Page 99 of Poetry By Dead Men
"I don't know." I shake my head, still feeling fuzzy. "I—I shouldn’t be his proxy. Not with what happened. Can it be changed? To his parents?”
Dr. Mulder assesses me, evaluating the older, already yellowing bruisesnotfrom the car accident. “I’ll need it in writing. But yes, you can refuse.”
I nod, swallowing down the lump of grief in my throat threatening to choke me, and a small wave of relief soothes the rising panic enough to allow my mind to kick back into focus. “What about Bobby? Can you tell me how he is?”
Dr. Mulder gives me a sad, regretful smile. "I'm afraid I can't. I can only give information on his condition to immediate family. But his mother is here. I’ll let her know you're asking after him."
His mother is here. Does that mean he’s alive? Or did they call her because someone has to make the same decisions for him as I’m supposed to for Harrison?
The shock wears off all at once, like ripping off a bandage. Suddenly, I can't stop shaking, and sobs pour out of me in violent waves.
“Please, get her for me. Please,” I beg, but my tears are so thick in my throat I’m not sure she understands me.
"Youwillbe okay, Beth." Dr. Mulder sounds more like a friend than a surgeon. "You survived this accident. Maybe even worse." She pats my hand. "I’ll let your friend's mother know you’d like her to visit, and I’ll be back tomorrow to check your incisions. In the meantime, is there anyone we can call for you? Your parents, maybe?"
I shake my head through my tears. "No. Um… My friend. Molly," I say, grateful I won't have to be the one to tell her about the accident. I'm not sure I could handle the worry I'd hear in her voice, and I'm all too close to falling apart completely as it is.
I give the nurse, who introduces herself as Crystal, Molly's number. "Please, ask her to hurry," I say, my eyes growing heavy as I fade back into the darkness.
NOW
September 2024: Charleston SC
I want adventure to be remembered
Hold onto truths instead of lies
And a love that makes the angels weep
I want to feel that, before I die
—An excerpt from "Poetry," written by Beth Winters, performed by Robert Beckett
"Let me in that room right now. Or I'll call my lawyer. She’s mysister. Legally, I can see her." Molly's voice wakes me up from a restless sleep.
Crystal is standing in front of my door, her arms crossed in front of her. "Miss. Winters is resting. I suggest you let her, or Iwillcall security."
I clear my throat, still so thirsty. "It's okay. I’m awake,” I croak.
"Hmmph," Crystal says, turning to check on me. She strides over to the bed and pulls out her stethoscope, listening to my heart and lungs as Molly rushes in.
"Thank God you're okay. What the hell happened?" Molly says, wasting no time getting straight to the point.
"Have you seen Bobby? Is he okay?" I ask, scrambling to try and sit. I cry out in pain as agony sears through my ribs and the external fixator on my leg snags on the sheets.
"Slow down," Crystal scolds. "Your friend’s mother came to talk to you, but you were asleep. Probably the morphine."
Crystal helps me into a sitting position, then adjusts my blood pressure cuff. Molly presses her lips together, waiting for Crystal to finish.
"I want to be very clear." Crystal turns to Molly, her tight, black ponytail accentuating her severe features, making her look especially stern. "Beth is my patient, and her well-being is my responsibility. I will be watching that monitor," she points to the screen where my heart rate and oxygen readings track across the screen, "and if I see any indication you're working her up, I'll withdraw visitation rights. Got it?"
"Yes ma'am." Molly salutes her. She moves to sit on the edge of my bed but stops when Crystal scowls. "I won't upset her. I promise. We'll just pray and watch cartoons. No. Not cartoons. That coyote is stressful. We'll meditate instead." Molly smiles broadly, and I almost laugh. But my ribs hurt too much, and I'm too worried about Bobby. And even though I hate to admit it, I'm sad about Harrison.
Crystal gives her a look that makes me think she'll be kicking her out in a few minutes, regardless of what that monitor shows.
"Thank you," I say.
"Press that call light if you need anything," she reminds me before narrowing her eyes at Molly and leaving the room.
