Bittersweet

by Arty

I looked at the door with dread. I remembered happier times, when knocking on the door produced only feelings of friendship and unrequited love, but that was another story. I smiled at the memories and then I remembered the reason that I was here. I could hardly believe what I was about to do; how do you phrase the question? 'I'm sorry to trouble you, but is your daughter dead? Only I had this dream you see…' I didn't think that approach was going to fly.

Oh God! The dream. I could still feel the weight of her in my arms, as she kissed me goodbye. I hadn't thought about her in almost twenty years, not specifically anyway. I realised now - now that the thought, that she was gone, had taken root in my mind - that she had been a constant presence in my psyche. I turned anguished eyes skyward and prayed, wordlessly, that this terrible thought was just that: a thought. Finally, I raised my finger to the bell push and pressed. I could hear the chimes ring faintly through the door and suddenly I felt better and slightly stupid, I hoped her parents would see the funny side of it all.

The door opened to reveal her mother, the beginnings of a cheery greeting died on my lips, wiped away by the misery on her face and in her bearing. The pain returned and my throat constricted as I tried, somehow, to explain my presence at her front door, after two decades. My mouth opened but no words would come, the lump in my throat was too big. I tried again and managed a strangled, "Hello". She looked at me strangely and then recognition dawned.

"You'd better come in."

I followed her across the threshold and into the kitchen. She indicated a chair at the table, but I'd already sat down, the easy familiarity of things eradicating the intervening years. The constriction in my throat eased and I became aware that my face was wet, I wiped at the tears, angrily.

"I'm sorry. Just turning up like this..." I drew a shaky breath.

"This is going to sound so ridiculous. I had a dream. I don't dream much and I never dream of her and then, suddenly, there she was, in my dream. I don't remember what the dream was about, I just remember she hugged me and kissed me goodbye. I've never had a dream that was so vivid, so real, I woke because I was certain that I was holding her in my arms." I was babbling, so I stopped and reviewed what I'd just said and I realised that this was no explanation, but I ploughed on trying to explain myself better, "That was two weeks ago, at 2:49 in the morning..."

The colour drained from her face and she stared at me as though I were an alien with three heads and tentacles. Tears tracked down her cheeks and she cried out, the door opened almost immediately and her husband came in. He didn't notice me; his attention was focussed entirely on his crying wife. He knelt beside her and cradled her head against his shoulder, crooning wordless comfort into her ears.

"Darling, what is it?"

His wife took a sobbing breath and pointed to me, "Tell him about your dream."

He turned and noticed me for the first time; his eyes opened wide in shocked surprise.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't, I dreamt that she kissed me goodbye." I stopped, that wasn't quite right, but now was not the time to discuss subtleties, "you know, or guess maybe, how I felt... feel about her, but since our weddings I've tried to ignore or suppress it and mostly I've been successful. Then I dreamt about her and the dream was so real - she was so real - that I woke up, convinced that she was there in my arms. Ever since then I've had this feeling of dread, today it became too much so I stopped here on my way home. I just had to find out if anything had..."

My voice cracked and I stopped, unable to continue. Wordlessly, he handed over some tissues from the box on the table, I dabbed at my eyes but the tears continued to roll down my cheeks, I couldn't stem them and they seemed strangely cathartic, so I stopped trying. After a while I continued, "Anyway it was two weeks ago at 2:49 in the morning."

He stared at me and I could see the lines of decision appearing on his face.

"They were driving home from a party around about then. A tyre blew out on their car. They were travelling at over a hundred miles an hour, at least that's what the police at the accident are saying. He's in intensive care; he's unconscious and very ill, but they expect him to pull through - though it was touch and go for a while. She's not so badly injured but she's in a coma. They say she's..." he stopped and swallowed convulsively for a couple of seconds, then he continued in a slightly firmer tone.

"They say, unless she shows signs of coming out of it soon, then they can't be certain when she will wake up or even if she will wake up at all."

I felt as if an enormous load was lifting from my chest, my tears stopped and all I could think was, 'I haven't lost her, I haven't lost her.'

"Can I see her?"

"The doctors say, immediate family only."

Her mother pre-empted my reply, "The dream. He might be able to get through to her, you know how she still feels about him."

It was my turn to be stupefied.

She laughed, a mirthless sound, tinged with hysteria, "If it hadn't been so tragic, it would have been..." she broke off, she let the silence grow while she collected her thoughts, "The connexion that you two shared and the stubbornness with which you ignored it, was breathtaking. You were too young to realise just how rare a thing you were squandering and after a while it was too late for both of you. Sometimes I'm sorry we didn't just bang your heads together and lock you in somewhere and refuse to let you out until you had acknowledged what you felt for each other." Her tone was bitter and she glared at her husband as if she blamed him for everything.

I was too stunned to stay anything and simply sat and stared. She shook herself with sudden decision and stood up and took my hand.

"Come with us to see her." Her look challenged her husband to object, but he smiled and nodded.

"What? You think I'd sacrifice our daughter just so I wouldn't have to admit I was wrong?"

We took my car, it was bigger and I'd blocked them in anyway. The drive to the hospital began in silence, broken only by the occasional throaty hum of the engine as I accelerated away from junctions. Her father spoke first.

"You seem to be doing well enough." He waved his hand to encompass the understated luxury of the car.

"Oh, don't be fooled by the car; it's ex-lease. I probably paid less for it than you did for yours." Anxious to fill the silence I babbled on, "It's more expensive to run, but not as much as you'd think and it's very restful to drive on long journeys. Just set the cruise control and try not run into the back of the Toyota."

Her father was nodding, but my last sentence threw him. "What was that about a Toyota?"

"Oh sorry, bad pun. You know, the slogan: 'The car in front is a …'"

He chuckled and the tension in the car eased, I looked in the mirror and her mother smiled slightly as she caught my eye. It was late when we arrived and we found a place to park without the usual trouble. Normal visiting hours were over and there was little delay as we made our way to her.

My first sight of her almost rendered me catatonic. Her dark hair accentuated the unnatural pallor of the very ill. The way that she lay meant that she was slightly in profile and mirrored the way she looked when I first realised that I loved her. I fell to my knees and sobbed as quietly as I could, oblivious to the spectacle I was making of myself. This was not the way it was supposed to be, she should have been alive; talking nineteen to the dozen and smiling the smile that showed me how good the world could be. Instead there was quiet and an unnatural stillness.

I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder and I managed to pull myself back from the brink of abject surrender and regained my feet. Somehow, stumbling like the youngest toddler taking his first steps, I covered the last few paces to the seat by her bed. I took her hand and remembered the last time that I had held her hand, the soaring joy that I had experienced in just that simple act. Even now as it lay limp in mine I could feel the electric tingle that I had always felt whenever we had touched.

"Wake up, Darling." I had always teased her about her surname and I'd enjoyed the fact that I could use that term of endearment and everyone else would assume I was joking. Now I realised that I had been stupid. I tried again.

"Wake up, my love. Come back to us. I love you."

I squeezed her hand and then I felt the tingle increase as she squeezed back. I stared at her hand in surprise. I squeezed once more and again I felt the answering pressure. I heard a gasp and looked back to the head of the bed. Her eyelids were fluttering. A surge of joy took my breath away; I leant forward and kissed her.

"Wake up, sweetheart."

As I pulled back from the kiss, her eyes opened and dimly I heard her parents telling each other that this was different from previous times. I looked into her eyes and I knew that this was not the blank unseeing stare of a coma victim. Her eyes crinkled and I could tell that she was smiling. I kissed the tip of her nose.

"Good evening, sleepyhead, you had us all very worried."

She tried to speak a couple of times, someone shoved a water bottle into my hand and an unfamiliar voice said, "Squeeze a little into her mouth."

I did as I was told.

"More?" She nodded and I squeezed again, eventually she shook her head and tried again. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, but it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

"You took your time, didn't you?"

I looked blankly at her. She spoke again, her voice becoming stronger and more like the warm contralto that I remembered so well.

"It's been nearly twenty years since you kissed me last!"

"Something came up." I deadpanned, "I'll try not to leave it so long next time."

Gentle hands helped me away from the bed to allow the doctors and nurses to do their jobs. I was enveloped in a fierce hug from her mother while her father contented himself with shaking my hand. Both of them were incoherent with joy. Eventually I extricated myself from their embrace and pushed them back towards the bed and their daughter. Now that the euphoria of her awakening was wearing off, I knew that I couldn't stay. I slipped unnoticed from the room and started walking away, at each step a little bit of me died and tears ran, unheeded, at the pain.

"Wait."

I turned at the word and a nurse that I recognised as a school friend of my wife, walked towards me.

"You did a good thing in there, and I can only guess how much it has cost you to do it, if you need a shoulder to cry on give me a call." I felt a piece of paper being pushed into my unresisting hand. The sound of running footsteps drew my attention but I was too slow to avoid the collision as the younger sister of my love ran full tilt into me.

"Sorry, sorry... you! What are you doing here? Haven't you done enough damage?"

The pain of her words helped to bring me out of the funk into which I was sinking.

"She's awake, go and say hello to your sister. Tell your parents I'll wait for you all in the relatives' room when you're ready. Tell them not to worry, I'll wait for as long as it takes."

She was torn between wanting to hurt me some more and the joy of my news. Eventually the joy won and she hurried to be with her sister.

I sat in the waiting room and tried my best to restore my hard won equilibrium. Unexpected bouts of tears lengthened the process. I concentrated on remembering the births of my two children, on the uncomplicated adoration that they had for me when they were babies. Slowly but surely I reconstructed the armour around my heart and felt, once more, the comfortable numbness that had characterised my life for the last twenty years or more, protection from the overwhelming sadness I would feel when next I thought of her.

"Thank you."

Her sister stood uncertainly in the doorway. I could see a confusion of emotions on her face.

"What else should I have done?"

"I've blamed you for decades for hurting my sister so badly. I thought you were a cold-hearted bastard, I've cursed you for not having any feelings for her, but I've watched you just now and I can see that it's quite the opposite. It's tearing you apart isn't it?"

"Sometimes. If I let myself think about it for any length of time." I struggled not to cry once more. I could feel my throat closing up and I swallowed to try and prevent the feeling from overwhelming me.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone. I don't want to hurt you after you've given me back my sister."

"Stay if you want to. Talk if you want to. I'll try not to disturb you if I cry." I smiled to show I was attempting a joke. She sat next to me and pulled me into a hug. It was just too much and my carefully won defences were overwhelmed, like so many sandcastles, by twenty years of despair. Some time later I became aware that her parents were watching me in the arms of their youngest daughter with expressions of concern and sadness.

"Tell her I'm sorry, I love her, but I can't see her again." I was lost for words, "Unless it's for her recovery…" I waved away their thanks. "Do you need me for anything else?"

Her mother spoke for them all. "We'll make our own way home. Just being with you is causing you terrible pain and after all you've done for us it's the least we can do."

Wordlessly, I rose and left them in their joy.

When I started the car and switched on the radio the honeyed tones of Karen Carpenter singing 'Goodbye to Love', washed over me.

I laughed. The time for crying was over. Time to go home.

-Fin-