STRINGS of COLOR (2 page)

My tired body was heavy, ragged and empty. The whiff of dirty mop water had consumed my lungs and I had often found myself dabbing frantically at the corners of my red and swollen eyes. The lights had been dimed and the curtains slightly drawn shut but I could still see him.

Every touch we shared had flashed in my mind, every smile and every kiss.

I could hear the machines.

As I sat there, I remember feeling like my heart had begun to mix with the slow and methodic beeping noises they made.

My mind had just about settled and my eyes had finally closed when I heard it.

The noise penetrated the entire room.

Louder and louder it got, like a banging in my head. I began to scream as I ran to him and wrapped my fingers around his bed rail.

"Chris!" I shouted.

My body was calling out for strength. Darn near begging for it.

For him, I would give everything, anything. I would reach down into bottomless wells just to find a speck of it.

"Find me strength; find the darkness that I am in," I kept repeating over and over in my mind.

A teardrop fell upon his face.

The doors flew open. Three nurses came charging in.

One tried to pry my fingers from his bedside but I fought with all that I had to hold on.

I was like a mad woman. I kept thinking that if he could just feel my touch, it would give him the strength to fight.

"Please, ma'am," she said to me. "You've got to let go so we can try to save him."

I had watched her lips moving, but my mind had failed to register the reality of the situation I was in.

"Let go ma'am, we're losing him!" The tone of her voice had finally broken through and I somehow began to find myself again.

I remember staring at her, and then back at him. I remember thinking to myself, "Did I hear her right?"

Dizziness hit me like the strike of a lightning bolt. My palms had begun to sweat.

"Ma'am," she said again.

Finally—I blinked.

"Please save my husband," I whispered.

"We're trying ma'am, but you've got to let go." The nurse had been forceful but kind.

My fingers let go but my heart was still with him as I was gently moved out of the way.

There was rapid movement, loud voices, and machines being brought in.

I stood against the wall clutching my shirt and watching his motionless body.

When the doors flew open again, the doctor rushed in.

I think she glanced my way for a moment. But now I can't remember.

What I do remember is that there was no slow and methodic beeping noise from the machine penetrating deep into my ear lobes anymore. It had vanished as if it had somehow been carried off into the wind.

"Come back, come back." I whispered.

I wanted to hear it again. I needed to hear it again.

His blanket was pulled back; a nurse was cutting open his gown. I watched as the scissors grazed his skin. A chill came over me.

Strong and forcefully tears began to streak down the sides of my face.

The doctor was yelling, or was that me? I think I remember the doctor's voice.

"On my count of three, go!"

"Clear!"

"He's still not responding."

"Get the machine ready again!"

"It's ready Doctor."

"Clear!"

Still the machine was silent.

"Come back beeping noise. I won't complain about you anymore. Please come back to me."

I stared at the window as if it would open and the sound would return.

There was nothing. Not one single beep!

Fear and anticipation filled the air as more nurses and doctors came rushing in.

The last thirty years of my life was slipping out through the crevices of my fingers.

"Try again!" The doctor shouted.

At that moment, the love of my life was leaving me.

"Doctor, he's not responding," a young nurse stated.

"I said try again!"

"Yes, Doctor."

This was the moment, the moment when I went into a panic. The moment I pushed past them all and ran to the foot of his bed. I began to scream at him uncontrollably.

"Come on Chris, fight baby. You can do it. Please Chris, I need you. Please baby. Fight Chris. Fight for me!"

My mind was searching for something and then I knew. I knew what I needed to do.

I began to sing.

I put every drop of what he loved about my voice into those lyrics and I allowed them to sink deep into his ears, his mind, and I prayed that they penetrated into his heart and made it beat again.

Still the machine didn't make a sound.

A nurse placed her hand over her mouth. I watched her as I sang.

Tears were falling down the corners of her cheeks.

"Don't you dare give up on him," I kept thinking.

The doctor stepped closer; the tears were racing down her face.

"Do it again!"

The nurse moved quickly to the other side.

I didn't care. I didn't care about any of them. For me, the rest of the world didn't exist, just me and my Chris. He was my love, my husband and friend.

I closed my eyes, and rested my hands firmly upon his heart. My tears graced the top of his chest. I pushed my voice, pushed my heart, and dared my throat to let go and expose just how I felt about this man.

Everyone there needed to know. They needed to know so that they too would fight. They too would hold on. They wouldn't give up, nor would they ever give in.

"We got him!"

There it was, ringing in my eyes, the sweet melody of that beeping noise.

I fell to the floor and wept profusely. The doctor had wrapped her arms around me and tried to bring me to my feet, but I didn't move. I couldn't. My knees had been shaking like a drug addict looking for a fix.

She was talking to me but it all sounded like whispers.

"He is stable for now but I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside while I look him over."

"No! I'm not leaving." I shouted at her. How could they ask me to go?

I remember staring at him as the doctor was pleading with me. My lips were quivering and I leaned in and whispered softly in his ear, "I just need thirty more years of you."

"Please, Jazzmyne," the doctor said to me.

This time I listened.

As one of the nurses moved closer to me, I finally allowed her to be lead me out the room.

Outside, I took deep breaths.

I was scared.

I was thankful.

As I stared down the hallway, I could barely see the outlines of people moving. I could faintly hear the voices of people talking.

Someone else was crying.

Someone else was screaming.

I scarcely heard the pounding of my own heart. Through the fallen tears, my mind had begun to register that an image of someone was moving towards me.

"Hello, Mother," he said.

I didn't respond.

"Mother." He said again as the inflection of his voice raised a level.

I had heard him the first time. My emotions were searing. I felt my fists balling up.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

Jonathan tried to shift his weight so that he could balance himself with the cane.

"Answer me!" I screamed.

I watched his body movement. I was looking for anything; a tiny flinch would have done it.

"The kids are scared. They want to come down here. How is he?"

I smiled. It was not the kind of smile one makes out of happiness. It was the kind of smile that said, "Have you lost your ever-lasting mind?"

"Why are you standing in front of me?" I asked him, trying to be calm. I tried to remember that I was Naya Monà, but the Jazzmyne inside colored me.

"Leave right now! You hear me!"

"Please let me explain."

My body left the wall.

Eye to eye and cheek to cheek, we stared at each other. I was back to being a once-upon-a-time mother to a once-upon-a-time son.

"You want to explain? You want to stand here, in my face, and explain how you tried to blackmail my husband? You want to explain how you are the reason why he is lying in there fighting for his life? Is that what you came here to explain?"

I laughed until my insides hurt.

"It was an accident," he stated.

"Get out! Get of my life! I have no son! You hear me, I have no son!"

"He was dying anyway."

The swiftness of my swing connected with the left side of his cheek. The fire in my eyes flamed wild and out of control. At that moment nothing else mattered to me

except hurting him as much as I was hurting.

I came at him again with my fists in the air. He felt the second of my blows into his chest. His cane hit the floor.

The adrenaline of the moment was rushing into my head and heart. The burning glare in my eyes was real, fierce.

I was beyond hurt. I felt like I was at the point where forgiveness could no longer exit.

I had to back down. I had to cool the mind and soften the heart.

I needed to see him as my son. It wasn't easy.

I didn't even hear the door to Chris' room come open. I barely realized that the nurse had reached out to quickly grab me.

I looked down at my hands. They were shacking. I saw blood, but I wasn't sure if it was mine or his.

I'm not going to lie; my heart wanted it to be his.

Should a mother ever feel that way about her son?

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave." The nurse said.

He reached for his cheek to wipe the blood away.

My ring had got him. I smiled.

I waited for him to flinch again. To speak or move in any fashion other than away from me.

I was ready.

I kept saying to myself…please let this fool take one more step, just one more toward me.

I could scarcely see his face through my tears. It didn't matter. My fist knew where to land.

I watched as the pain in his leg appeared to radiate throughout his body. I saw him shudder. I saw the tears that he tried to hide. The mother inside of me was tapping me on the shoulders, but the wife inside of me didn't care.

He reached down to pick up his cane.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't care how you meant it. You get out of this hospital, you hear me! You get out of my life!"

Right now as I lay here, upon this floor, I find myself wondering if I really meant it, or if it was just a reaction to the moment we got caught up in.

The nurse and I watched him walk away.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" she asked.

I responded.

"Yes, I'm okay. You can let me go now."

The nurse glanced up to be sure he was down the hall far enough before letting me go.

My hands reached out for the wall again and I braced myself against it.

"Can I get you some water?"

"Yes, please," I said.

"How is my husband?"

"The doctor will be out in a minute to speak with you."

I searched her face. I was looking for anything that would give me a fringe of hope.

There was nothing.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked.

There was a pause before she responded. I felt a chill run through me.

"Dr. Banner will have to answer that for you."

"Why can't you!?" Yes, I admit that my voice had risen more than I wanted it.

"He's still unconscious but stable," she said. "Dr. Banner will have to speak with you more in a few minutes. Let me go and get you some water."

Feeling sorry for my outburst, I reached out and grabbed her hand.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be." She smiled and tried to wipe away the tears that flowed down my cheeks before turning to walk away.

Sliding down to the floor, I brought my legs into my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I began to sing.

"Thirty more years of you, please give me thirty more years of loving you."

I heard the door open.

Dr. Banner stood in front of me.

"I heard that was going to be the new song for your next single."

I tried to smile as she slid down on the floor next to me.

"How is he?" I asked, ever hopefully.

"He is still stable but fighting. I can see it. He'll come back to us, just give him some time."

There was a pause. No, it was more like a moment of uneasiness. I could see her questioning herself.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"It's his cancer."

I stared at the wall across from me. A machine was there that I hadn't noticed before. It was filled with medical supplies.

I kept my eyes focused on it. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't see in her eyes what my heart was afraid to hear.

"It will be our next fight. I don't know how to tell you this. I don't even know that I should."

"How many masks do you think are in that machine? How many needles? Hundreds, right?"