Drama, short story
The Making of a New Man
A drama set in a hospital with a wife visiting her husband who is in a coma
Am I walking? Running? No, I’m lying down. I think.
I’m not sure; it feels like I’m floating in a world of nothingness. But, on the other hand, a sense of fear is pumping through my veins, like something has gone wrong.
I’m trying to feel my way around in the dark but cannot move my legs, God, or arms. I try screaming for help, but my lips won’t open. Then, wait, I can hear… yes, footsteps.
There… I hear a familiar voice; Samara, I call, but nothing of the call rings in my ears, just her voice. Sammy, are you there? Sammy, baby, do you hear me?
That’s weird; she cannot hear me. She is talking to someone else.
“There were no witnesses at all?” Samara questions. “I can’t believe nobody saw anything.”
“It happens, Ms. Reynolds,” says the voice. “Of course, we will canvas the area and keep our eyes out for similar attacks, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Our best hope is that your husband can recover enough to give us something to go on.”
There’s a cop? Why the hell is my wife talking to a cop? I remember walking to my car in the parking garage. I’d worked late again because I couldn’t face going home. The corporate spreadsheets were more interesting than going home to my world of anger and fighting.
I felt something smash down on my back. In a flash, I was on the pavement and getting kicked and pounded by thugs. I tried to fight back. I recall my arms and legs exploding in searing pain, and before I could scream, I felt my jaw get smashed by a boot heel or club or whatever it was. It all happened so fast.
Listen, more footsteps.
“Doctor, how long might my husband be like this?”
I never got a look at them or even knew how many of them there were.
I thought I was dying. All my thoughts at that moment were for my wife and boys. Who will take care of them? They need me. Oh hell, I’ve been so I’ve been the worst husband, terrible father, but it’s all to make up.
“Ms. Reynolds, your husband is in a coma. I’m afraid he has severe damage to the brain and massive internal injuries,” he says, sounding a deep sense of regret.
OH God, Sammy, you couldn’t have been prepared for this. How could you be? I took care of everything. I have got to get out of here. My poor Sammy, my poor boys.
“But he can recover, right?” Samara asks.
“It’s possible, but… I’m sad to say, not probable.”
“Can he hear us; will he hear me? May I talk to him?”
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you for certain. Very unlikely. But in any extent, familiar voices are good for comatose patients.”
Sammy, I can hear you. I can hear you, babe.
“Doctor, can I have an alone moment with my husband?”
“Of course, I’ll have the officer wait outside. Take as long as you wish, Ms. Reynolds.”
Good, the doctor is clearing the room; I could make myself understood by Sammy. If only my fingers would move.
Am I crying? No. I never cried. I want to cry. Am I ever going to get a chance to be a good husband and father again? Eighteen years we’ve been married. I can see her image, her strawberry blonde hair down to her shoulders, the type of woman everyone notices. If only I could tell her how much I love her instead of letting my jealousy cause fights between us, arguing in the ugliest of ways.
Deep down, I know she is faithful. But I am so insecure, lashing out, trying to control her every move. It must have been hard, the boys seeing our fights and living in a house dominated by rage.
Can you hear me, Sammy? I promise to do better, especially with you, our boys. Please hear me.
“I’ll be back in an hour to check on things. Just comfort him, there’s no saying whether he can hear you or not.”
Another voice spoke from farther away this time. “We’ll need you to come down to the station, Ms. Reynolds, we will need a statement.”
Shannon didn’t reply, probably nodding with tears in her eyes. Is it just Sammy now? I want to tell her I’m going to be okay; I’m pulling through. No more fights. No more anger.
I’ll never hurt you again, Sammy. Never. Ever. We’ll live happily and cherish the good things we have. Oh, Sammy, do you hear me? Can you listen to me, honey?
I feel her hand on my face, touching me. I’ve never been affectionate enough with her. Things are going to be different when I recover. I’ll treat her so well. We’ll make things better — kind words instead of insults, honesty instead of lies, appreciation instead of accusations, and soft caresses instead of…
“Can you hear me, Jason? It’s Samara,” she says, kissing my cheek.
Her lips are so comforting. Am I crying? No, I don’t cry.
Yes, I hear you, darling.
“I do hope you can hear me, Jason. I need to explain something to you, my dear Jason.”
What, my love? You can talk to me. Please keep talking to me. I’m scared here in the dark. I need you. I’ve always needed you. I’m so sorry I didn’t
tell you more often. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better.
“I screwed up again,” she whispers. “You always said I was a screw up, didn’t you?”
I never meant it, Sammy. You know that. I love you.
“I should have hired someone more efficient. You were supposed to be
killed, not beaten into a house plant.”
What? What the fuck? Is this my Sammy? Who…?
“But this has worked out. I’ve put money aside so it’s not important that you’re dead, but later when all hope is gone, I’ll mercifully turn you
off and let you rest. That will be a sad day, Jason, be me and the boys, we’ll be strong.” Samara says, chuckling. “Later the insurance money will get us nicely past our grief.”
What! You fucking bitch! My arm won’t move to strike her, strangle the money-grabbing cow. Just wait, you stupid whore. I’ll beat the shit out of you as soon as I win over this coma.
“Can you hear me, sweetie? I hope so. I bet you’re so pissed off. You’ll never beat me again, Jason. Never. I’ll let the doctor know that your organs will be better used saving a life and giving yours next week will be a pleasure.”
Doctor…doctor…doctor….!
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