Listen, Pitch (There's No Crying in Baseball 3)

***

I watched the clock, counting the times the minute hand rolled past twelve for the second time and felt my fingers twitch.

I closed my eyes and sent all my concentration into moving my finger, and felt it lift off the bed, then fall immediately back down.

That made my finger, one of my toes on my left foot, all of them on my right side, and nearly my entire face.

The ones on my face hurt, though, so I stopped trying to move those and concentrated on getting something else to move.

It’d been four hours since they’d stopped the tranquilizing medication. An hour since the nurse had come in to check on me. Thirty minutes since the doctor had come in.

However, I pretended I was asleep, much like the woman on the side of my bed, and they left soon enough.

Once they were gone, I went back to what I was doing and realized rather quickly how frustrating it was for a body to come alive, one single body part at a time.

I lifted the finger again, and this time managed to get something soft and silky underneath of it when I brought it back down.

The woman’s hair.

Henley’s.

Another tiny piece of my soul lightened.

I was a dark, dangerous, broken man.

Being in this hospital was slowly killing me.

But knowing that this woman was still here, even though I didn’t know her at all, was making this become actually bearable.

I could do this.

And when, thirty minutes later, I closed my entire fist around her hair and held onto it, I felt another piece of my soul settle.

***

Four hours later

I knew the moment she woke.

Her body, which had been soft and yielding, tensed.

She was no longer leaning just her head on the bed. Now she was leaned forward, her head on my lap. Her arms were tucked underneath her, making her entire upper body lean heavily against mine.

Since I was wary of moving thanks to the killer headache I now possessed, I hadn’t jarred her in the least. Mostly scared to feel the pain shock through me, but also, admittedly, unwilling to wake her.

So, I let her sleep, and the moment she started to stir and sat her head up, my body immediately missed the heavy, comforting heat of her.

Her face had little dot indentions from the knit blanket that was covering my lower body, and creases formed on her cheek and over the lower half of her neck.

Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but I could see that she knew exactly what was going on, and where she was, the minute her eyes met mine.

I spoke without moving anything but my lips and tongue, and even then, it was barely over a whisper.

“When I was sixteen, I watched my father die a slow death. My mother wouldn’t pull the plug because she was dragging it out, refusing to allow him peace. He’d cheated on her, and she was getting her revenge. She didn’t want him to die in the hospital, but at home where she could draw what little life he had left out.” I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. “My grandmother wouldn’t allow him to go with her because my mother’s a fuckin’ freak, so instead of doing the humane thing and letting him die with dignity, she held him there in limbo for over two weeks while his body slowly shut down. He was in so much pain and was trying to hide it. It was the worst feeling in the world.”

She stayed silent.

I didn’t explain why he was in the hospital. Telling her that would put her in danger. However, I could explain why I was about to do what I was about to do.

I could move. Everything.

It was going to hurt. Badly.

But I was going to do it anyway.

I couldn’t be here another moment.

And she was coming with me.

I wouldn’t force her, but I was going to convince her to do it, and she was going to go with it because I could tell she wouldn’t let me suffer due to my own stupidity all by myself.

“When he was finally dead, he was bleeding out of his ears, eyes, and mouth. He was breathing so erratically that we couldn’t tell if his breath was his last between one and the next,” I continued, then sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “He stopped breathing and restarted seventeen different times.”

She gasped and stood, her hands going out to meet me. “And I can’t be here, because the last time I was in a hospital, my father’s nurse killed him. I can’t be here. I can’t.”

Then I stood up, and my entire world spun.

Before I could hit my knees on the ground, though, a strong, skinny arm was there to catch me.

“No, no, no.”

“Yes.” I took a step forward. “Yes.” Another step. “Yes.”