The Room Where It Happens

If walls could talk, they say.

If walls could talk, the stories they could tell.

Or maybe they'd get you to tell them your own story.

That's what happened, before I was alone.

"There are no miracle cures. There will be no last minute reprieve. You need to get that out of your head."

"How would you know what's in my head?" I answered, without thinking about how odd it was.

There was no one in the room with me except Dan, and he certainly hadn't said anything. He'd been in a coma for days now. It was the reason I'd moved him to Hospice care.

"It's always in the heads of those who come here. But it's wishful thinking. This is the room where it happens. And it always happens."

"What happens?"

"Death."

I raised my head. I looked around, and clouds began to clear from my over-burdened brain.

I was alone. Or so I believed.

"Who said that?" I asked.

"It's me."

The voice came from nowhere. It came from everywhere.

I stared at the door. It was firmly closed. The window, likewise. I had considered opening it earlier, but hadn't been able to summon up the energy to rise from my chair and move across the room to do it.

"Me...who?"

"It's...complicated." There was a rueful chuckle. "I am...the room where it happens. I am...the walls that can talk."

"What?"

"You've heard the expression, right? 'If these walls could talk, the stories they could tell'? Well, here ya go!"

"I've finally done it," I whispered. "I've gone 'round the bend. The cheese slid off my cracker. Send in the nice young men with the clean white coats."

Laughter. Clearly, my slide into the land of insanity was amusing to the walls. And why not? It was funny, in a way. Funny that it hadn't happened sooner.

The laughter stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

I said nothing.

"It's just that you reminded me of that stupid song--it caught me off guard." The voice chanted: "They're coming to take me away, ha ha!"

"Shut up!"

"Yeah. Sorry. Ahem!"

How the hell does a wall clear its throat? I thought.

Yep. Definitely crazy now.

I stared down at Dan. His face was calm, composed. Why not? According to the doctors, he was barely there anymore. What was left of his brain activity was keeping his heart beating, although his other organs were shutting down one by one.

"You say this is the room where it happens," I muttered, still staring into the face of the man I had loved since we were children. "It should have happened already. How can he still be here?"

Complete organ failure. He just...fell asleep and never woke up. But he didn't die, either. It was like being in hell's version of limbo. Or maybe limbo is hell; what do I know?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke Saturday morning, got up, used the bathroom and washed up. I went into the kitchen and made coffee. I poured each of us a cup, and then went back to the bedroom to see what was taking Dan so long.

He usually got up before I did.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," I called from the doorway. "Coffee's on!"

No response.

"Dan?"

I moved into the room. There was a sinking deep in the pit of my stomach, and I rebelled against it. He was fine. He was just sleeping in.

I reached out and shook his shoulder lightly.

Nothing.

I shook harder.

Still nothing.

I grabbed both shoulders and shook him again. "Dan! Wake up!"

His head lolled to one side, and I put my head on his chest. His heart was beating. He was breathing shallowly.

But he didn't wake up.

I ran for the phone.

An ambulance came.

There was a hospital stay. They ran all the tests, tried what they could, and told me it was just a matter of time.

We moved to Hospice Care.

And we waited...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was so odd, relating this information to the walls of the room, but I felt I was being heard. More than that, I felt I was being listened to. There's a difference, you know?

"How long has it been?"

"Eight days."

"You know he's not going to wake up, right?"

Did I? He was still breathing! His heart was still beating!

"Maybe he has something he needs to say," I suggested. "Maybe--"

"Vera--"

"No! If there wasn't something, he'd already...he'd be gone by now!"

"Vera, stop."

I had begun to cry, nearly hysterical. I took deep breaths and forced myself to calm down.

"Listen. Just listen."

I listened.

Dan's breathing was slowing. There was a longer pause in between each breath.

"He doesn't have anything to say. But you do, don't you?"

I nodded. I did have something, although it hurt my heart to even think it.

I leaned closer to my beloved. I put my cheek against his. It was warm and dry. His whiskers scratched across my skin, and I regretted not asking for a razor this past week. He'd made no sounds or movements in days, but his beard still made an attempt to grow out.

Is that irony? Balls to that, I thought.

My mouth was close to his ear. "Danny? Honey, I love you. I don't want to lose you. But if you need to go..." I choked on a sob. Then I pulled in a couple of deep breaths. "Danny, I love you so much. I know you need to go. It's okay. It's okay, babe. I promise. I'll be fine."

Dan inhaled. It was ragged and raspy. When he exhaled, liquid gurgled in his throat.

"You can go, love." I kissed his cheek. I kissed his lips. "You can go. I love you forever."

He didn't draw another breath.

The room was still.

I sat up. "Are you there?" I asked.

There was no answer.

"Hello?"

No voice came from the walls. There was nothing more to hear in the room where it happens. The room where it always happens.

I dropped my head and began to sob in earnest, clutching the still, cooling hand of the man I loved.

Once it had happened, there was nothing more for the walls to say. I had already heard everything I needed to know. I had heard what I needed to say goodbye.

Now I'm alone.

I am truly alone.