had first visited, she'd noticed that they were rumpled, so she folded them nicely. I don't think she noticed the box, but I was paranoid about those jeans. I didn't want to ask then because I might die during the operation and whatever she said would possibly be because of pity and I wanted an honest, unbiased answer. I should've asked before the accident.

Dad came through the door. He looked stressed. He's always stressed. I wish he'd take a vacation so he can relieve some of that stress. He, too, had been crying.

Yes, come and cry near the wreck victim. Drown us all in tears; let the river sweep us away from this wretched life.

"Hey, sport." Dad said. I'm not sure why he calls me "sport", since I don't play sports, but I figure if you can't remember your son's name, "sport" works just as well. Judging from the look on dad's face, he had had a memory lapse.

"I'm OK, mister." I said.

Dad gave a brief, choked chuckle. Everyone knows his memory sucks.

We sat there for another ten minutes or so, feeling sad.

I couldn't stop thinking about Annette. Funny how I could die any moment but all I could think of was the way her hair was so delightfully messy. There was one strand hanging down and it bothered me to no end that she wasn't close enough for me to deal with it.

She noticed I was looking at her and blushed. "What?" She asked, laughing.

Will you marry me, Annette? "Oh, nothing. Just that one little strand of hair hanging there." I said.

She self-consciously swept it back and it flopped back down again. "My hair is a complete mess and all you notice is that one hair out of place?"

"The rest of it is perfect."

She smiled, "You're just being nice."

I shrugged. I could never convince her that her hair always looked beautiful.

A nurse came in, followed by some orderlies. They said it was time. I was transfered to a gurney and everyone crowded around me. Mom and Dad told me they'd see me later and Annette said, "Don't die, OK?" Which preceded more crying. She was close enough then that I could brush the strand of hair back myself. It stayed this time.

"I won't."

The ceiling was grey, then it moved and it became broken with lights. There was a thud and I was under a very bright light. I squinted. there were people above me, walking around the bed. I noticed that I was wearing an oxygen mask, then I felt something prick my arm. The surgeon asked me a question. I answered, then he asked something else and I couldn't think of an answer because everything went black.

It took awhile to realize I was awake. I couldn't feel anything yet, but after awhile I found the pain, unvoiced but still present.

I opened my eyes a slit and saw that the ceiling was once again grey and unmoving. Something was different, though. There was color. I opened my eyes wider and saw that all the colors of the rainbow were floating over my bed.

It hurt to smile, but I did anyway. Someone had finally given me balloons.