CIV | Someone Different

❦

The night lasts forever.

It’s endless.
It’s neverending.
It’s not passing

fast enough.

I toss and turn.

I think—

about what happened,
about us now,
about our future

—but the sky 
remains dark.

The LED light
glows in the dark,

patient.

Unlike me.

The bed is uncomfortable
without Tammie

in it

with me.

 

I cry again,

sorry for what I’ve done,
for what I thought I did,

for what I thought of her.

I wonder
for a moment

why I hallucinated
her dead body,

why I immediately
became suspicious

when she suggested
that I killed the other patients.

Tammie
can be mean

—I know that—

but she’s
always honest.

She believed me,
I realised.

She wanted me to trust her.

That’s the only way
we can both

get better.

 

 

 

❦

As soon as

the sky turns purple,

I’m out of bed.

I can’t wait anymore.
I want to see Tammie.

She’s always come

to my bedroom

and slept with me
in my bed.

Somehow I’ve never thought

to go to hers.

I’ll do that now.

I shuffle to the door,
open it.

Peeking out.

The landing is empty.
Filled with yellow night light.

There’re no sounds
of life at all.

I tiptoe from my room,

glancing briefly

at the names
on the other doors.

I stop outside

Tammie’s room.

At least,
I remember

Tammie telling me
this is her room.

There’s a different name

on the door.

VALERIE.

I rub my eyes.
I check the other doors.
I double check.

It’s definitely

Tammie’s room.

Did the nurses
forget to change the name

to hers?

I open the door,
and whisper Tammie’s name.

No response.

She must be sleeping.

I let myself
into the room

and tiptoe up to

the bed,

crouching by her head,
my mouth to her ear.

‘I love you, Tammie.’

She wakes up
and her head turns to me.

Her eyes are blue.

 

Not Tammie.

 

 

 

❦

Valerie and I
stare at each other

for a long time.

Her blue eyes unblinking,
her mouth doesn’t open.

Her golden hair

slides down her pillow
and touches my hand.

I notice

there’s a restraint around her waist

to keep her
in bed.

Her pee bag is hooked
below the bed.

And I remember her.

The comatose patient
who came some time back.

It was a long time ago.

She’s awake now,
her blue eyes

almost grey in the dawning light.

Like snowflakes.

She’s Caucasian,

her face is ethereal
from the side,

like a fairy—more angelic
than the doctor.

She swallows saliva.

It takes her a lot more effort
to do what’s easy for me.

Her lips part,

peeling apart
like duct tape.

Her voice is raspy.

She hasn’t drank water
in a long time.

 

‘Who’s Tammie?’

 

 

 

❦