It's Tuesday

"You okay?" asks Donna when I'm finished throwing up.

"Yeah," I say as I use the bottom of my shirt to wipe my mouth.  I've been feeling nauseous today but Donna thinks it's just my body readjusting to nutrition.  Things have quieted down at the hospital.  We've had no new visitors these last few days and there are only a couple of people left in the infirmary.

This morning I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror; and -- to my amazement, the yellowish tinge of my face has turned to a healthier pink.

"You know," Donna starts as we walk back, "we're fine.  Everything is under control.  Why don't you go and rest?"

I nod.  Resting isn't really an option at the moment, but I decide to use the time to check on Jim and the car.  Jim didn't lie when I first met him and he said that there was '800 of us' here.  But what he neglected to tell me was that over 100 would not make it through the week.

The remainder of us have gone about making town more comfortable.  A couple of Engineers have managed to create a plumbing system using various generators and the local mill.  Some people have claimed houses near the hospital; and of course, there is the tavern where our meals are prepared for us. 

I've decided to sleep in the hospital rather than occupy a house that someone else might want.  I don't want to get too comfortable here.  For me, this is merely a pit stop.

As I approach the garage where Jim is working on my car, I can hear him humming away off-beat to the various clunks and clanks that go along with automotive repair.

"Hey!" I say as I pop my head in the doorway.  At first he doesn't hear me, so I take a seat on one of the stools and wait for a moment where he pauses.  When he finally does, I try again, "Hey!" I say one more time with gusto.

He responds from under the car, "Hey back," before sliding out a moment later to properly greet me.

"You're looking good," he says as he walks towards a case of cola on the ground.

"Thanks!" I tell him and catch a glimpse of my healthier complexion in the side view mirror of the door closest to me.

"This should only take another day or so.  I'm on shift again tomorrow, but I imagine that the car will be ready to go by the weekend," he tells me.

"That's great", I say but catch myself trailing off.  A moment later my eyes begin to well. 

Jim wipes the oil from his hands and comes over to sit near me, pulling a stool with him.  When he crouches down to my eye level, he extends a hand to my shoulder and makes eye contact.

"What's the matter?" he says.  I don't say anything at first, so he interjects.  "You don't have to leave if you don't want to.  You can stay as long as you want, you know."

I nod.  My lip begins to quiver, and I tell him that is not what I'm upset about.  He leans back giving me the space to speak, and so I blurt out what is really bothering me.

"You said by the weekend -- but.... I don't know what today is!" I say, half-laughing at the stupidity of how it sounds.

He smiles, relieved that it's something trivial.  "It's Tuesday.  Now you know." He says as he cracks open his soda and takes a large gulp.

I sit there for a moment looking at my car.  In the back of the garage, I can see the old lining from the trunk. 

Jim hasn't said anything about the blood.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" I ask him a moment later when he catches me staring off towards the past.

"No," he says and takes another gulp.  "You can tell me if you want to, but I don't need to know."

I smile.  I decide to tell Jim another time -- on a day when I'm not feeling so nauseous.  I also decide that before I go out west, that I'm going to go back for Annie -- with Jim if he'll come.  I want to give her a proper burial.  One that she deserves.

I stand when I realize that maybe Donna was right and that I should rest. 

I waive to Jim as he slides back under the car and turn to walk back towards the hospital.  I try to keep my eyes from closing as I waiver along the dirt road that will take me to the main street.  Thoughts of Annie and Mildred begin to seep into the forefront of my thinking. I don't resist, because I feel to do so would be a huge betrayal.  Instead I let their memory permeate through my being, hoping that as my cells rejuvenate on a daily basis -- so will they. 

Perhaps it's silly to believe that thinking of someone fondly after they are gone gives meaning and purpose to their existence, but it definitely helps me to assuage the guilt -- that it was them and not me.  After all, I'm not so special.  I'm just a girl caught in the hem of a nightmare -- tangled in a tightly woven seam and unable to escape.