Connections

 

Connections

 

Kesha smiled, her lips brushing his cheek before she resumed her seat. "I leave for a few days, and look what happens." She laughed, the sound light and airy. "You sure don't do things halfway; it looks like a truck ran over you."

Jason smiled despite his discomfort. "Actually, an SUV. I must look like Frankenstein with all these bandages, tubes and wires everywhere."

Kesha was sitting next to his hospital bed. A beautiful, vibrant young woman, she was stunning with her dark, shoulder-length hair, flawless complexion, and chestnut brown eyes, eyes he knew could reveal a kaleidoscope of emotions. She wore black dress slacks and a loose, dark red, off-the-shoulder blouse, exposing a tanned left shoulder and upper arm. Jason was accustomed to seeing her in blue jeans, sweatshirts and tennis shoes. His grin widened as he shook his head. "Wow, you sure look good."

With a sparkle in her dark eyes, she dipped her head demurely. "Why, thank you. I thought since I had to return for my favorite dirty old man, I would dress up for the occasion."

"Your favorite? How many do you have?"

"Okay, so you're my only favorite dirty old man."

Jason changed directions. "By the way, how did you get them to let you in? I didn't think they were allowing visitors yet."

"Well…" she said, drawing out the word, "you just need to have the right connections."

"Works for me. So how was the vacation, the skydiving?"

"It was absolutely fabulous. I was so stoked! You need to try it someday."

They both fell into an awkward silence. Jason couldn't believe a nurse hadn't come in by now. Maybe Kesha did have pull with someone.

"I was afraid I wouldn't see you again," he mumbled.

She was frowning now. "And why wouldn't I see you again?"

"Because of the things I said the day you left."

For the last three years, he and Kesha had worked part-time at the University, college money for her and post-retirement money for him. They had talked often, not only of the present but sharing stories of his past and dreams of her future. Her boyfriend, a graduate student at the University, hadn't minded the odd relationship between the older man and Kesha.

She interrupted his reverie, "You mean things like quitting your job because of how you felt about me? Because you could no longer deal with me just as a friend or pseudo-daughter—"

"Or granddaughter," he interrupted.

"Shut up, Jason. And just when did these revelations occur?"

"About the time your idiot boyfriend broke up with you last year. I held you, and you cried so hard and so long my shirt was soaked."

"I remember."

"You were hurt, and it broke my heart, but I didn't feel like just a friend or a father consoling a daughter. What I felt was far from paternal. I was ashamed. I should have known."

"Ashamed. Why?" At least she was smiling again.

"Give me a break, Kesha! We're not even from the same generation. They check my I.D. for senior citizen discounts and yours before serving you alcohol!" He was rapidly becoming upset.

Kesha stood and put her hand gently on his bandaged head, her smile spreading. "Calm down, or you'll set off all the alarms… why should you have known?"

Jason's voice was nearly inaudible. "You made me alive. Inside every older person is a younger one wondering what the hell happened. Around you, I was a young man, peering through a window at a world I could never return to. I could see your joys, sadness, hopes and dreams, passion and enthusiasm for life. I wanted that. I wanted you. I'm so sorry."

Tears formed in his eyes, blurring the beautiful face before him. "I told you that if it was a different time and place, and I was a young man again, I would follow you around like a puppy dog."

Kesha chuckled, her smile illuminating the room. She reached down with her free hand and gently wiped away his tears. "That image is certainly intriguing. You'd really like that?"

"I've dreamt about it many times. After all these years, I realized the most important part of my life was still missing. You. But with me on the backside of my life and you on the front side of yours—how unfair is that? I was born too early… or you too late."

Kesha wiped away her own tears with a hand still wet from his. She bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I have a feeling I might never have met another man like you in my lifetime. Actually, I'm sure of it. What if the young man inside you could open that window and join me?"

Jason stared at her, his expression questioning.

"Connections, remember?" Kesha kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the hospital bed.

"What are you doing?"

She helped him sit up and slid in behind him, her legs on either side of his, his damaged arms resting on her legs. "Just lie back and relax." Laying her head against his, she put her arms around him in a gentle hug. "Better?"

Jason turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against the warm smoothness of her shoulder. "You really smell good."

"Take it easy big guy. And it's called toilet water."

"Huh… toilet water?"

"I know, stupid name. The French have better names for it. It's just a lightly scented skin splash, rumored to have helped Cleopatra seduce Marc Antony."

"I can believe that."

"Ready to go home now?" Kesha murmured

"Home?"

She breathed into his ear, whispering, "You'll be with me shortly. And home is where we can be together, anywhere we want it to be. Where should we go first?"

Jason closed his eyes, not understanding but not caring, his mind wandering, dreaming. "You once said you had been to Alaska and walked on a glacier," he whispered, his voice lost amid the beeping and clicking of the instruments monitoring his life.

 

"Yes."

 

"Can we start there?" he asked, his voice blending with the silence surrounding him.

She smiled and gently squeezed him, "Sure, we both have connections now."

 

Two nurses and an orderly were talking at the hospital's ICU station, their expressions serious. The older nurse was updating the others, reading from a chart. "No change. He's been in a coma for three days now, parents deceased, not married, no children. We've gone through his cell phone address book. We've contacted everyone but one, Kesha Solomon. We left messages, but no answer yet."

The orderly looked up, "I don't think you'll get an answer. Three days ago, there was an article in the Journal; a Kesha Solomon died in a plane crash in Arizona returning from a skydiving trip."

An alarm sounded on a monitor behind the counter. With a quick glance, the head nurse yelled, "Code Blue!"

 

The orderly began cleaning the room soon after they removed the body. Confused, the young man paused momentarily, sensing the faintest hint of a woman's perfume.

It was probably just his imagination….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Texte: John C. Laird
Bildmaterialien: istockphoto.com/pilcas
Lektorat: Alexandra Laird
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.01.2012

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