Page 135 of Sing it, Sam

I find the nearest ladies’ room and change into a pair of leggings and a grey knitted jumper. After attempting to blow-dry my hair a bit with the hand-dryer, I toss my locks up into a bun. Unfortunately, I have to put my cold, damp boots back on because I didn’t bring a spare pair.

I make my way to ward number ten and front up at the nurses’ station.

A young girl with dark hair in a braid swings around on her chair and smiles. She doesn’t look to be much older than me. “How can I help you?”

I clear my throat. “Um, yes. I’m here to see Sam Marshall? He’s in room eleven, I think.”

The smile washes from her face. “Oh, yes.” She stands and motions towards her left. “Eleven is down the far end of the hall on your right.”

“Thanks.”

The soles of my boots squeak against the shiny linoleum floor as I stride down the corridor until I reach a maroon-coloured placard sticking out from the wall with number eleven on it. The door is ajar. With hesitant steps, I creep inside.

If it wasn’t for Ben at his side, I would’ve sworn I was in the wrong room. My feet cement to the spot as I glare at the pale-faced man in the bed. The gravity of the scene before me causes my chest to tighten, as if a weight has been thrust upon me. A clear tube is protruding from Sam’s mouth which is secured in place with white tape across his sullen cheeks. The mouth tube connects to two thicker see-through blue tubes, which hook up to one of the many machines at the head of the bed that beep and whirr in a cruel symphony.

He barely resembles the Sam that just left Willow Creek.

Be brave. It just looks bad.

Tears prick at my eyes as I coax my feet forward until I reach the foot of the bed. “Ben?” I force out, looking between the two brothers.

Ben looks up. Dark rings hang beneath his eyes, which are splintered with red. He opens his mouth and glances over at Sam. He swipes at his eyes, and motions to the seat positioned on the other side of the bed.

I sit on the edge of the chair and reach out to touch Sam, but there’s a minefield of round sticky pads with wires stuck across his bare chest. A blood pressure band is secured on one bicep, and an IV line is taped to the top of his hand. I lean over and press a kiss to his forehead, his skin clammy against my lips. Sam’s eyes are shut, but his eyeballs move around beneath the lids.Is he sleeping?

“I made it, Sam,” I say in a husky voice and kiss his head once more. I place my hand on a bare part of Sam’s chest, avoiding the wires. I gulp down. As much as I want to throw myself on top of him and weep, I have to be strong. For all of us.

It’s hard to know what to say, but I can’t sit here in silence. I need to talk to Sam. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for the last week.

“Sorry I’m late. I would’ve been here earlier, but it was pissing down rain and I had to drive so freakin’ slow and then to top it off, I got a flat tyre. Luckily, Wonder Woman has skills. You would’ve been proud.”

Ben blows his nose, his eyes fixed on the foot of the bed. I stare at Ben until I finally gain eye contact. He doesn’t hold it for long, casting his gaze downward once more.

“Ben?” I extend my hand to him, across Sam’s waist. The callouses on his palm grate against my skin as he takes my hand. I squeeze tight until he looks up. “Can he hear me?”

He rakes his fingers back through his unkempt blond curls. “Jane,” he whispers on an exhale.

“Whatever it is, tell me,” I beg.

Ben takes in a series of calculated breaths. “The paralysis has spread. The machine with the blue tubes is helping him breathe. They’ve sedated him to manage the pain and keep him relaxed. Even though he can’t move, his brain should still be functioning.”

“Should?” I squeal.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say right now. Things took a turn for the worse. It’s all happening so fast.”

A wave of coldness washes over me. I hunch over as my heartrate spikes. “They must be able to do something more,” I bark out. “They know his history. I mean, how did it go from a cold to this?”

“They assure me they’re doing everything they can.”

“But are they?” I say with a sweep of my hand towards the machines hooked up to the man I love.

“Whatever happens, we need to be here for Sam. Just keep talking to him. Let him know you’re here. It might make the whole world of difference.”

We can only hope.

***

Ben leaves in search of coffee and food. Seated beside Sam, I softly stroke over his shoulder. The bruise from his fall has now faded to a yellowy-green. Even though all I want to do is cry, I talk to Sam about the winding up of the festival. I tell him thatourlittle town has returned to its usual numbers, how stallholders are already planning next year, and that the organisers are set to make the next event the best yet. Which they say every year.

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