Her Eyes

Two and half weeks went both painfully slow and incredibly fast for Jordan Staal. He held her hand through the entirety of it, even when her muscles clenched and moved so fast that it hurt him. The tears in her eyes when she looked at him told him that she appreciated it, even if she couldn’t form the words to tell him. It wasn’t until the dementia started to set in that he realized he was really losing her. She would go days on end with looking, but not really seeing him. The rare glimmer of recognition got him through it, though.

It was the quick glimmer of shame after which made his heart ache. He knew everything about her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, who’s laugh she couldn’t stand, and what her favorite kind of hot sauce was, but she was ashamed of being sick in front of him. So he would talk to her. Try and get her mind on him and off the interesting speck on the wall that she’d been staring at for days.

Jordan was always optimistic. Unrealistically so. He thought that one day his Karma would turn around and a doctor would appear out of nowhere to tell him that they had found a cure for Mason. But he waited, day after day. And no one showed up to tell him that, day after day. It started to become so painful for him to see Mason that he would stand outside her door, for hours, pacing, until he got the nerve to go inside.

And then, the day came that Jordan Staal broke. After a particularly bad week for her, Mason O’Rear was put on life support and heavily sedated to keep her from pulling the breathing tube out of her throat. When Jordan walked in that morning and saw her he couldn’t stop the tears that came out of nowhere. He kneeled by the edge of her bed and took her hand in his, pleading for her to look at him.

“Mason. I know you can hear me. I know you can, and I know that you can’t respond to me. I know you want to though. Mason. Please. Get better. Please Mason.”

As if on cue, the shadows that her eyelashes cast on her cheeks lightened, and her eyes opened very slowly. Jordan knew that the unfocused look in her eyes was different then the dementia look, and he leaned forward to kiss her. And he could have sworn that he felt the familiar pressure of her kissing him back. The recognition in her eyes told him that she was coherent, and he took that opportunity to say, possibly, the last words she would ever understand.

“Mason. I know you’re suffering. And for a long time I thought you could handle it, and that someone somewhere would find a cure and you would be ok. But I know they won’t. I know that. I can’t be without you, Mason. You’re the love of my life. You’re the one I’m supposed to marry and go to Paris and get drunk and wander around until 4 am with. This is not how you’re supposed to go. But I know you can’t stop this. I love you beautiful. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. So it’s ok for you to go. It’s not what either of us wants, but it’s ok. I promise.”

Notes