August 12th 1989.
He saved her.
His high top fade pushed away the shadows.
A machine beeps and Vivian's eyes spring open, scan the machines and the man she loves, her hero.
Her “Black Knight”.
Indicators show a bag needs changing. “Bridget” the night nurse will be in to change it.
They had some good times.
Couple of kids.
Couple of heartbreaks.
Few losses.
Death of a child.
Through it all, one thing hasn’t changed.
He’s always been her Hero.
It’s hard to see him like this.
Massive mountain of a man even now, withered and gaunt, hangs out of the bed.
His penis, first she had ever seen, is bruised and catheterized.
Honey toffee skin hangs loose.
Beautiful brown eyes closed.
Warm reassuring baritone, silent.
Big arms bent at the waist.
Thinks of the first time she saw him smile.
His arm had been cut through his Letterman’s jacket.
“It’s only a flesh wound.”
He’d paraphrased the Monty Python movie.
It was the first of many things they had in common.
Through “Desert Storm” her graduation, another ”flesh wound” that landed him on the home town police force, and the indisputable laws of the great Murphy, they’ve made it.
Till now.
Now his VA benefits and insurance are maxed out.
He doesn’t wake for days on end.
Decides.
She’s going to be his hero today.
Closes her eyes against his chest.
Feels defeated.
It’s not supposed to end this way.
He’s supposed to wake up, say “Hey Sug. Stop crying it’s only a Flesh Wound.”
They'd both loved that movie.
Spent many hours watching it beneath blankets.
No one should have to lose their best friend.
Cries as she dials the doctors number.
