The Widow's Cabin (Completed)

Chapter 7

“Sir, wake up. It’s time for your antibiotics,” a female voice said.

 I thought I was dreaming at first, but her insistent calling pulled me back to reality. I slowly sat up and winced, the pain in my head throbbing against my temples.

“Why is it so dark here? Can you please turn on the lights?” I asked in a too polite manner.

The nurse kept silent. I wondered what kept her from talking, then I realized that the room lights didn’t have anything to do with the darkness.

“Oh, right, I forgot. I’m blind now. That’s why it’s dark. Couldn’t see a thing. None. Nada. Zip. Squat.” I said sarcastically.

“Uhm, sir, your antibiotics.”

I motioned for her to put the medicine on my palm and signaled for her to hand me the water, which she did. I quickly downed the medicine with one gulp.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I handed back the empty glass.

“Alice.” She answered.

“How long have you been working here?”

“One year in October, sir.”

“Can you please stop calling me sir? I am a fine gentleman, but no, don’t call me sir.”

            “Okay si—I mean, Mr. Cooper.” She chuckled.

            “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” I chuckled as well. “Just call me Caleb.”

            She just chuckled. Talk about nonverbal communication.

            “Alice? I need a favor.”

            “And what is that?”

            “Uhm, I know this is awkward but, what do you look like?”

            “Oh.” Again with the chuckle.

“Well, I’m 5’3, fair skinned, short-haired, brown eyes, and I’m wearing a white uniform.” She laughed.

“Should work with my imagination more.” I said in a low tone.

Silence.

“I’m going to adjust your IV, okay?” she said softly.

“Okay.”

“Cheer up. You’ll be fine. There are therapies. You’ll be alright. As far as I can see, you’re a tough one.”

“And nice looking too,” I said as I flashed my mouthwash commercial smile.

“Sure you are.” She laughed.

Silence.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll be okay. As far as I can see, you’re a tough one.”

“It’s just sad, you know. One day you’re too busy doing mundane things that you don’t have the time to just pause and look around you and see the colors and beauty that the world has to offer, and the next day you end up seeing nothing but pitch black.”

“You can always see the beauty of life anytime you wish to. They are called memories.”

I smiled.

“See? You’re smiling now.”

“And so are you.”

“And you say you’re blind.”

We both chuckled.

“Thanks, Alice.”

“You bet ya.”

I listened as her footsteps faded.

An hour later, my dad arrived. The smell of cheeseburgers reached my nostrils as soon as he entered the room. Only then did I realize that I was starving, and couldn’t even remember when I last had a decent meal.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better. Just a splitting headache.”

“I’ll call the nurse for some painkillers.”

“No need, she went here earlier, gave me antibiotics. I’ll just wait it out, it’ll go away.”

“You sure?”

“Final.”

“If you say so.” He said as I felt him put the cheeseburger on my lap. I took it and gave it a big bite. It tasted great.

“By the way, how’s Hendrix?” I asked in mid-bite.

“Went to visit him earlier before I left for work. He’s great. They’re going to discharge him tomorrow. He sends you his regards.”

“What about me? When can I go home?”

“Soon, son.”

I wanted to know more but I decided not to push it. I was getting tired anyway. I finished my burger and was about to take a nap when the door opened. I heard footsteps coming towards me along with faint wailing and weeping from outside. I sat back up and shifted my head to where the sound was coming from. A woman’s voice interrupted my eavesdropping.

“Hi.” It was Alice.

“Hi, Alice.”

“Here. Your painkillers.”

I sighed. “Dad.”

“What?” he answered.

I just moved my head sideways. “Thanks, Alice.”

“Sure.” Her footsteps fading.

“Wait, Alice.”

“Yes?” she answered, her footsteps coming back.

“What’s happening outside? I heard someone crying.”

“It’s the folks from room 309. The patient just passed away.”

            “That’s tragic.”

            “Yes. Yes it is. Get some rest, Caleb.”

            “Thanks.”

Alice left the room. I heard my dad talking to himself, looking for the TV remote control. Two people were arguing, exchanging sarcasms and punch lines. I knew that my dad was nowhere near bored, because he was laughing heartily. I smiled as I listened to my dad chuckle and laugh. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw or heard him chuckle, let alone laugh. I listened some more as I let my head rest on my pillow. I was close to falling asleep when I remembered the folks of whoever was admitted on room 309. Unlike my father, their lives will never be the same again. Unlike my father who’s now laughing and enjoying a simple TV sit-com, they are now grieving for their loss.

And unlike my father, the world will never hear the laughter of whoever was the patient in room 309 ever again.