Pink Lies

“Did you dream of me?” She asked opening her eyes to the morning’s bright sun. The mini-blinds were in the half open position, causing shadows and sun-streaks across the bed cover.

“Yes, I did.” lied. I sleep little these days.

“Was I beautiful?” She asked.

“You still are.” I answered, kissing her brow.

“Pink lies.” She smiled. White lies are for your friends. Pink lies are for your chemo-patient friends. That was the only tweet she had ever tweeted. That was in the beginning when she still had hope.

“You are beautiful.” I whispered, placing another small kiss on her cheek. She turned towards the window and the morning sun, her back staring at me. From outside a morning bird chirped a melody. Inside, the only sound was the quiet hiss of the small air tubes delivering oxygen.

“What was your dream about?” She asked.

Any answer I gave would be another lie. She sleeps a lot these days. I don’t. I stay up all night watching her. I look for the rise of her chest, you know, to be sure. Sometimes I will trace my finger along the scars. One on the left, a longer one on the right. The scars replaced her small breasts. They felt strange beneath my fingers as if there was something below the skin. I watch her closed eyes. The movement behind her colorless lids is rapid and constant. I wonder what she is dreaming of. I watch her lips. They were dry and cracking. Sometimes they bleed. Sometimes I see them moving, talking her silent-dream talk. I lean over, placing my ear close, hoping to hear her words. There are none. I look at her head where her beautiful fiery red hair once was. It’s all gone now. Smooth whiteness. Her aunt knitted her a wool cap, a fiery red cap. A fuzzy red ball with two little eyes sits on top the cap. It makes her laugh. She wears it all the time unless she’s sleeping. It’s too hot at night. She hates her baldness. There were so many other things she could have complained about, the nausea, mouth sores, the constant tingling in her hands and feet, the lack of any energy. But she has never once complained about those things. Just the baldness. Oh, she had the most beautiful red hair. It fell below her shoulders, bounced with the slightest move of her head. It was so soft and always smelled of gardenia, amber and vanilla. Musky yet intoxicating. The first time I saw her I knew I had to touch that hair. She never takes the red cap off if anyone she knows is in the room. Except me. I told her, a bald head was sexy. Pink lie. Then shave yours, she said. I should do that.

“It was about you.” I answered her.

“Was I beautiful?” She said, turning towards me. I stared into her eyes. The once brilliant green no longer sparkled.

I heard the front door open. It would be Gloria. Gloria was the hospice nurse. She provided what I could not. I think God hand-picked Gloria to be our hospice nurse. She always smiles. And sings. She is always singing some song from long-ago musical. Sometimes I know she is making up the words she doesn’t remember. That makes my wife laugh. Gloria is strong and knows why she is here. She never tells a lie; pink, white or any other color.

“I have to go to work.” I tell her. I know she will cry, but just a little. She knows about the bills. So many bills…pink bills.

I kissed her goodbye.

I opened my eyes. The half-opened blinds revealed dark gray skies. I could hear the rain drops hitting the window. I had fallen asleep. I had fallen asleep! I sat up in the bed reaching for the lamp. The light seemed too bright in the dark room. I could hear the oxygen tube delivering its essentials. I placed my hand upon her chest. The scars felt strange beneath my hand. I could feel her heart beating a thousand miles below my hand. Her eyes were open. During the night, when I slept, she had placed the fiery red cap with the fuzzy ball on her head.

“Did you dream about me?” She whispered.

“Yes.” A tear warmed my cheek.

“Was I beautiful.”

“So beautiful.” I told her. “We were walking on the beach. No one else was there. The moon and the sun sitting on the water. You asked me how could that be.”

“Is that all?” She closed her eyes.

“No. The moon and the sun were there to see you. The gasped at your beauty.”

“Pink…” Barely a whisper.

I placed my hand upon her chest, tracing the scars with my fingers.

“Lies.”

“No. It is the truth. Dreams never lie.”

She opened her eyes. I don’t think she could see me.

Smiling, “Pink dreams.” She closed her eyes.