Page 4 of Life To My Flight

Rue

1 year later

“50 year old male. BP 89 over 60. Heart rate 110, oxygen sat 96% on O2 non-rebreather. Impaled by a steel pole through the right side of the abdomen. He’s got lacerations all over his body; pole’s doing a good job of keeping the bleeding under control,” a voice from my past said.

My breath stalled in my throat as I looked up into the eyes of the love of my life.

“Cleo,” I breathed.

His eyes snapped up from the patient to me, flared, and then went flat.

“Coded in the air. Administered...” he continued.

I was listening, but not listening at the same time.

Why was he here? Doing Life Flight? How did he find me?

Then I shook that stupid thought off. He wasn’t here to find me.

He was here because he was bringing a patient in; not here to see me.

That worked better than a bucket of cold water over my head.

My mind snapped back into focus, and I walked carefully next to the gurney Cleo was pushing, while continuing to write and listen.

“Mona, take him to trauma room two. Page Dr. Goldstein. Tell him we’re going to need him,” I instructed the closest nurse.

I was the charge nurse for today, due to our normal one calling in sick. Anyone who came in went through me, and I told them where to go. I had patients of my own, but I was also responsible for a whole lot more.

“Okay,” Mona replied enthusiastically.

Turning to the other nurse at the station, I said, “Jonathan, I’m going to eat my lunch.”

First off, I really was hungry. I’d been at work for a little over eight hours now, and hadn’t stopped once since I got here. In fact, I was also going on hour eight of no bathroom break as well.

Really, though, it was because Cleo was here, and I couldn’t be here while he was here. There was just no way I could do that. Not and function like I needed to.

Not now.

Not ever, probably.

Even now, a year later, it was still just as raw. Still just as debilitating.

“Hey,” that deep, low voice called out to me. The one that spoke to me in my dreams. “Wait up!”

I froze with my hand on the push handle that led outside.

My head hung, and my heart started to beat a million miles a minute.

I prayed that he’d leave me alone. I didn’t know what he’d have to say, and if it was another ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ or ‘I’m just not made for love,’ I’d fucking flip.

My body started working again all at once, and I started to push through, but a large, tanned arm stopped me in my tracks.

The same heart that I’d previously thought was beating fast took off like a fuckin’ rocket, beating even harder against my chest.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Over and over again, it pounded as the silence stretched between us.

---