Why do we lay in bed, waiting for our alarm to go off, even though we're already awake?
He stared unseeingly at the neon green numbers. It was already 7:32AM, but he had been awake for hours ever since that coughing fit took over. His glasses lay on a book that had gathered dust on his night stand. It was the same book he picked up and leafed through every time he couldn't sleep and even then, he couldn't tell you what it was about if his life depended on it.
The conversations from last night drifted through his mind, like the last cheerios in a bowl of milk that he always chased around with a spoon, never catching them.
He rolled over and looked at her side of the bed. It was empty, he had felt her get up an hour ago. The pillow wasn't warm anymore. He suspected she got as much sleep as he did, both awake for the same reason, re-running the same conversations in their heads. In a way, being awake for the same reasons should have made them closer, but then why did he feel so much distance between them even though they slept inches away from each other?
And the hardest thing about it all was that he could have closed this distance. Just one word from him would mend all the things he said yesterday.
He thought about this as he touched her pillow, the same place her head had rested just an hour ago. And when that wasn't enough for him, he rolled over onto her side of the bed and rested his cheek on her blue pillow case, breathing in the scent of her hair.
That was when he noticed the stack of books on her night stand. She liked to read when she couldn't sleep too. Her books all had similar keywords: child care, babies, pregnancy.
Except the book that lay at the top of the stack. This one was "Eat to Fight Cancer". He brushed his fingertips across the spine of that book and thought back to the lonely book that was gathering dust on his nightstand.
He picked up the container of her hand cream from on top of the books, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed it before screwing the cap back on and replacing it on top of the stack of books. His eyes lingered on that cancer book for a second longer before he rolled over and sat up on his side of the bed.
One word from him and everything would be okay. He didn't want to do it. He was a grown man, pushing fifty, and he never made his own decision, not once.
He had a solid argument. He didn't want to spend the rest of whatever time he had left in hospital beds. He wanted her to understand. Maybe she did. But there was no taking back the hurt he saw in her eyes. There was no taking back the tears she quietly sobbed into her pillow last night when she thought he was asleep.
He reached over and took his glasses off the book on his nightstand and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
She was standing over the sink scrubbing at a pan, her belly making it difficult for her to get closed to the sink. She stopped scrubbing when he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her shoulder, the scent of her hair stronger here than it was on the pillow case.
"Alright."
She turned her head slightly to the left. "Alright what?" she asked.
He waited before saying the words. "I'll do the treatment."
He stared unseeingly at the neon green numbers. It was already 7:32AM, but he had been awake for hours ever since that coughing fit took over. His glasses lay on a book that had gathered dust on his night stand. It was the same book he picked up and leafed through every time he couldn't sleep and even then, he couldn't tell you what it was about if his life depended on it.
The conversations from last night drifted through his mind, like the last cheerios in a bowl of milk that he always chased around with a spoon, never catching them.
He rolled over and looked at her side of the bed. It was empty, he had felt her get up an hour ago. The pillow wasn't warm anymore. He suspected she got as much sleep as he did, both awake for the same reason, re-running the same conversations in their heads. In a way, being awake for the same reasons should have made them closer, but then why did he feel so much distance between them even though they slept inches away from each other?
And the hardest thing about it all was that he could have closed this distance. Just one word from him would mend all the things he said yesterday.
He thought about this as he touched her pillow, the same place her head had rested just an hour ago. And when that wasn't enough for him, he rolled over onto her side of the bed and rested his cheek on her blue pillow case, breathing in the scent of her hair.
That was when he noticed the stack of books on her night stand. She liked to read when she couldn't sleep too. Her books all had similar keywords: child care, babies, pregnancy.
Except the book that lay at the top of the stack. This one was "Eat to Fight Cancer". He brushed his fingertips across the spine of that book and thought back to the lonely book that was gathering dust on his nightstand.
He picked up the container of her hand cream from on top of the books, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed it before screwing the cap back on and replacing it on top of the stack of books. His eyes lingered on that cancer book for a second longer before he rolled over and sat up on his side of the bed.
One word from him and everything would be okay. He didn't want to do it. He was a grown man, pushing fifty, and he never made his own decision, not once.
He had a solid argument. He didn't want to spend the rest of whatever time he had left in hospital beds. He wanted her to understand. Maybe she did. But there was no taking back the hurt he saw in her eyes. There was no taking back the tears she quietly sobbed into her pillow last night when she thought he was asleep.
He reached over and took his glasses off the book on his nightstand and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
She was standing over the sink scrubbing at a pan, her belly making it difficult for her to get closed to the sink. She stopped scrubbing when he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her shoulder, the scent of her hair stronger here than it was on the pillow case.
"Alright."
She turned her head slightly to the left. "Alright what?" she asked.
He waited before saying the words. "I'll do the treatment."
* * *
For those of you who found this post a little familiar, that's because it's based on an episode from the TV series Breaking Bad. I started watching it a few days ago and this scene really just got to me. You know how sometimes you see something really beautiful and you're just so awe-struck by it that you wanna recreate it and show it to the world? Maybe that's why we take pictures of sunsets and post them on facebook, because we want to share that beauty with anyone, everyone. That's why I had to re-create this scene, except I did it in what I'm good at - writing.
I guess imitation is the highest form of flattery.
