Page 27 of The Lies Always Told

“How may I help you?” the nurse with the blue scrubs asks.

“I need an update on a patient. Augusto Zabana. He…he had an allergic reaction, I think.” Do not spiral, do not spiral, do not spiral. Calm, cool, collected Nellie needs to be here.

“Are you his sister?”

“No.”

“I am sorry, but we cannot give personal information to non-family members.” Did we say earlier who I was? I can’t even remember. In the midst of the chaos, I don’t even remember if I said my name at all.

“I’m…I’m his wife,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I need to see him. I need to know what happened. I don’t give a fuck what people say. She doesn’t ask any more questions; she just turns around and signals me to follow her.

We walk down a brightly lit corridor. The hum of the ventilation system in the background has been constant since I got here, and it continues even outside the emergency room. With so much unknown and the chaos of the past few hours, the deep humming has been my best friend. The walls are the same dull off-white of hospitals in the States, and even the light blue drapes giving privacy are the same. I’m definitely checking my privilege right now, surprised by the similarities. I’m not sure if I expected the hospital to be as lifeless as the ones back home. It smells sterile and sharp, definitely the underlying scent of bleach clinging to the air as I remind myself this place is supposed to look like this. Nobody wants tofeel comfortable in a place where so many people die. It’s supposed to be cold, clinical, and distant, even if the medical professionals are not.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I tell the nurse as we continue to move down the hall, our footsteps echoing on the tile floor. I need to talk. I need to ask questions so I don’t feel like I’m in an alternate reality, so I feel like what’s happening right now is real and not like I’m a ghost floating between rooms.

“Nadia. What about you?”

“Cornelia, but you can call me Nellie.” Each step gets me closer. No matter how slow, it gets me closer to Gus. I want to run, but I can’t, so I focus on breaking down the task at hand and what Icando—place each foot deliberately in front of the other, reminding myself that even baby steps will get me there. This will be where I’ll be able to ask questions and hopefully see he’s okay. The hallway stretches longer than it is, with the distant sound of footsteps and voices murmuring from somewhere far off. I feel like I’m in a new world.

When we reach the door to another sitting area, a soft breath of air greets me as it opens, the temperature shifting slightly. The waiting area is quieter than the one in the emergency room. There’s no noise, other than the machines in the background faintly humming, blending rhythmically with the nurses working on their charts.

“Wait here, Nellie. I will be right back.” Nadia disappears behind the nurse’s station through a glass door. I stand, because if I sit, I’m afraid I’ll cry. If I start crying now, there will be no stopping, and I can’t make myself do that. I can’t break now.

The room is eerily quiet and empty. Nobody waits in the vacant chairs. Nobody walks or paces. This is either the room where they tell people their loved ones died, or this is a…private wing? Holy crap, Nellie, of course, it’s a private wing.

“You can follow me this way.” Nadia steps out of the room, and, with a sympathetic smile, she guides me through another set of doors into another long corridor.

This place is a maze, a labyrinth of fears and hopeless dreams.

There are several doors on each side of the wall, but none next to each other, confirming my suspicions on the private wing. All doors are shut, all painted a solid white, not see-through like an ICU would be. We stop in front of door number seven, and after a soft knock, there’s a reply from the other side in Spanish. Nadia opens the door after waving her badge, and what I find stops me in my tracks.

Gus. I gasp, but before I can lose it completely, he sits up, looking at me with sadness behind his eyes. Or maybe shock. Or both? What did he expect? For me not to figure out how to make it here?

“Hi. I didn’t think you’d come.” Yup, exactly that. He thought I would leave him here alone to figure it out for himself.

Nadia says something in Spanish, directing it to Gus. I have zero clue what it is, but Gus’ reply makes her stiffen before she says, “My apologies. I should have continued in English. I was asking if you were not supposed to be here, but el señor Zabana assures me you’re fine. I will leave you two be.” She steps back quickly, closing the door behind her.

“Whatever medical emergency you just had doesn’t have to make you an ass. What did you say to that poor girl?”

“I told her that if you said you wanted to be here, you should be here. I don’t have the patience for pleasantries right now.” Gus lifts his body further and pushes a button on his bed to stay sitting up. He looks perfectly fine. His lip is a little swollen still, full and darker in color than usual, but almost back to normal. His eyes look droopy and tired, but nothing out of the ordinary, and his voice is normal. He’s okay.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, not moving from my spot by the door.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“What happened?”

“Come here.” He brings his hand up and motions me to get closer. I take heavy steps toward him, keeping my composure in check so I don’t break without knowing what actually happened. All my senses are telling me he had an allergic reaction, but to what, and why did it escalate so quickly?

His hand is palm up, waiting for me to take it, but before I do, he pats the bed, prompting me to sit next to him. My movements are not mine anymore. I’m just following steps, trying to make sense of the whole day. How has today just been one day? It feels like more. It feels longer.

“Hi,” he whispers, holding my hand and smiling softly at me.

“Gus, please don’t “hi” me. What happened?” I need answers. I need to know. I feel like my heart will jump out of my chest at any moment. Some people are paralyzed by fear, but I want to run as fast and as far away as I can. In this instance, though, I’m trapped.

He lets out a deep breath, looks out the window to the ocean just a few blocks away, and then at me. His eyes hold turmoil behind them. The few golden flecks are practically gone, and all I see is onyx black.

“Are you always in need of answers?” He coughs, covering his mouth. Why is he coughing? Did whatever happen affect his throat? His lungs?

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