You Have To Let Me Go

I opened my eyes slowly turning my head to look at the bedside clock, the one with the large, illuminated numerals I bought for the bedroom so I could see the time without fumbling around for my glasses. Instead, I saw a collection of machines with lines running back to me in the bed. My head was pounding. I reached up and felt the bandaging.

"Take it easy there, Tiger. You need to go at this kinda slow at first," the voice said.

I tried to focus my eyes on the figure shrouded in fog at the foot of my bed until gradually I could see my husband standing there. Not that I needed to see his face to know he was there. His voice, that deep baritone that I had loved for 28 years was hard to miss.

"What..where..how did I get here?" I stammered to ask him.

He looked down at me with that teasing glimmer in his eyes that I had first fallen in love with years ago. "Well, my dear, of all your charming qualities, I'm sorry to say gracefulness is not one," he answered playfully while making a tumbling motion with his hands.

"Ohhh," I moaned remembering the fall. I was leaving my class at Trenton Hall in a hurry as usual. I had an overloaded tote bag on my left shoulder, and I was trying to carry my costume in my right hand while holding it up high enough so it wouldn't drag. The next thing I knew I was tumbling out of control down those beautiful marble steps. The memory was vivid now. "Ohhhh," I moaned louder.

A young nurse walked briskly through the door stopping to peck at some buttons on one of the machines before coming over to find me awake. "Welcome back, Sweetie. Glad you decided to stay with us a while longer," she cooed sympathetically. "Now don't try to move your head around too much. You took quite a fall and at your age you shouldn't rush things."

I thought if my head wasn't hurting so badly, I would explain what I thought I could do at "my age" that would make her head spin. Instead, I stayed still while she leaned in close passing a finger in front of my face which my eyes followed involuntarily.

"What did you mean by "welcome back" and "stay a while" just then? Where do you think I've been and why wouldn't I be staying here?" I asked her, still irritated by her age remark.

"Oh, well, I don’t know if you went anywhere. Some folks claim to have seen the beyond, met Jesus, and all sorts of things when they code," she answered this time in a very matter of fact tone.

"Code?" I asked not sure I was understanding her meaning.

"Yes, Sweetie. You coded twice. The second time it took the team almost 8 minutes to bring you back," she replied in a voice almost as soft as a prayer. She moved away from the bed and over to a machine in the corner where she tapped on a few keys before walking back out the door.

Jeffrey was still standing at the foot of my bed looking down at me with a smirking grin that could really irritate me if my head didn't hurt so bad. "I coded?" I asked him.

"Oh yeah, not just once but twice. Left your sister Nan speechless which is something I would have given anything to see when I was still alive," he answered in a mocking voice.

"That's right," I stated. "You're dead. You're not here. I'm not having this conversation because only one of us is here, and it ain't you Babe," I mocked right back at him.

He just chuckled at me, and I tried not to show how much I loved the sound of his laughter. Then he went for the dig. "Belly dancing classes, Darling. Really? What were you thinking? I mean, you know, as the nurse just said, "at your age" and all," he asked knowing the age dig would get my Irish up.

"Yes, belly dancing, because I love being my age and I've always wanted to learn, and well, if I don’t do it now, then when?" I answered almost biting the words off and spitting them at his smirking grin.

"Are you sure the classes were for you and not for a certain male acquaintance you seem to be spending a lot of time with lately? I guess he would appreciate watching you belly dance, even "at your age," Jeffrey retorted.

"Careful there, Dear. You're sounding a bit jealous, and for the record his name is Craig, and we are well beyond acquaintances. He's my boyfriend. Let me say that again. BOYFRIEND," I repeated in a taunting voice.

"Well, then," Jeffrey replied haltingly, the playfulness gone out of his voice. "I didn't realize it had gotten that far.”

I felt bad for him. The gleam in his eyes had darkened. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so mean. It must be because my head hurts so much."

Jeffrey moved to the chair beside my bed now. "You make this sound pretty serious. Should I be worried?" he asked.

"Worried about what? It's not like I'm cheating on you. You’ re dead, remember? You're not even here now," I told him. 

“Speaking of “Craig”, Jeffrey said making air quotes around his name, “he’s sitting in the waiting room right now.”

“He is?”, I cried weakly. I wanted to cry out loudly but the banging in my head made even the slightest noise seem like thunder. “Why doesn’t he come in here?” I asked softly.

“Rules, Tiger, rules,” he answered in a singsong manner. “You’re in ICU and visiting hours are quite limited for someone with a severe concussion who coded twice. But I will say this for the guy. He’s dedicated. He hasn’t left this hospital since they brought you here.”

I closed my eyes and visualized Craig’s crooked smile remembering the first time he told me he loved me. Somehow the noises in my head seemed a bit more bearable.

Jeffrey interrupted my reverie. “Hey, stop grinning like that. By the way, have you told him about me hanging around being, you know, your guardian angel?”

“If you mean have I told him that I am being haunted by my dead husband, the answer is no,” I exclaimed.

         “Potato, Po-tah-to,” he answered. You say I’m haunting you when you know I’m only here to protect you. And if you don’t mind my saying so, I’ve had some time to check out this guy and I think I might need to stick around and keep an eye on things. Just what were you thinking going for a shrimp of a guy like that?” Jeffrey remarked in what she knew to be his jealous tone.

         “Craig is not a shrimp, and I’ll thank you not to say that again,” I demanded again bringing on the clanging in my head. “He’s average height and I can’t tell you what a relief it is to look into his eyes without getting a crick in my neck from looking up. You know, most of the world is under six foot tall and definitely under six foot six,” I remarked.

          “Yeah, but we’re all the same height when we’re horizontal,” he offered with a sly grin. An old line of his that was stale years ago. 

         “Oh, Jeffrey, just get over it. Better still, get lost!” I heard myself shouting.

         “Whoa, Tiger, calm down or you’ll have more than a headache from the drums banging in your head,” he said in a soothing voice.

         “I mean it Jeffrey. Get lost. Vamoose. Gooooo! I know the wreck was my fault. I know I killed you. I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry over and over. But it was years ago. Why do you still haunt me? YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO. Please, let me go!” I begged. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners, but I just kept begging “Let me go” over and over as if muttering some sort of witch’s spell to banish evil spirits.

         “Let me go,” I muttered again, this time feeling warm strong hands holding my hand. 

         “No, Sweetheart, I’ll never let you go. I promise,” the voice said. This time it was not the rich baritone of my late husband. I opened my eyes to see Craig sitting in the chair beside my bed. He was holding my one hand in both of his gently stroking each finger and kissing the tops of my knuckles. “Never let you go,” he repeated. “Just you and me for the rest of our lives. I promise,” he uttered softly.

         I placed my other hand on top of his and looked into his eyes, “Yes, Dear, just you and me.”