Drowning

The hard tile feels cold against my bare feet. My heels, I had left them in the car. Did I lock the car? I can’t remember. She was all I had in mind. The lights above me flickered as we passed under each square frame on the ceiling. They’re too bright, it must hurt her eyes. But they are closed. Feet hurry past us backwards and forward. I hear people crying out for help, pleading to unseen gods, to stop their pain. The steady beep beep of the heart machine next to her bed is soothing. It hurt me to see her like this. Sweat dotted her forehead. Shivering, clammy skin, wheezing like a wounded animal. Sudden jerks of her limbs were the sign that she was still there, fighting. She was breathing, but with great difficulty. Her breath came out in short, difficult gasps, as though she was in a big tug of war with life, struggling to keep it in her body. My nails dug into her hand and I tried to stop her from struggling. I felt her pulse through my fingers; slow and unsteady, with each raspy gasp for air. Each breath hung on to the edge of her lungs like a drowning man. I’m trying to reach for her, but she is too far away. And there’s nothing I can do to help her.