Alive
by Sakeena

**note : this is based on the french movie i watched.. i dont know the title, as usual. its one of those late night movies you can catch over at TV5.. Maybe I'm trying to justify cheating so much, eh?

It is five months. Five months that you have not opened her eyes. Five months that I have not heard your voice. But I always see you - everyday. Your beautiful saintly face in comely repose of Sleeping Beauty. A thin line -almost a smile- is painted on your lips. And your eyes - oh your brown eyes - it feels like I have not seen it for eternity.

Yes, you would have been the perfect princess, the Sleeping Beauty - almost smiling - assuredly waiting for your prince to wake you up with a kiss. Well, except that there is a monitor above your head, ticking in a rhythm of your hearbeat. You have tubes inserted to your body. And yes, I have tried to wake you up - everyday, I'd kiss you, feel the warmth of your lips, but there is none - not even a wink.

But I would come everyday anyway, believing that I'll catch a glimpse of your eyes, hear your voice speak a word - even just a word. But instead, you lay so still, so beautiful, so dead.

Five months of comatose. I heard some people experienced more than that - a year or so. I could not imagine the torture. Oh dear, are you suffering? Do you even feel half the pain I do?

But you would only lie there, in complete, passive silence.

It would have been easier have I seen you suffering - that would justify any effort or no effort to kill you. Because that's exactly what you want, right? You made me promise to kill you once I see you 'looking shitty' or that sort, when you suffer. You are vain; you'd rather die young than leave an old wrinkled up body.

But I could not even surmise a guess how you feel. You seemed so much in a peaceful repose, so calm, so peaceful. So dead...so alive. So beautiful. It's defying all that of nature. You can not live and die at the same time. You can't be at the boundary. You can't enjoy both worlds. I could not help think - and God have mercy on me - but it would have been easier, so much easier if you just died that night of your accident. Maybe I would have lost hope, maybe I would be depressed - but time will come when I can sink to no deeper depression, it would be time to rise up, to live again. I would have gone on with my life, start all over again and move on forward, cherish all your memories, honor you. At least I would know you're somewhere there, in some other world along with those who decided to take a rest ahead. At least I know you would belong somewhere. And I would belong where I do, for the meantime.

Instead, I got a wife who breathes but does not talk, one who sleeps but does not wake up. And everyday, I would come, pay you a visit, bring you flowers (dahlias, your favorite), tell you everything that happened through the day - that I got into a fight with the mailman, that the tall big-breasted "how-many-times-have-I-told-you-no-flowers" nurse gave me an evil look, that I brought a new cd player for your car. I'd sometimes go as far as play you a song or two, sit by your bed, kiss you, embrace you, expecting you to wake up anytime soon, open your eyes, ask where you are, smile, and kiss me back.

But you would only lie there, in complete, passive silence.

Sometimes I would cry, hold your hand against my face - so you'd feel my tears, my pain. So you'd finally decide - to leave or to stay?

I would wonder non-stop where you are. Do you even miss me half as much as I miss you?

It is torture. Every passing day, my hope diminishes - but at the same time, I am caught believing you become more alive in your death while I slowly die in my life. Come to think of it, I do not even know what to hope for. For your death? For your life? Because I deserve to live, too, dear.

And then, there is she. Dr. Nora Gomez. She believes you will wake up. She believes one day you will respond to my kisses, cry and be grateful to God you have a husband like me. She takes care of you, does not think dahlias are bad for your health. But most of all, she feels my pain. She is alive.

And I would cry on her shoulder while you lie in your endless, peaceful sleep.

And so, months rolled on. You sleep. So do we.

I hope you understand, dear. We exist too. We feel each other's pain. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten about you, or loved you any less. I am here everyday, waiting for you to wake up, waiting for you to open your eyes, to kiss me, although maybe not exactly to be grateful for having such a loyal husband. But tell me, what would you do if you were in my place, dearest? When the love of your life is in bed for almost half a year, so silent, almost dead? And when you kiss her, she does not respond, when you cry, she doesn't comfort you, and when you play her favorite song, she does not even hear. Or do you?

I love you, but I exist too.

On the 7th of September, I decide to be absent. Just one day, dear, just one day of solitude. I have to live.

I do not know what happened. I do not know who came to kiss you. But when I arrive the next day at the hospital, Nora burst out of your room, crying.

"What is it?"

"She's woken up, Andy. Your wife." And she runs off, wiping her tears.

True enough, you're awake. And I hug you, kiss you, and I stare at those brown eyes, those brown eyes that I have not seen for eternity. Finally, you've come back; you decided to stay. You've chosen me over death. Finally, you can hug me back, kiss me back, smell the dahlias. Finally you can listen to your favorite song. Finally, you'd feel my pain.

You feel it so much, you lean to me and whisper to my ear, "Go to her, Andy. It's she you love."

Sakeena (c) 6 april 2003