I hate being looked at.
The nurses that walked up and down the hallway always peeked at me. At the corner of my eye, I could see two middle-aged nurses at the end of the hall scrutinizing me. A few doctors walked by me, and they all looked at me; one even took a second glance. I wanted to glare at them, demand why they were treating me this way, but I was too tired to even turn my head. I hadn’t slept in two days. I felt like an insect under a microscope; why was I being examined?
The hospital floor was cold. The air conditioner was on even though it was mid October. I was sitting on the wooden chair Dr. Kolinksy had provided for me. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable chair. It was so hard. My butt was getting numb, but I didn’t squirm. I had on my over sized gray hoodie, jeans and Converse. I wrapped my arms around me and rubbed my arms. Why the hell would they make a hospital so cold? Wouldn’t getting people sick be contradicting the purpose of hospitals?
I gritted my teeth as I shivered. Where was this darn doctor? He had just told me to sit and wait for him to come back, but it has almost been an hour. He said he’d return quickly.
“Just wait on this chair,” he had said, pulling said chair from an empty room and placed it against the wall. “I’ll be back shortly.” When I didn’t comply, he sighed and said, “Please, Danielle. Do not make this any harder than it needs to be. I will be back.” Other days when I did not listen to what he said, he would wait until I obeyed him, but this time he just left without making sure. I looked after him for a moment until settling down into the chair. The stares began from there. It was as if the doctor had set up the whole thing as a show and the people staring at her were the audience.
I mentally cursed the doctor. I mentally cursed every person that had given me looks since I had checked my mother into this hospital nine months ago. I knew exactly why they were watching me, I wasn’t an idiot. They knew what my mother was. They knew what she had done to herself. Their eyes held no pity, no sympathy at all for me. Instead they held disgust and abhorrence whenever they looked at me, I, the spawn of my mother. I wanted to scream, to yell, and to throw a fit. I wanted hurt somebody. My anger was bubbling inside at the unfairness of it all, but I was too tired to act. There wasn’t anything I could do now. To change anything.
The life I had once lived and knew was about to change in just a few hours. A few hours. It’s funny to think that minutes could possibly affect your entire future. There was nothing I could do to change the situation, but maybe there was something more I could have done to prevent it.
My mother was going to die. That much I knew for sure. I knew for a pretty long time, but I guess I never actually thought it would actually happen. My mother had this image that made her strong and unbreakable. She always had the tricks, the power. There was always some kind of ray that shone off her emphasizing how powerful she was. People were scared of her and they had every right to be. I wish I had had inherited that gift from her.
All of a sudden, Dr. Kolinsky came into view, walking straight towards me. Dr. Kolinsky was of medium-height with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. He was middle-aged and he had tired lines that seemed permanent on his face. His whole face read exhaustion. In his hands he was holding a few papers. His expression was solemn, and I felt a foreboding feeling as I stood up to face him. I ignored the fat, curly haired nurse that seemed to slow down on sight of me and the doctor about to speak, as if she wanted to listen. Let these nurses gossip, I thought. It was the least of my concern right now. My hands started sweating slightly and my heart was beating fact. I knew I was panicking and I knew that despite everything that was happening, I still held a tiny bit of hope
“Took you long enough,” I said quietly, my voice cracking on the last word.
He ignored my rudeness and said, “I had some things to clear up. I have to talk to you.” I looked at him suspiciously, narrowing my dark eyes. He was subtle when he spoke to me; polite, yet grave. Light, yet serious. Sympathy was etched in his voice a bit. I do not like sympathy at all, and I wanted to hate Dr. Kolinsky, but yet I couldn’t. Even if he had at times showed his judgment, I also knew that he had done so much for my mother, and I knew I had to be grateful.
“There is no easy way to put this,” he started me slowly. “There…is not much we can do…from here.” He took off his square-framed glasses and rubbed his eyes hard. I just stood and watched him. My heart was beating heavily in a slow rhythmic way. It thumped hard against my chest and it hurt. I unconsciously lifted my hand and held it against my chest. My vision started getting hazy.
“Your mother…” Dr. Kolinsky continued, putting his glasses back onto his nose. “Well…we tried extremely hard. There…is not much left we can do.”
He was quiet for a moment. He knew how I was. He was probably waiting for me to blow up, for me scream in his face like I’ve done on countless occasions. Or maybe he was waiting for me to say something, but what was I supposed to say? Oh well, thanks a lot Doc, at least you tried…. Perhaps say thank you? But thank you for what? My mother was dying. He wasn’t doing his job.
My hand was still on my chest. My heart was still beating fast. It felt really uncomfortable and I was sure the doctor could hear it. I tried to breathe slowly and deep.
“What happens now?” I finally said. My voice cracked on the last word again, but I didn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of a stranger. I cleared my throat, feeling a particularly painful lump.
Dr. Kolinksy just looked at me. Just looked at me. He didn’t even answer my question. I decided he hadn’t heard me.
“I said what happens now?” I said, my voice rising. The anger was boiling to the surface again. My hands were tingling and my heart was surely about to explode.
“Nothing,” was the doctor’s reply.
________________________________________
There she was. The woman who had had the most radiant light brown skin and the most beautiful jet-black hair. The most perfect, whitest teeth and the hourglass shape that drove men mad. She stood five foot ten inches, and she always had her back straight and neck held high. She always told me to sit and walk that way. If we wanted respect, we had to walk that way. She had the blackest eyes anyone ever laid eyes upon. Those eyes were big and black and seemed to stare right into your soul. She used to stare at me whenever I got on her nerves or if she wanted me to do something, and I would feel so scared. Those black eyes hid under long and thick eyelashes, her most beautiful feature. She would stare down any men that would look my way and she even scared off the big, tough ones. My mother was strong, she was fearless. She was beautiful.
Only she did not look so beautiful anymore. Her luxurious long, black hair was cut short and was smelly and thin. Her usual perfect rosy lips were now white and cracked. Her skin was pale and scaly, no longer a golden brown. Her hourglass figure was long gone; she was merely a stick now. She looked near anorexia nervosa, as if she needed another disease to top the disease she already had. She did not look like my mother. If I hadn’t known her so well, I would have thought I was in the wrong hospital room. I was scared of her.
I don’t know when her physical appearance started changing. I knew she was getting sicker by the day, but I had refused to accept it. On days where she refuse to take her medication, (which were most days), I did not fight it. I mean, I had tried. That counted for something, didn’t it?
I don’t know if she had sensed my presence or if she had heard the door I had lightly closed shut, but her eyes opened and she stared at me. Even though she looked like a complete stranger compared to the way she used to look nine months ago, her black eyes were still the same, only glazed over, like they usually did when she was having a hangover. It was probably from the number of drugs and painkillers that she had taken.
“Baby,” she croaked quietly. She smiled a thin smile. “Ven aqui carino.” Her voice had even changed. It used to be a firm and lighthearted tone that never cracked. I could not recall one time where my mother had stuttered. Now you could hear how sick she actually was.
I went over to her slowly. Just looking at her made my heart ache even more. It looked final now. It was really happening. My mama was about to die. For the first time I was dangerously close to tears. They threatened to spill over, but I tried hard to keep them in. She had always hated when I cried.
When I was near her bed, she slowly lifted her thin arm and wrapped it around my waist so I could sit next to her on the bed. “No te asustes, bebe. I’m still here.” She tried smiling up at me, but I knew she was hurting. Physically and emotionally. Just like me.
“Mama…” My voice trembled dangerously. Then I couldn’t help it. I burst into sobs and hugged her, careful to put my full weight on her. “Please, Mama, don’t die….”
It felt nice to cry. I sobbed and sobbed as my mother rubbed my back slowly. I guess she was okay with me crying now that she knew she was nearing the end. She did not even look scared. A strong feeling of passion and admiration for her ran through my spine and I cried harder.
“Dani…” she said finally, still rubbing my back. “Baby, you know I’m not leaving you. You know that.”
“Yes…you…are,” I hiccupped. My face was pink and my eyes were red and swollen. My heart was hurting badly.
“No, I’m not. I’m always going to be there for you. No matter where I am.” Her voice was dull and she sounded so terribly tired. Her eyes kept flickering. She was on the edge, I could tell. I blurted out what was on my mind fast.
“I want to die with you.”
I had said the wrong thing. My mother’s calm face turned angry and her black eyes opened and flashed dangerously. She tried pushing me off her, but I wouldn’t let her go.
“No, Mama, I’m sorry!” I cried. I had my arms around her neck and I’d be darned if she was going to make me let go.
“Suéltame! Maldita sea, yo no quiero volver a oírt decir eso! Do you hear me? You’re going to be strong for me, what’s wrong with you?” She was furious, her voice getting hard and stern. A little bit of her past self was coming back.
I just shook my head. Strong? How could I be strong? It was so easy for her to say; she was all ready to die, she was ready to go off to another place she was destined to go. I was left here with no other family to care for me. None that I know of anyway. I would be a ward of the state and so many things would change. I wouldn’t be living in the tiny apartment that was my home. I would be living with complete strangers who didn’t understand me. I would be alone without my mother.
“Baby, listen. You will be taken care of. Nothing will happen to you. If something happens, I promise, voy a venir personalmente a matar a alguien. I promise.”
I laughed because I knew that was what she wanted me to do, but it came out as a watery cough.
“Mama, what will happen to me?”
She looked at me with her black eyes. They were sad, empty holes, and I felt that I really could see down to her soul. All her scars and mistakes and sins were etched up there and they were going to be left there to rot. It was too late the fix them.
“Mama?”
“Someone will take care of you,” she said firmly. That was all she had to say on the subject, and so I let it go.
I spent the rest of the night lying next to her. Nobody came into the room and told me that I had to leave. Nobody came in the room for anything. It seems as if they were just waiting for my mother to die so they could fill the bed up with another hospital patient.
I was huddled close to her side, our arms around each other. She was breathing lightly, but her breath was barely there. My head was on her chest, listening to her heart beat as it started to beat slower and slower. I tried to breathe the exact same way, but my heart was stubborn; it continued to beat normally. I wanted to hold my breath and die, but my body refused. It refused to let me die. I cursed my good health. Why couldn’t I have had AIDS? I would have willingly handed over my healthy body to my mother.
Tears leaked the corner of my eyes as I listened to her last and final heart beat. The only thing I could hear now was the ticking of the clock. Not even the nurses were patrolling the hall. Tick, tick, tick went the clock. It was rhythmic and soothing in a way. My panic was held in, but it had not yet risen. It would come soon, I knew. Right now, all I wanted to listen to was the ticking of the clock. I suddenly realized that time was irrelevant. Time was just there. Anything could happen at any time and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. It was entirely unavoidable. I thought of quote I had once read…This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But, it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning…
I untangled myself from my mother’s arms and got up. I stared down at her and wiped the tears from my eyes. She was finally free from everything, all her sins and mistakes. That was all that mattered. And if she had taught me anything while she was still alive, it was to keep on moving.
I kissed her forehead and whispered, “I’ll always love you Mama.”
I left the hospital and started walking. It was time to start the rest of my life.