ICU

Sense of anticipation, sense of dread, not knowing what to expect. The second floor, now there’s a new local, I thought, as we walked up the stairs. And there he was, lying there, as much as I hate to say it, a motionless corpse, although, seemingly, tanned, so about that he would be pleased, the centre of a congestion of tubes and machines going clack and monitors going beep. It didn’t look like him. My friend, my beautiful friend.

Both Perry, and I, felt that Tom reacted, as we first stood there by his bed, saying hello. We watched him, still, his left eye open a quarter – the blue of his eye unmistakably his – his face big, round and smooth.

They sew the tubes to their lips in I.C.U.

Tom had a single tear fall from the corner of his right eye, as I stood there. I watched it slide slowly down the side of his face and wondered if it was just coincidence, but another tear didn’t fall. This is what it’s come to? This is where he now is. I gazed down at his face, as Perry chatted to the nurse about the equipment. You’d hate this, I thought, so you just have to get better soon.

Friday 13th is that good or bad?

There is no privacy in I.C.U. There is no quiet moment. I wanted to lean down and whisper in his ear, but with the nurse standing next to us keeping watch, it somehow seemed too clichéd under her view. Silly the things you think, hey? Doctors came checking tubes and then they went. So I squeezed his arm instead, not wanting to let go.

The monitoring machine went beep, the breathing machine went clack.