But I Really Love James Brown

The steady beep beep beep beep of the various machines and monitors in this bed bay and the others in the ER have faded into the background. I guess I've gotten used to them, since we've been here for almost seven hours now. You haven't woken up, even when they stuck the IV in your arm, and shifted your broken foot. That foot hasn't healed yet, and the doctor or nurse or whatever he was gave me the, "You might want to consider amputation," speech that Dr. H had given us at your last appointment. I nod and tell him the same thing I have told everyone else, here, there, at the care home... we'll deal with that when this infection is gone.

"I'm positive I have West Nile," says the girl on the other side of the curtain for the third or fourth time, "I just got back from Barbados." She's said that at least half a dozen more. I caught a glimpse of her as she padded barefoot past our bay. Judging by the state of those feet, she'd walked home from the Caribbean.

I look over at you, and you look like you are sleeping peacefully, though a thin sheen of sweat dots your forehead between the faded scars where you'd dug your nails. "There's pins in my hair," you'd said, jabbing nothing into my palm, "Can't you feel that? They're putting pins under my skin." I tried to convince you then that there was nothing there, no pins or needles, that it was just the pain killers messing with your head. I should have played along. What would have been the harm?

"Mrs. Robles?" the voice of the nurse or whatever wakes me up, and I'm startled, My phone slips to the floor with a clatter, and she picks it up smoothly. I hadn't even known I'd fallen asleep. There hadn't been a dream to let me know that. You and I walking on the beach, or sharing a home cooked meal. We haven't done those things in so long. I've forgotten how to, even in dreams. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no," I said, wanting the nurse to like me. If she likes me, maybe she will treat you kindly. If she likes me, she'll like you and she'll work harder to get you well again. Right? That's the spiraling thought in my brain. "I just nodded off, I guess."

"I just wanted to let you know we've finally got a room for you," she says, in her light accent. "We'll get you guys up there in a couple minutes, Ok?"

"Oh, good, thanks," I say, looking back at you. "Hear that, Honeybunny?" You don't respond. You haven't responded to me all day, that's why we're here. I should have known you weren't just sleeping off dialysis. The people at the care home should have known. Why did it take until dinnertime for them to admit you weren't just taking a nap? I should have insisted... I should have...

A flushed dirty face peers around the curtain, "Hey, they're being moved? I was here first. When am I getting a room? I'm sure my West Nile is getting worse?"

"Soon, Miss Hilaria," the nurse promises, "We're doing our best." West Nile's face bobs back behind the curtain and the nurse gives me a knowing look. "She's been to Barbados, you know."

I smile, thin and wan, but a smile nonetheless. "I hadn't heard," I say, sharing the joke. The nurse winks and disappears, and I am left alone again with the distant beeping and your labored breathing.

Getting up, my knee pops, not liking the cold of the hospital, or the fifty-two years of use I have given it. I take your hand, which is much warmer than it had been but still clammy, still limp. "Hey, Little Tiny Almost Miniscule Steste," I say, trying but not keeping the tears from choking off my teasing, "you hear what she called me? Mrs. Robles. It's official now, buddy, you aren't getting out of this now that I finally hooked ya." Twenty eight years we've been together, but it's only been five months since you proposed. You didn't want me to have to deal with what was to come, but how could you have questioned it? You and me against the world, always and forever.

"I hooked you..." you murmur and your machines beep loudly as you stir, for the first time since I got to the care home this morning to find you lying still in your outdoor clothes like they had just dumped you in bed after dialysis, your eyes flutter open and focus on me... well, the right one does. The left eye was lost a couple years ago, a victim of the pandemic and a lack of urgency on the part of so called specialists who declared what was happening a non-emergency. "I did the hooking."

"I always knowed you was a hooker," I drawl in a put on accent, and you smile. "Hey, baby, you ok? Any pain?"

Shaking your head, you ask, "Where am I?"

"In the hospital," I say, "we're waiting for a room."

You try to sit up, "I need to go," you tell me, "I need to go."

I hold you down with a hand on your chest, and it takes no pressure. You aren't strong enough to fight, and I pretend I don't feel the ripples of a rib cage beneath my hand. "Nope, no go, stay. They're going to take care of you." You look at me, confused, and I say, "You know who I am?" I ask.

"My wifey," you say, and already your good eye is starting to lose focus.

"And, who are you?"

"Your hubby hub..."

"My hubby hub that what?" I urge.

A smile, even thinner than my own passes briefly over your lips, and you murmur, "Your hubby hub that you lubby lub..."

"And do you lubby lubby me too?" I ask.

You nod as your eyes slip closed again. "I love you too."

I lean over you, and brush my lips against yours. Kissing is new to us, even after so many years together. Your lips are dry and fragile against mine, like crepe paper. Your hand squeezes mine just once, and then you are lost to me, sleeping again, as darkness swirls in your bloodstream, pooling around your spine, unfiltered by useless kidneys, pumped by an unsteady heart.

You've begun your journey but I don't know it yet. Your feet are on a path now... and I can't follow.

But your kiss will keep me company until then.