The Widow's Cabin (Completed)

Chapter 8

Four days after I was admitted at the hospital, my dad told me that I was finally going home. It felt weird because I wasn’t even close to being excited; fear and doubt gripped my stomach like a pair of cold hands squeezing my insides that I couldn’t even bother to be excited. I was nervous at the fact that my eyes are now useless; that the dark and void world that I used to imagine myself being in was now staring at me and will never go away. I wanted to blame Hendrix for what happened, and if I said, ‘no, I don’t blame him,’ then that would actually be plain hypocrisy. Yes, I blamed him, a part of me will always blame him, but the logical part of me knows that nothing will change no matter what I do. I am not one to hold grudges and the like, so I knew that the logical side of me will end up being victorious in this battle between ego and humility, and yes, it ended up as what I predicted. Tacky as it may seem, but I always believed that we all have our own purpose as to why we were put here on this earth, and surrounding yourself with hatred and blame and everything negative will never make you a better person; that allowing these things to take control of your whole being will actually destroy your whole being; that it would be so much better to just forgive and forget and move on. Of course, doubt will always be there to haunt me; the ultimate question of ‘can I do this? Can I do that?’ will always be there gnawing me, but I knew that wasting my time with questions like that won’t bring me anywhere; that if I ever end up being defeated, I’d rather be defeated fighting and trying than to declare myself a loser even before the battle began.

I sat up on the hospital bed surrounded by my doctor and a few nurses. The doctor was discussing about my home medications, but I couldn’t quite hear their barely audible conversation because I was being distracted by a scribbling sound, and I guessed it was a nurse jotting down whatever it was that the doctor was saying. Funny how my other senses seemed sharper at that time, but I figured maybe it was my body’s way of coping. The doctor moved closer and removed the bandage and eye patches, and the tension was heavy in the air. And even after the last eye patch was removed, everyone was still quiet that I almost shouted ‘tadaaa!’ just to break the deafening silence. My father moved closer to me and I felt his hands grip my shoulders before he planted a kiss on my forehead. I hugged him and told him that I love him, and he told me he loved me too. The doctor left a couple of take home advice and went out of the room with the other nurses. After a few minutes I heard someone enter the room.

“You okay?” A female voice asked me, and because of our four-day bonding I can tell that it was Alice.

“Swell,” I replied.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?” She told me as she tapped my shoulder.

“Sure. Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“Are you hitting on me?” she jokingly asked.

“I would definitely throw pick-up lines on you right now, about how pretty and beautiful and hot you are, but given my rather unpleasant condition, I think I’ll have to pass.”

She laughed.

“I must admit, you have beautiful eyes,” she said.

“Maybe we had the hitting part the other way around.”

            We both laughed.

            “I must say, you are rather tempting, but no, I don’t go for guys.”

            “And by ‘I don’t go for guys,’ you mean?..”

            “I’m gay.”

            “Oh.”

            She chuckled as she removed my IV.

            “So this ‘not a guy’ person, she works in here too?” I asked.