Micro-story #5
From Downstairs
She was burning up one minute, freezing the next. Perpetually her skin was slick with a cold sweat. She was comfortable on her right side for a while and then her lower back would cringe and tighten up and she’d have to roll over to look up at the ceiling to gain any sort of comfort. It was only a few breaths before the muscles in her neck, shoulders, all the way down to the backs of her calves, would twinge and she’d turn onto her left. An ongoing cycle. She couldn’t taste anything, smell anything, and whatever she coughed up had the consistency (and texture) of tapioca.
Awesome.
Fortunately her husband, thus far, had managed to avoid catching any of it. And it wasn’t for a lack of exposure. He’d made more rounds to their bedroom than a nurse in a maternity ward, bringing with him all kinds of fever reducers, expectorants, food and juice that felt like swallowing glass when she ingested it. All the while, not one sniffle out of him.
Just as well, thought Stephanie. Had her husband come down with whatever flu this was, she wasn’t able to reciprocate the care he’d shown her. Not now anyway, and probably not for a while. She hardly had the strength to blow her nose when she needed to, or carry herself to the bathroom to pee. The latter she kept to herself. Her husband had been right there with a box of tissues every time but she didn’t need him traipsing off with her to the pot.
Poor Miles, she thought. He would do it if she asked. Poor, sweet Miles. He hadn’t wanted to leave her for his art panel in Scranton but she felt terrible that he’d already missed a prior engagement on her account. She wasn’t going to let him put everything on hold for her. They’d been together too long for that. It was cute when he did this kind of thing during the short time they dated thirteen years ago, but now that they’d been married the last twelve it still kind of shocked Stephanie that he hadn’t changed much in his devotion to stick by her side.
She smiled at the thought that he would stay with her on a sinking ship if the last lifeboat had only one seat. Even if her own death was imminent, he would not leave her side to save his own life. Kind of reminded her how a frog would stay put, remain sitting in a pot of cool water on a stove that was set to boil.
This was also a reminder that she needed to stop watching The Hallmark Channel while she was sick.
She supposed though, as she lay in their bed trying to find the best position to appease her aches, Miles had proved long ago he wasn’t going anywhere despite whatever situations arose, and that it was silly to even question him at this point. He remained with her, loving as ever, after they found out there would be no children.
That’s not to say he had been all smiles.
But that was nothing to think about now. It was long behind them.
And Stephanie was in no condition to go back, tearing off that old scab.
She’d found a good spot on her right side, and was about to doze off, when there came the incredible explosion of glass breaking. She nearly sat herself upright despite the pain in her back. The noise had come from somewhere downstairs.
“Miles?” Her voice was raw, hoarse.
He didn’t answer. Her husband was long gone by the time she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
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