It’s weird to describe myself as Ray’s last resort, and not his girlfriend anymore, but I feel the need to say it out loud to justify my reason for being here. Especially when I already know that I shouldn’t be in this room. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Wonderful, I’m Keisha and I’m the nurse that will take care of him for the day. Lynn is the nursing assistant and she will take care of him as well.”
“Is he conscience?” I ask with trepidation.
“Oh, yes. He’s just sleeping now. We gave him a good dose of pain medication.”
I ask the obvious. “Are his injuries serious?”
“I think I should get the resident on duty to explain his condition. Give me a second, ok?”
“Sure.”
The nurse briefly looks at my eye and then the fresh bandage on my leg.
“Were you involved in your boyfriend’s accident, too?”
“Um, no, I wasn’t.”
“Okay, well feel please take a seat. I’ll go get the doctor.”
“Thanks.”
I stumble to sit down. The pain of the gash to my leg is settling in and seeing Ray laid up in a hospital like this is more difficult than I thought it would be.
There are several tubes traveling in and out of his veins and while I don’t know the extent of his injuries, I realize that he may have a long road of recovery ahead and I’m the reason for that.
I sent Bronx to Ruby’s house knowing full well what could happen, what perhaps I’d passive-aggressively hoped would happen, and now I’ve come face to face with the consequences.
After Keisha puts on a fresh pair of plastic gloves, she changes a bag of some sort of clear liquid that is being dripped into Ray’s arm, adjusts his position in the bed, and then finally leaves to fetch the doctor.
I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he rests quietly in bed. Dressed in only a hospital gown and covered in a thin baby blue blanket, all I can do is stare at him.
In this position, he looks harmless.
And so quiet.
It’s kind of weird. He’s never been this silent.
I’m the introvert and Ray was the extrovert in our relationship. We met at a diner on a Saturday night. It was packed in the restaurant that night and there was some weird jerk standing behind me in the takeout line who kept trying to feel me up. Before I could confront the man on my own, Ray stepped up and did it for me. He shamed the guy by apologizing to me in a very public way. Everyone in the restaurant clapped in appreciation, and the staff gave us our meals for free, so we grabbed a booth and ate them together.
It was a moment.
I thought it was a sign.
A sign that I had met Mr. Right.
A year later, and I don’t believe in signs anymore.
I can’t tell a joke to save my life and was never that great in school. I’m a quiet person for the most part and not very memorable. I’m simply a maid who blends into the background of the world. It’s not that I want to, but I just do. People have to meet me three or four times before they even remember my name.
I admit that it bothers me that I’m so forgettable, but I can’t blame anyone for it. I’m just a regular girl living in a world of visual gluttony. People post their lives on social media using provocative photos and videos at an alarming rate. How can a former foster kid with no money and thunder thighs cut through all of that noise to compete?
So when Ray stood up for me that day, I thought to myself that ‘he sees me and maybe I’m not so invisible after all’ especially after he asked me for my phone number and paid me more attention than any guy ever has before.
But not all attention is good attention and sitting here now, staring at his distressed body, makes me wonder. Was it our destiny to meet, or was it our misfortune? Would he be in this bed if we hadn’t met? If we hadn’t argued. If he hadn’t hit me. If I hadn’t met Bronx.
“Good morning, I’m Dr. Captain. You’re family to Mr. Majors?”
