Out of the Coma, Into the Game

The hospital monitors beeped and clicked with activity. It was the first thing she heard. Her eyes tensed under the soft light coming through the blinds, and she eased them open centimeter by centimeter until her vision became clearer.

He was the first thing she saw. He was silently staring back at her, standing with his legs firmly planted apart and his arms closed over themselves. A suede jacket draped over his crossed arms. It was all wrong. The pleated khakis he wore with a white collared shirt peeking out of his wool argyle sweater stood out against his hard stance. It didn’t belong together, and that was her second clue something was off. Not that she was skipping over anything, but she couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around her first clue. Her first fucking clue that things weren’t right was the gaping hole in her memory. She couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. Not one fucking thing about why she was lying in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of her nose, mouth, and arms.

She brought her attention back to the man in front of her, starting with his hair. Dark brown--almost black, she noted--closely buzzed on the sides and parted on the left, where the hair was slightly longer and directed over the other side with hair gel. Suave came to mind. His forehead was average. Her eyebrows furrowed at why she would particularly note that--or really any of it, but she quickly unwrinkled them and went back to cataloging what new memories she could. A dimpled chin. A square jaw that met up with high cheek bones. Rich chocolaty eyes, olive skin tone, muscular perhaps--but hard to tell what’s under his frumpy clothes. Maybe Italian, maybe not, maybe handsome, maybe not her type. As she slowly scanned him over, he remained staunch in his silence.

She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her physically. Whatever they had her on was numbing. She still had use of her arms, she found out as she brought her hand up and felt for the tubes going down her throat. She slowly pulled them out, not losing eye contact with the one other person in the room. He seemed mostly curious, or was it amused? She found herself focused on her throat being relaxed, so as not to gag through the whole process. She tossed the tubing to the floor and flopped back down onto the pillow. She ran her hand along the side of the hospital bed till she found the buttons that would tilt her up into a sitting position. She noted that some details were second nature to her--maybe she’s been in a hospital before. She tried to think of things she should know, like her name, but she just kept repeating “name” in her head.

“Water,” she rasped. “Whoever you are, I need water.” He undid his arms and slung his jacket over the back of the visitor’s chair. He went to the sink and pulled a cup out of a dispenser. She noted his gait, broad shoulders swayed--he was someone in charge. In charge of what, though? He handed it to her, his fingers lingering on the cup as she wrapped her own fingers around the base. Their fingers touched; his warm and rough, hers soft and frail. She brought her eyes up to his, and he stared down at her with that look of amusement, curiosity--whatever it was, his eyes were at work on her.

“Thank you,” she said. He let go of the cup and backed up to the counter, his hands pressing behind him on the surface to support himself. He tilted his head back slightly, chin up, eyes still on the clock at work.

“Who are you?” she asked, holding back the other question: who was she?

“The doctors weren’t sure how much you’d remember or if you’d remember anything at all, but I didn’t believe them. I guess I’m wrong.” He had an accent. Was there a difference between how Brooklyn’s sounded verses the Bronx? He fell into one of those. How could she remember shit like that and not her own name?

He continued, “Come on babe,” pushing off the counter with his arms reaching out for her. “I’m your husband.”

“Husband?” it came out in a whisper. She mouthed it again, breaking their gaze. She stared down at her left hand. There was no ring—reasonable, being in a hospital they would remove those things--but there was no indent left on her ring finger from where it would’ve been. Had she been in a coma?

“Was I in a coma?”

“You were. That part is nothing to worry about. Maybe things will come back and maybe they won’t, probably better if they don’t babe. The doctor explained it, but that medical jargon is nonsense. You’re still my wife, and I want you to come home with me. I’m getting them to release you tomorrow.”

“Wait, how long was I in a coma?”

“A couple of weeks, no big deal.” He leaned over her, looking deep into her eyes. “You’re a fighter, and hard to kill.” There was something playful in his eyes, his eyebrows moving with them.

“You said the coma part is nothing to worry about. What other parts are there?”

He backed away from her. She looked over her body and tore the blankets back. Okay, she has her legs still. She wiggled her toes. And those too, she thought to herself. She pulled the tubes out of her body and sat up all the way. Her body tensed. Holding on to the bed, she stood up. A couple of weeks would not atrophy any muscles, but she still felt weak from only having liquids. She winced. Her catheter was still inside. She gently pulled it out.

“Please, husband. Don’t help.”

“She remembers sarcasm, but not her own husband’s name,” he smirked. All things considered, she had to smirk back. She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Huh, she thought to herself. She was attractive, at least maybe she was. No other faces were coming to mind to gauge from, but she liked what she saw. Auburn hair, oval face, high cheek bones, blue eyes, full lips, ashen skin tone--hope that changes to something more appealing--all of which sums up to nothing being wrong with her face. There was some bruising on her neck. She tore her hospital gown off. The skin over her ribs and abdomen were a purplish hue, and there was a bandage partly stained with red. She noticed some sharp sensations and started to feel woozy.

“Husband,” she called. It wasn’t the pain. Exhaustion rushed over, and she needed to lay down. She looked past her reflection to him standing in the doorway. His eyes lingered on her breasts. She cleared her throat. “I need help back to the bed.” His eyes moved down to her ass.

“Three weeks in a coma, babe, has nothing on you.” He moved by her side and supported her weight, bringing her back to the bed. He helped her in and called for the nurse. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand near hers, not touching.

“Shouldn’t you be holding my hand, and comforting me with husbandly assurances?”

“You want that? Wasn’t sure what kind of reception there would be for me.” Again, something in his eyes. He picked up her hand and held it. “I’m glad to know you’re open to me, and the lack of my presence in your memory isn’t hindering our relationship.” The smirk again.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself, Husband. I’d like to see wedding photos when I get home tomorrow,” she smiled, and squeezed his hand. Home. She thought about what that even looked like. Best to play along till she could understand her situation better.

“About that, babe… We eloped, and you hate your photo being taken.”

“I do?” That was convenient. “So there are no pictures of us together?”

“I didn’t say that, just nothing to commemorate our vows ‘till death do us part.’” The nurse walked in. Upon seeing the patient awake, she rushed to her bedside where the monitors were.

“Who turned these off?!” she demanded. Her husband stood up and released her hand.

“I did,” Husband responded. She was going to have to get his name so she could stop referring to him as Husband. She would have to get her own name, too.

“Mr. Ferruci, that’s in violation of hospital rules,” the nurse replied. Well, part of that was answered. The nurse and Mr. Ferruci moved on over her thoughts.

“You must be new,” he began, but the nurse interjected.

“I know who you are,” she said.

His turn to interject. “Then you know to cut her some slack. Didn’t want you rushing in before she had a chance to see some answers for herself.” The nurse paused for an extended time, her mouth pursed as if to add more to their exchange, then straightened her lips and carried on with her business. She checked Mrs. Ferruci over, ignoring Mr. Ferruci’s presence.

“Glad to see you awake, Mrs. Ferruci.” Her tone was softened. “I’ve been one of your nurses on call. How do you feel?” she asked, and then quickly added, “Do you remember anything?”

“I feel like I should be back in a coma.” She gave a faint smile to the nurse. “I’m tired is all, and no, I don’t remember anything.” She wanted to ask what her own name was, but somehow felt embarrassed that she couldn’t even pull that out of her head.

“What do you remember?” The nurse pressed. “What’s your name?”

“Mrs. Ferruci,” she replied, looking past the nurse to her husband. He moved back to her side and looked down at her.

“Joss already knows her name.” His tone softened to match the nurse’s.

“I do,” Joss said, the faint smile returning to her face. “I’m Joss… Ferruci.” Ugh. It didn’t sound convincing to her, but since she didn’t have a name to recollect, she’d take it. The nurse looked at Mr. Ferruci and turned towards the door to leave, but she turned around before disappearing out of the room.

“I’ll be back to bring you an approved menu from the cafeteria. You’ve essentially been on a three-week fast, and we’d like to start you off on soft foods. Get some rest, Mrs. Ferruci.” And then she was gone.

“Thanks,” Joss said, looking up to Mr. Ferruci. “But can I get your first name so I can stop referring to you in my head as Mr. Ferruci? It sounds weird to be calling you that when we’re supposed to be intimate.”

“Oh, we’re very intimate--as intimate as two human beings can be, babe. Let’s see…you like to refer to me as Thick Dick and Handsome, Big Freddy, and my personal favorite, Heaven.”

“All I got from that was your level of maturity, and Freddy. Is that what I should call you? Freddy?”

“Fred is fine, babe. You’ll warm up to the other ones.” That damn twinkle in his eye, it was his first hook in her. She shivered.

“Well all right then.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Check-out time is 9 am.”

“You’re not going to stay the night here with me?” Such a loving husband.

“You’re going to need some clothes; they had to toss yours. I didn’t come prepared. No one thought you’d wake up this soon, least of all me. I’m a lucky bastard I was here when you did. Any other lucky bloke, and you’d have fallen for his charade of being your husband. Glad it was me.” He shook his head and gave a soft raspy chuckle. She didn’t share his laugh, nor smile. She gave an audible sigh.

“Don’t forget my ring, Fred.” She lifted up her left hand. “Or did that get tossed too?” The smile left his face and flew to hers. Her turn to chuckle, but it fucking hurt too much and came out as a cough.

“I’ll look into what happened to your wedding band. The nurse was right, you should get some rest.”

Then he was gone, and it was just Joss. Joss Ferruci.