HE OPENS his eyes.
He’s in an off-white room. There are machines around him beeping quietly. He’s been here before. The machines screaming, the voices telling him to calm down, that he’ll be all right, CODE ORANGE, CODE ORANGE, the tube shoved down his throat, and he’s unable to breathe around it—
He breathes.
He swallows.
His throat hurts.
Everything is muddled.
Everything is too bright.
It smells strange. And that’s something that sticks out in his mind.
He’s never been able to smell this place before.
It’s cloying and sharp. Medicinal.
He closes his eyes again.
HE DOESN’T know how much time passes before he hears a voice around him. It’s a woman, and she’s humming to herself. It sounds so pretty that it makes his heart ache. He doesn’t know the song, but he’d like to. Maybe she can tell him so he can have the band play it at the Harvest Festival. Sean would like it, he knows. They can dance to it together.
He says, “What song is that? It’s nice.”
The humming stops. There’s a sharp intake of breath.
He opens his eyes. Everything is blurry and still too bright, but maybe he can focus a little better, maybe he can see the woman standing next to his bed, holding a bag filled with a gold liquid. She’s wearing dark green pants and a matching top. She has blue latex gloves on her hands and a mask over her face.
Her eyes, though. Her eyes are wide and focused on him.
“Sorry,” he says, and his voice sounds strange, like he’s speaking through a mouthful of rocks. He tries to lift his head, but can’t find the strength. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The woman says, “Oh my god.”
“The song, though? What was it? Sean. Sean would like it. When we dance. I’m going to dance with him tomorrow, you know. And tell him I love him.”
But she’s already backing away slowly, the bag still in her hand and he’s tired again. He’s so tired. She’s out the door and shouting something, but he doesn’t hear much of anything as he sinks back under.
HE DREAMS of green eyes and dancing to Dizzy wailing on his horn.
He says, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He gets a just-for-him smile in return.
He says, “I’m going to tell you I love you tomorrow.”
The man he’s dancing with chuckles.
He says, “I’m so glad you’re real.”
They dance and dance and dance.
EVERYTHING IS surreal around him. There are people moving in and out of the room, and they’re loud, and they’re asking him questions he doesn’t quite understand. They say Do you know who you are? and Do you know where you are? and, alarmingly, Do you know when you are?
He does, he knows the answers to all of the questions, but everything is hazy around the edges, like he’s still dreaming. He thinks that must be it. He’s never had a dream where he couldn’t move very well. He can turn his head a little to the left and a little to the right, but he can’t do anything with his arms and legs, though his fingers and toes twitch.
Along the edges of the dream, along the people bustling around him, poking and prodding and staring at the screeching machines, he sees two other people. One is in a wheelchair, and he thinks it’s a man, an old, old man, but he can’t quite make him out. The person standing next to him is a woman, and she’s murmuring quietly to the man. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re both staring at him. It makes him uncomfortable.