Home

She's in her bed now. Blankets pulled up high, just under her neck. The nurses have done their job well, tucked her in nice and tight. She looks snug and comfortable.

Her breaths are slow, the flicker of life in her eyes under her lids speaks of a mesmerizing dream.

She is at peace. She sleeps.

I listen as the air enters her lungs, and I count, and then she exhales.

A small smile plays on her face, and it's that smile that had made me feel at home.

I wonder what she dreams of. I know it can't be me. It's been so long.

And yet, I hope. I hope she remembers me. I think about how we used to be most days. Even if I am just an errant thought scattered in amongst penguins and rice, two things she told her she dreamed about often, even that would be enough.

She inhales, and it's comfort in a sound. Hearing her, so close, it's like the years we were apart meant nothing. I wonder if she still dreams of penguins and rice.

She's so deep asleep that I could not wake her, even if I wanted to. Dead to the world, I'd say whenever she'd have a day nap; spread out on the grass under the sun, like a snoozing cat.

So, I just sit and wait.

Despite the extra age carved into her skin, as she lies there she is still the savior I could never forget. Had never forgotten. The same girl who smashed a snowball into my face when I quit my job. A wake-up call, she'd said.

She had saved me when I had thought I had been alone. Had held a hand out to me when no one else had. And now...

We'd actually met by accident. I got into a taxi at the same time as her and both of us refused to leave. We were extremely drunk. It just so happened we lived on the same block. That night we binged a whole slew of Disney films together and lamented about life.

I'd once described her as an older sister I had never had. I would never have said that to her face though. I'm sure she would have just laughed. Just thinking about it makes my cheeks feel hot from embarrassment, as if I can hear her teasing.

She breathes out, and I begin to worry if she will remember me. It had been an anxious thought moments ago, but somehow it's implanted itself deep into my mind. Two years, we'd known each other before. A short time, but it was a lifetime.

Two years, we had basically been inseparable. Had each others' backs, and she had made me feel like I mattered. And not in the sense that I know would be unhealthy, and definitely not in a way that love is so frequently mistaken for obsession. She wasn't the reason I lived. She was one of the reasons I liked to be alive.

People sometimes mistook us as a couple, but that always made us laugh. She was, as she said, "100% gay" and to put it bluntly, she was also not my type. But we joked in another life, we were probably married.

Another breath. Neither of us could have known what would happen. Looking back on it, I'm glad it had happened so quickly. But if I could have changed something, anything, it would have been to tell her my thoughts would always be with her.

Maybe it's better if she doesn't remember me. That I'm a stranger. Because I don't know if I could ever apologize completely for leaving her.

I know she would never say it. And it's only because we were so close that I knew. I was her brother as much as she was my sister. We had needed each other.

No. I'd prefer that she'd hate me than forget me. At least I'd still mean something to her.

She breathes in, and I remember her in the same position I am in. Back then, she was holding my hand. I couldn't hold her hand. Not yet.

She exhales.

"Alek?"

My gaze meets hers, where she now stands. "Jill."

For a second, she just stares. It must be disconcerting. Seeing me again like this. But an incredible feeling of elation fills me. She remembers me.

"Am I dreaming?" she asks, pinching at her arm.

I shake my head, holding back laughter. "No, you idiot."

Unable to control the instinct, I pull her into a hug, squeezing her tight. She is stiff in my embrace, the shock clearly still too much.

She mutters into my shoulder, "But back, back then, you-"

This time I do laugh a little, and tears are pricking at my eyes. I let her pull away from my hug and nod. "I did, yes. I've been waiting."

Thoughts fly through her mind as her expression dances through several different emotions. It settles on bewilderment as she says, "Then, I'm..."

"Yeah. You lasted longer than I would've guessed, but you've always been stubborn."

She chuckles, and then she's crying as well, frustratedly wiping away her tears. It's the second time she's cried because of me. But it's the first time I can console her.

I reach out and offer her a handkerchief from my suit pocket. I am still dressed in my Sunday best. She lets out an amused huff and shakes her head.

"I swear, you're still such an old man. Even though you haven't aged a day."

"I'm old? You're seventy-eight now!"

Rolling her eyes, she takes a deep breath and then props two judgmental hands onto her hips. "You waited sixty years? Doing what, freeloading?"

"Well, I've been watching. I'm surprised you snagged such an attractive wife. Didn't think a 4 could get a 10. The divorce though, I called that."

She punches me playfully in the arm. Her right hook is still something else.

As I rub at it, she asks, "What now?"

"I know for a fact that I'm fashionably late for a party. Care to join?" I hold out a hand.

She takes it, and smiles. And the waiting has been worth it, because I'm home.