Anna by Beth Stafford (books that read to you TXT) 📕

now, the room I’m in bathed in darkness and intermittent moonlight. How much time's passed?
    The bathroom light is still on, spilling into the lounge. It rests on my feet, a yellow tendril slicing through the night. I’m struck by how silent the apartment is. I can’t detect a single sound, not even the soft lapping of water clashing against the side of the bathtub.
    “Anna?” I call out, but not loud enough. I try again, but to no avail.
    The stillness of silence ensues, deafening me. All I can hear now is my own shallow breathing, getting faster and faster.
    “Anna, are you okay?”
    Silence. A cold sweat breaks on my brow, my stomach constricts. I force myself up off the couch, struggling against my own weakness. I shuffle towards the bathroom, calling out Anna’s name with every step I take.
    At first, I can’t register what I’m seeing. Anna, lying in the tub, a single hand extended over the side. Her hair is suspended in the water, perfectly still. There is no movement.
    I fall to my knees, the energy to stand draining from me. I drag myself towards the bath, barely breathing, barely even wanting to breathe. I cradle Anna’s head in my hands, and lift it up from under the water. She’s so pale, her lips blue. The freckles that I’ve always loved so much burn on the bridge of her nose, the most vibrant I’ve ever seen them.
    I lean over the edge of the bath, hooking my arms beneath hers. I need to get her out of there, I need to get her breathing again. But no matter how much I pull, my arms always slip away, as if my muscles simply refuse to cooperate.
    I’m crying now, the tears falling from my chin and into the bathwater. I start pleading with her, screaming for her to get out of the bath.
    My arms finally go slack completely, tingling all over with over-exertion. Anna’s face falls beneath the water once more, looking ethereally peaceful.
    I clamber to my feet, bile rising in my throat. I barely register getting to the phone, or calling 9-11. The woman on the other end can’t understand me, I know. I try to steady myself, I try to make my words as clear as I can. But still they slur; I worry she thinks I’m just a drunk prankster. Finally, she tells me an ambulance is on its way.
    I drop the phone, not bothering to put it back in its cradle. That’s not what’s important right now. I stumble back into the bathroom, pulling Anna out of the water once more. As long as she’s not submerged, I tell myself, she’ll be okay. I press my mouth to hers, trying to force air into her lungs. But every time I do she falls back beneath the water, my wasting muscles failing me once again.
    In the end I just sit there with her, her head pressed to my chest, kissing her hair over and over again.
    “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. I feel like such a failure; I can't help Anna when she needs me most.
    The ambulance feels like it takes an eternity to arrive. When the paramedics finally do, they lift Anna’s lifeless body from the tub with incredulous ease, as if it’s such an easy thing to do. They lay her on the bathroom floor, and I worry that the tiles are too cold for her. I drape a towel across her naked body, but a paramedic pushes it away as he starts chest compressions.
    I feel a hand on my upper arm, pulling me to my feet and out of the room. Suddenly we’re on the couch again. I’m faintly aware of a hand on my shoulder. Who is that? They’re asking me what happened. I can’t answer. I just shake my head, muttering, “I’m sorry” over and over.
    I can see the paramedics in the bathroom, kneeling beside Anna. They’re looking at each-other, faces grim. One replaces the towel across her body, and as he looks up to meet my gaze, he slowly shakes his head.
    What happens next passes in a blur. People from the morgue arrive, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. My eyes are closed, but I know they’re zipping Anna into a body bag. My Anna.
    My mother appears out of nowhere, her face damp with tears. She says something about seeing the coroner in the morning. I nod, but her words don’t sink in.
    Weeks come and go, fading into the next without so much as a glance. My mother tries to get me to meet with a counsellor, but I refuse.
    The day of Anna’s funeral is the first day I need to use a wheelchair. It's also the day I start to lose my words entirely. I try to apologise during my eulogy, but no words come out. Instead I sit there at the podium, strangled whispers issuing from my slack mouth. Without Anna, I can see no point in pursuing this futile battle against my body any longer.
    The official verdict of her autopsy stated that she had a mild case of pneumonia, and a concoction of pain-killers had caused her to pass out in the bath. Naturally, I blamed myself. I hadn’t been there when Anna needed me most. All along Anna had said she’d be by my side throughout my own sickness, but I hadn’t returned that favour. If only I’d been able to lift her from the bath. If only I’d had the strength.

***

    The memory fades, and once more I’m awake. But I wake into a world of encroaching darkness, where sounds are muffled and distant, where I can’t discern shapes or people.
    What I am aware of, though, is my mother’s presence. I can’t feel her, I can’t see her, I can’t hear her, but I know she’s there. Now that she’s back, I feel I can finally leave. I know she’ll understand. Maybe I’ll see her again one day, if there’s something on the other side of all this. Well, here’s hoping.

***

    I drift away from my body like a boat sailing away from port. I can see my body lying in the hospital bed, my mother leaning over it, sobbing. I can see Doctor Lipton turning off monitors, a frown plastered to his face. I can see a nurse taking note of my time of death. She’s crying too, and I wonder why.
    I sail upwards, through the ceiling, into the crystal sky. The clouds part for me as I pass through, my spirit being drawn to some unknown pull. The turquoise ocean of the sky intensifies as I approach, almost seeming solid. I can feel myself walking again, but how I came to be on my feet is a mystery.
    And that’s when I see her. Anna. My Anna. She’s every Anna from my travels, and yet she’s none of them. It’s her essence.
    “What took you so long?” she says, extending a hand.
    “I don’t know what kept me,” I smile.
    I’m home.

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Text: © 2012
Publication Date: 04-11-2012

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