Brown Eyes, Blue Smile Ch. 08

"Noo ... nooo ..." he muttered over and over.

His eye lids were becoming heavy, and so was his breathing. He was choking on his own vomit. He was drowning ...

Less than a minute later he gave in to the flood and passed out in blackness.

* * * *

He was in a different world when his eyes came back awake. Everything around him was white ... including the clothes he was wearing, and for a brief moment he got scared thinking he'd died and gone to meet the Man. He was lying on a bed with the sheets up to his chest staring up at the white square boards of a ceiling. He looked forward at his feet sticking like twin tent poles from underneath the bed sheets. He flexed his muscles and saw them move and was momentarily happy for that; he doubt if they would have moved had he actually been dead. It came to him then that he was in a hospital. How had he gotten here?

He tried to sit up and groaned when he felt a throbbing pain in left arm and saw the thick wraparound bandage that was there ... then he remembered how he'd gotten it.

Chris. Where the fuck was he?

He tried to sit up again, grunting from the pain in his arm while he attempted it and just then there came approaching feet. He turned to his right—he hadn't noticed the visitor that was in the room with him. He recognised her right away from the weak smile that came to her face as she approached his bed to help him sit up. She looked just as pretty as the last time he'd been with her ... except now she was spotting a dark bruised spot beneath her right chin where her former lover had hit her while they'd fought in her apartment. The bastard.

"Hey there," Shanice said as she picked up a lever that was beside his bed and pressed a button which then elevated his bed for him to sit upright. "How's my hero doing?"

"Like I just went ten rounds with Ali and lost," he said.

"Well, trust me when I say this, Ali wouldn't have equalled what you did." She caressed his face. "You were my dragon slayer."

"Yeah right, and look at the beating you and I both had. Where's he anyway?"

"Chris? Right now he's cooling off in a room down the corridor from yours, with a cop watching over him. You really roughed him up, you know."

"That'll teach him to lay his hands on my girl next time. A good thing his friends came in and held me back, or he'd be dead."

Shanice looked at him. "What friends?"

"You know ... the ones who held be back. I remember hitting him and then someone came and held me back ... I couldn't breathe and that was when I sort of passed out and woke up in here."

She laughed. "Those weren't his friends, it was the cops. It seems my neighbours heard the raucous that was going on and called the cops. It was them who held up back. You were still struggling with them when they did."

"No kidding. They ain't going to press charges, are they?"

"I don't think so." She leaned closer and kissed him. "You saved my life, Eric. I'm so happy I found you again."

"You never lost me; I was always around for you."

"Let's hope I don't get to lose you again."

"Don't you worry, I'm going to start hitting the gym once I'm out of here," he laughed.

"Michelle is here too," she said. "She brought in Lincoln some hours ago."

"How's he doing?"

She shook her head, her face turning sad. "Not good. He's in the terminal wing, in the next corridor. He had a seizure attack a couple of minutes ago, but he's sleeping now. Michelle has been crying her eyes out all day."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Give her my condolences."

"I will, but now you've got to rest yourself."

She got up from the bed, leaned forward and gave him another kiss, a lengthy one this time. "Doctor said you'll be out of here in a day or two. I'll be back tomorrow; I've got to go put this chin of mine to rest."

"Yeah, you do that." He held her hand, reluctant to let go of it. "I love you, Shanice."

"I love you too, Eric."

He gave her back her hand and waved to her as she turned and left his room.

The bedside clock on top of his drawer told him it was 9:45 P.M.

Eric had long been fed dinner and the nurse had stopped by to check his temperature as well as see how well his wound was healing more than an hour ago before leaving him alone. He had tried to fall asleep but that eluded him. He felt like taking a walk. He'd asked permission from the nurse if it was alright for him to walk around just to exercise his legs a little bit. She'd told him to wait till about nine, by then activities in the hospital would have ebbed down somewhat, but also for him not to go about disturbing any of the other patients. He'd promised he wouldn't. It was way past the hour already, but he'd opted to sit back and wait till it was ten before he began his walking exercise. He shut his eyes for a while and when he opened them and checked what the time now was, the bedside clock was telling him 9:57 P.M. That should just about do it, he thought to himself as he pushed his legs out of the thick bed sheets for the first time since he'd woken up and found himself inside it. His wounded arm wasn't hurting much anymore. He gave the arm a couple of flexes just to test it. He went into the small restroom beside his bedroom to look himself in the mirror. His hair was looking messed up, and he saw that he too had a purple bruise on his right cheek; battle scars, he muttered to himself as he turned on the water faucet in the sink and washed his face with it. Done with cleaning his face, he headed for his bedroom's door which opened out to the hospital corridor. Shanice had indicated the room where Chris was being held up was to his left. He didn't plan on taking that route, instead he turned to his right, in search of the terminal suite.

One or two nurses passed him along the way though neither made any attempt at stopping him or enquiring where he was headed to—he wasn't looking sick or like he was in pain or anything. He did ask one of them the corridor that housed the terminally ill, saying he had a friend who was sick in there and she pointed him in the right direction. It didn't take long for him to find Lincoln's room. He had it all to himself, and from the suffering he was under that was understandable.

Lincoln's room door stood open. Eric would have knocked, but from the look of things, it didn't seem necessary, instead he walked inside on light foot. Eric at first couldn't tell if he was dead already or lying comatose. Lincoln's eyes were closed but he had a dozen tubes attached to his body which in turn were connected to a life-reading machine beside him that was monitoring his pulse, body temp, and whatever else Eric could think of. Eric observed the machines with care, nothing especially the one that monitored his heart rate and knew he was alive ... at least for now. He was looking emaciated; Eric wondered how the rest of his body would look like under those thick bed sheets. He stood there staring at him for a moment and then turned around to leave. He was almost at the door when he heard a light coughing sound. He turned around and there was Lincoln, his eyes slowly coming as he had himself a coughing fit. Eric was immediately alarmed and would have hurried out in search of a nurse but then Lincoln called out to him, his voice sounding hoarse and dry like someone who'd been out in the desert for long without water.

"Hey ... you going so early?" asked Lincoln.

Eric closed the room's door and returned to his bedside. He saw a chair and pulled it closer to the bed and sat down.

"I'm sorry, I thought maybe you were having some episode of a seizure or something."

Lincoln gave a weak laugh. "Them seizures ain't nothing compared to the way I'm feeling right now."

"How are you feeling?" Eric asked.

"You want to know?"

Eric nodded.

"I feel like I'm dying, that's what I feel. Sometimes I can't feel my feet anymore and other times things just become blurry." He gasped for a moment before continuing. "I'm going to die pretty soon, I know that. Just lying here with my eyes closed wondering what heaven's going to be like ... if really my black ass gets there."

"What makes you think your black ass won't get there?"

Lincoln turned his head to look at him, and both of them burst into laughter.

"That felt good," muttered Lincoln after his laughter had tempered away. "Oh well, I guess the Lord will show some mercy on me when my ass—my black ass—gets there. I ain't done nothing except hurt the ones that loved me. This is my penance I'm living." He turned to look at him again. "You're Shanice's man, ain't you?"

"Yes, I am. My name's Eric."

"Lincoln's mine. It's a shame we're meeting like this, ain't it?"

"We ought to be having ourselves a round of beers," said Eric.

Lincoln chuckled. "Yeah, and I ought to be taking care of my little girl right about now instead of lying here dying."

Eric didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm sorry," said Lincoln. "I didn't mean to sound stupid."

"You weren't sounding any way near that. What's happening to you could happen to anyone."

"Yeah ... except I chose to be the lucky one. I was foolish and reckless then, but I'm glad I never passed it on to my woman, Michelle, or my little girl, Monique." He turned towards Eric and pointed a finger at the closet door behind him. "Mind doing me a favour, go look in that closet ... my jean's back pocket ... fish out my wallet for me."

Eric got up and did as he told him to. He found his wallet and brought it back to him. Lincoln told him to look inside one of the side pockets. Eric found a passport snapshot of a black girl grinning back at him.

"That's my little girl," said Lincoln. "That was before I ran off from her and her mom."

Eric passed the snapshot to him. "She's beautiful."

Lincoln took the photograph, smiling at Monique's features. "Yeah, she really is. So many things I'd like to say to her, but I can't. Time can be a cruel thing, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I've got a little girl too whom I haven't been with in a long while. Once I get out of here, I'm going to see about getting her back in my life."

"You and Shanice ... you know she likes you a lot. You taking good care of her?"

"It's all I want to do right now."

"Yeah, I know you will. She's a good girl, just like Michelle." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I know I'm not going to see the world outside these walls anymore. The next seizure's going to be my last—I hope it will be the last—when you get out of here, I want you to tell Michelle and my little girl, Monique, tell them how much I love them both ... and that I'm very sorry for putting them through this. Will you do that for me?"

Eric nodded. "I will tell them."

Lincoln raised a feeble hand towards him. Eric took his hand and shook it. There was no warmth in Lincoln's hand—it was as cold as ice.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Lincoln," said Eric.

"It sure would have been nice if we'd had those beers," said Lincoln.

"Yeah, it sure would have been. You take care of yourself."

"Amen, brother," muttered Lincoln, placing his daughter's snapshot of his chest, closing his eyes. "Amen to that."

Eric's eyes were welling up with tears. He turned around quickly and let Lincoln to his fate. He was crying by the time he got back to his room.

* * * *

There were church bells ringing in the distance. Somewhere behind them they could hear a mother wailing at a child—son or daughter, neither of them knew—she won't get to see anymore. They could tell it was a child from the way the woman pushed herself from the arms of comforters and fell to her knees to hug the gravestone that was being erected on the plot of dug-out earth that would become the permanent resting place to whomever it was she was crying about.

For Eric and Shanice, no words could exchange how they too were feeling this cold Sunday morning a month later as they turned their heads away from the wailing mother to watch the rest of the funeral proceedings that marked the inevitable end of their friend, Lincoln DeGoines. They were all dressed in black with sombre faces listening to the preacher give a lengthy eulogy beside Lincoln's coffin; Michelle stood beside the pastor holding Monique with one hand while her other dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Shanice too had been crying since the day—two nights after Eric last conversed with him—when Michelle called to let her known Linc was gone, and was now officially all out of tears. Gloria too was wearing a black dress and stood between them, holding a rose flower in her hand. There were a few other family members gathered there; Michelle didn't bother shaking hands with most of them when they arrived. Hardly any of them had cared to know how their son was faring while he'd been alive and suffering. The preacher said the last words and then everything was over. Gloria went forward and laid the flower she had on the coffin's surface. Others too who'd come with flowers did the same before turning around and filing away.

Shanice went over to speak with her friend. "How're you doing, Mich?"

Michelle wiped tears off her eyes. "I'm hanging tough. I'm glad you and Eric came."

"Wouldn't have missed none of it for the world. Are you going to be alright?"

Michelle sighed. "I don't know." She turned to look at the coffin which was then being lowered into the grave. "It's going to be hard knowing he's not around anymore. But I guess I'll manage. He's in a better place now."

"I'm so sorry, Mich."

Both women hugged each other before saying goodbyes, promising to meet later. Eric went and took Shanice's hand and together they strolled away from the gravesite with Gloria walking in front of them.

"I wonder if anyone's going to remember me when my time comes," said Shanice.

"I'll remember you," said Eric.

That seemed to reassure her. "Sure you would. How're you doing about Gloria and her mother?"

"The judge is going to make a ruling next week. I can't tell yet whether it'll be in my favour or not, but my lawyer says I've got a winning chance as it's obvious Tara's an unfit mother. We'll just have to wait and see."

"She's going to fight you tooth and nail, you know that."

He nodded. "Yes, I know. But I'm not afraid like I once used to before. As long as I've got you."

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. They were soon approaching the entrance gate to the cemetery; Gloria was already ahead, standing beside their parked car.

"Tell me something, Eric."

"What, darling?"

"Do you think there's really going to be a place for us in this world?"

They both came to a stop, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Yes, there is a place," said Eric. "And even if there isn't, we're going to make ourselves one."

"Do you think I'll make a good mother?"

"I think you'll make an excellent mother." He reached for her hand, rubbing his finger over the engagement ring she was sporting. "And an excellent wife, too."

"I love you, Eric," she leaned forward and kissed him.

"This is me loving you, too," he said.

Still holding hands, they made their way out of the cemetery, towards a life that waited for them.

The End