The Other Side

My palms were sweaty; my nose was still red from my cry this morning. I hadn’t brushed my hair, and I don’t think swishing mouthwash as I left the house really counts as tending to morning breath. I’d just received the call and I left. Now, I was sitting in the white, nearly empty waiting room of Saint Mary’s Hospital. The air smelled like bleach so heavily I could feel it coating my lungs, My bottom lip was bleeding but I wasn’t going to stop chewing it.
I just keep telling myself that I didn’t know him.
I wasn’t lying to myself, but how could I ever believe that? No, I didn’t know his name until this morning, and no, I’d never met him before, but I had, and I did. It’s so strange, but I love it. I love that they called me, but as I let it sink in what they’d told me on the phone, I was just saddened, and so much lower than I wanted to be when this moment happened for the first time. I wanted my hair to be curled, since it looked best that way. I wanted to wear stunning red lipstick and smell like roses. To be bumped into on the street and feel the surge, to see him from across the room and know when our eyes met, that’s how I wanted this happen.
But instead, I was in sweat jeans that were far from clean, a shirt with a retro game plastered on it, the collar frayed and stained from years of being my favorite and lawn shoes, stained green from freshly cut grass. My hair was balled up in a knot on the top of my head, a few strands tickling the back of my neck from where I didn’t care to pull it all up, and one swaying in the flow of my breath and I picked at the skin around my nails. Maybe I should’ve put time into myself, I mean, I’d been sitting out here already for thirty minutes.  
I was studying the stain in the grout between two pieces of very white tile when a stout woman in graphic scrubs approached me. Her hair was naturally red, to compliment her freckles and green eyes.  Her shoes were old, feet practically bursting out of them. She had a ring on her finger, and I was instantly saddened by the sight of it. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were sad as she stopped a foot away from my toes.
“Are you Norah?” She asked, bring my head up to her. “Norah Luppi?”
I took a breath and dropped my hands to the seat. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Her bright smile betrayed her sad eyes and she asked me to follow her. I reluctantly stood, my knees suddenly weak and my head light, but I was able to push myself through the ward.
“Room 208, a mister Howard Jones.” She said, reading off of a clipboard and gesturing to a door. It was an average door, with a square window, with tiny wiring in the glass. I’d always wondered why they do that, inlay wire into hospital windows, as if they can’t risk someone getting out of a locked room. I looked at the door for a while, told the nurse to leave and just kind of stood there, staring. There was a scratch about gurney level. Metal covered about a foot around the bottom, but nothing made this door stand out to me, and that let me down.
I mustered up enough energy to push the door open; my hands were shaky but proved to be useful in some way as they gave me passage to him.
The room was bright. Everything about it was white. The tiles on the ground were white and sleek, the ceiling was white and spotless, the walls too, were white. I busied my eyes by observing the room before the bed. I didn’t have enough courage to face the patient. There were magazines in a white rack, really old issues. There was a chair that was white with a nice blue leather cushion, like the ones in the waiting room. The crinkling noise drew my eyes to the bed and I froze.
He was half propped up on his elbow, a tube was attached to his nose to aid his breathing, his lower half was covered by a white sheet but I could see his hospital gown. His head was smooth, hairless, with tiny freckles that trailed down onto his cheek bones. His lips were full, but pale, as was his cheeks, but that wasn’t what captivated me.
I was feeling it. His amber eyes were locked with mine and I could feel it. I beautiful surge of energy so strong I could nearly see it and I had to steady myself against the wall. Seconds passed. Beautiful seconds passed. My breathing became difficult and I inwardly joked that maybe I’d need the ventilator. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and it felt like a scene from a movie, all unfolding and beautiful like I’d never thought I’d be able to get.
Only it wasn't.
It took just a few more moments for me to notice the beeping. His heart rate was so high, my eyes glanced to the monitor. It looked fine to me, but just then a group of nurses rushed in and pushed me out of the room. Without thinking I throw my hand out to him, but they’re putting a breathing mask on him and one nurse is readying a syringe.
Howard Jones was my soul-mate. And he was dying of heart failure.