He
shook his head and moved away from me. I could see hurt in his eyes
suddenly, loneliness almost. “Is this where I tell you how sick I
really am and you call me later and it's just not going to work?”
He seemed annoyed at my suggestion. He walked back to his bed and
sat waiting for my answer. He took a defensive pose, crossing his
arms and watching me, almost daring me in away.
I
walked over and sat next to him. Turning, I took his hand, holding
it in both of mine. Since I had known him, I had never thought of
touching his arm, even when Jim had made the joke about it and when
he himself teased me about it. Slowly I moved my hand to touch the
lump that rested on the inside of his forearm, almost afraid of how
it would feel. I placed my hand on top of it and could feel his
blood rushing through it, almost pulsating beneath my fingers. I
could feel him watching me intently. I looked up at him, my hand
still feeling his life vibrating against it, “I just wanted you to
tell me what I need to know if you are in trouble. What to expect
when you are sick, so that I can help you if I can. That’s what a
girlfriend is supposed to do.”
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sicoactiva/3822385828/">sicoactiva</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>