The date, forever inked in crimson on her soul like a tawdry tattoo. November 6, 2012. Election day.
Two hours since the call.
Motorcycle accident, trauma center, broken bones, blow to the head, no helmet. I’m okay, he says.
She does not believe him. She is across the country, twenty-two hundred miles away.
Afterwards, she sits in the darkened hotel room, dressed. Bags packed. Her face contorted, raw. She refuses to give in to frenzied emotions and wipes away the wetness on her cheeks with agitated hands. Praying to God he lives.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying for the moment she can leave this room where it started for her.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying as each minute passing feels like an hour, each hour a lifetime. She does not move from the chair.
She waits out the night, assaulted with memories. Soaking in a hot tub under the cold Sedona sky. Dinner at their favorite restaurant, Cucina Rustica. Their tender lovemaking. New Year’s ritual, champagne and crab legs. His support, patience, and endless love after her mother died 15 months ago. She cannot lose him too.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying God’s grace will give them the chance to create more memories.
The murky dawn light creeps through the crack in the curtains. At last she stands, peeks through the narrow opening with one swollen eye. There is a lone crow sitting in a tree in the misting rain. God is crying. At least she has company.
Her knees ache, she dismisses it; a minor distraction. Time to go.
Grabs her bags, walks out the door.
Gets in the warm odorous cab. The driver greets her with a smile until he sees her ravaged face. Two words spoken: “Airport please.”
Waiting, Waiting, Praying as he maneuvers through the early dawn traffic.
At the airport. The noise is deafening after a night spent listening to nothing more than her plaintive pleas to God. ‘Don’t let him die, don’t let him die, don’t let him die.’
She arrives at the gate two hours early. Eight hours until she is at his side.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying to board the plane that will take her home. Take her to him. Her beloved.
There is no one else in the row of seats. She sinks down and thanks God that at last there is some movement forward. In six hours, she will see him and know.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying while in the air, alone with her misery. There can be no other outcome than he will live.
She refuses to accept anything but.
She wants to scream with a vengeance to God, THIS WILL NOT BE THE DAY HE DIES.
Instead, she sits in the torturing silence.
Waiting, Waiting, Praying.
Linda Lee Lyberg