Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

“You’re here.”

“ Me ?” She doesn’t even know me.

Derek coughs. I can tell it hurts. He gasps for a minute.

I stand there helpless.

He whispers, “If I turn blue in the middle of the night, buzz for Meg.”

“You’re already blue, babe.”

“Bluer.”

“That’s not funny.” I want to hit his arm, but I don’t dare. “I’m not staying if you’re going to do that.”

“But Mum’s counting on you.” He’s not joking. “She needs a break. I knew you were bluffing.”

I go over to the door and look up and down the hall. It’s empty. I turn around. “They’re leaving us together—all night? Is that allowed?”

“I’m kind of helpless here. I’m sure they figure you’re safe.”

“What about you?” I shut the door, lean against it with my hands pinned behind my back. “You’re too weak to run away from me again.”

“ You ran away from me .”

My eyes drop to the floor.

“I don’t blame you, Beth. Who’d want this?”

I cross the room to his bed. “I won’t this time.” I plant my lips on his salty neck.

He whispers in my ear, “Probably a bit more excitement than I can survive.”

I pull back—am I hurting him?

He manages a weak smile. “But that would be a good way to go. Do you want to take out my catheter or should I?”

I’m not sure if I’m laughing or crying. “You’re gross.”

“I tried to protect you as long as I could.”

I slide back in the chair and try to get comfortable, cross my arms, and prepare to stare at him all night.

“What are you doing?”

“Settling in to watch for blueness.”

He slides over in his bed. “I’ll share.”

“What if I get tangled up in your catheter?”

“Stay on your side.”

I climb onto the bed and lie down next to him, roll on my side so I can study his face.

He pushes a button and the lights go out.

I kiss his forehead. “Good night.”

“I can’t sleep. Do you think—”

“I’m not touching that catheter.”

“Could you sing to me?” He caresses my face.

I close my eyes. And sing. I take me down to the river,

The sweet, sweet river Jordan,

Stare across the muddy water,

And long for the other side.

His fingers trace my cheekbones and eyebrows, they play over my lips while I sing, Take me home, sweet, sweet Jesus. / And wrap me in your bosom— His hand draws away. I pause, open my eyes, he nods, and I sing, Lord, I long for the other side .

Does he long for release like that slave girl? Is that why he loves this song? Is that why he loves my voice? Take me home, take me home, take me home .

No. Not allowed. He’s not going anywhere. I change my tune, hum our duet. Sing to him, It’s gotta be, it’s gotta be about you, you, you, you. . . .

I raise a kaleidoscope up to my eye,

Twist it once and watch the bright colors fly, and the picture is so

clear—

It’s gotta be you.

He sleeps. I don’t. I lie there, wishing I’d never run away from him, wishing he’d come up those stairs to my room, wishing I’d left his T-shirt alone. My heart fills with the enormity of how much I care for him. I smooth his hair back and cherish him like a child while I sing with the slave girl again. But my babe, Lord, my sweet child / Wraps his sweet, sweet fingers so tight around my heart . . . . I look up at the ceiling, close my eyes, and whisper, He ain’t ready for Jordan .

Is anyone ever ready? Could I ever be ready to let him go?

No way. Never. He’s staying here with me.

Pulls me back, pulls me back, pulls me back.

chapter 29

REALITY

I wake up. The room is still dark. Derek lies on his side with his head propped on one hand. He’s tracing the features of my face lightly, barely touching me. He’s close enough to kiss, so I do. He’s not as hot now.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I kiss him again.

“You taste kind of nasty in the morning.”

I pull away from him and cover my mouth. “Recovered enough to be a brat. I liked you better helpless.”

I kiss the top of his head. He raises his face and catches my mouth. He doesn’t taste that great, either.

“How about we brush our teeth?”

I hurry into the bathroom. I’ve got a toothbrush and stuff in my bag because of the concert. I brush my teeth fast. My hair is a wild mess, but I don’t have time for it. I find Derek’s toothbrush in a shaving kit by the sink, load it up with toothpaste, fill a glass with water, and run a washcloth under warm water, wring it, and head back to Derek.

I catch him disconnecting the tube that goes into his stomach. I stand there dripping while he finishes. “You do that yourself?”

“Half my life.” He pulls the sheet over the plastic port in his stomach. “I used to have to thread a tube up my nose and down the back of my throat. This is easy.”

I go to stick the toothbrush in his mouth.

He snatches it from me. “I’m not paralyzed.” He presses a button, and the head of the bed raises until he’s sitting up enough. He takes a maddeningly long time brushing his teeth. “Where am I supposed to spit?”

I whip a plastic cup off his bedside table and hand it to him. He gives me the toothbrush. I run to the bathroom to rinse it, so I don’t have to watch him spit. Not really a turn on. Neither is a hole in your stomach. Or a syringe taped to your chest.

I get back as he’s taking a last swig of fresh water. I pick up the washcloth—good, it’s still kind of warm—and wipe his face. Slowly. Major turn on. Makes up for everything else.

“Now that feels good.”

I move it down to his neck, run it over one shoulder. “About that sponge bath—”

He tugs me toward him and our lips connect. I manage to get myself onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The head of the bed lowers—smoothly—while his tongue slips softly into my mouth.

I’m lying kind of sideways—half on, half off him. I try to be careful. He’s still so weak, and I don’t want to bump the syringe that drips into the permanent port into his vein hiding just under the skin. “You’re awfully good at making out in a hospital bed.”

“Home-court advantage.” His mouth captures mine again. His hand moves under the loose scrubs top I’ve got on and caresses my back. I didn’t sleep in my bra. I savor his touch on my skin, kiss him harder—roll onto my back without falling off the bed and lie there waiting for him.

He shifts onto his side and caresses my stomach. I close my eyes—every part of me concentrating on his tender, pulsing fingertips.

“Would it kill you this morning?”

“You and your one track mind.” His face clouds up. “Don’t go there, Beth.” He draws his hand away.

I groan.

He lets the mask drop. I see his longing and frustration. “It hurts too much.” His face contorts. “Everything we won’t have.”

I roll on my side, take his face in my hands, and kiss him softly, as gently as I can, and whisper, “When it’s right.”

He turns his face away. “It won’t be, Beth. All I am is disease.”

He lets me kiss him again. I whisper, “Once upon a time there was a hideous beast who met a handsome prince. The prince saw the Beast’s agony and bestowed on it his magic kiss.”

“I’m the Beast, Beth.”

“Shhh.” I place my fingers over his mouth. “The magic kiss changed the Beast forever. She became human. She learned to love and loved the prince with all her heart.”

“And he loved her.”

I hold his eyes as I say, “And they will live happily ever after.”