Final Story- Draft for May 8th

The Nose

There was a man who had spent his teenage years in a leather jacket with greased back hair and a small motorcycle he worked for years to achieve. He was not the nicest of men for he had an ego that could rival the continent of China and money that gave him reason to keep that ego up. He idolized “The Fonz”, shunned the freshmen even when he was one, and was quickly avoided by all those who could easily be picked on. He had been the talk of the town, the reasons why mothers didn’t let their daughters go out at night. He swept every woman that came within five feet of him off her feet with even the slightest glance or hint of a smile. He had everything going for him, except for his grades, but that had never been his concern.
His senior year in high school he fell in love with Cheryl Dawson. They dated for three years before they planned on getting married and after a long and happy engagement they did. They made their home up the street from his mom and dad, and although it was never their favorite place it was just right for a new couple. He got a job working as a cashier at the local grocery store uptown. For years he continuously showed more signs of his aging as he got promotions at work and settled down into the family life. His only link to the past soon became his motorcycle.
It didn’t take long for Cheryl to get irritated by the dangerous concept of the motorcycle. She had her own car, she’d had it for two years now, and the motorcycle no longer brought mystery to her. She was tired of worrying about her husband riding around in the midst of larger cars. “Ben,” she would say, “you must get rid of that darn thing for me, please. I hate it.” But Ben, who had dubbed himself “The Real Fonz” on that motorcycle in 1974, who had taken numerous babes on country rides to a secret make-out spot he once cherished, and had spent long, precious hours polishing it every day, would simply nod his thick head of jet black hair and pout his perfect lips in refusal and walk away. It always worked for the swooning Cheryl.
For four months Cheryl nagged and for four months Ben didn’t listen. One morning as he prepared to go to work, he kissed his wife on the cheek and fired up his motorcycle. The bike lurched into growling life and he waved as he backed out of the little driveway and she waved back, secretly hoping his safety although he didn’t have very far to go. That morning, he decided to take a different route to work. He chose the back roads which were filled with trees and natural growth the town kept trimmed, but still allowed to flourish. It was a tender sight, a relaxing moment, and in his privacy, Ben was happy to enjoy nature without losing his manliness to an onlooker. As he rode in the swift air and his hair fluttered under his helmet and tickled his neck, he closed his eyes for the slightest of moments only to hear a heavy screeching noise coming from his right and pair of headlights colliding into a sheet of blackness.

The minute Cheryl had heard about the motorcycle accident over the phone she had rushed to her husband’s side. He was grotesquely bruised throughout his body. He had suffered from two broken ribs and a broken leg, which would heal nicely, according to the doctor. The only issue was his face. According to the doctors, his nose was shattered, and they did all they could just to get it to work again, but it would never look like it did. Instead, it was thick and sideways, and would always be plumped out and obtrusive. Cheryl cried hysterically, cursing herself for not taking more action when she told her husband not to ride that bike.
When the police confronted her to inform her of the incident and to receive insurance policies from her on the motorcycle she asked what had happened.
“Well, ma’am, you’re husband was at a two-way-stop. The car to his right had the right-of-way. Unfortunately for your husband, he wasn’t paying attention it seems. The car hit him square on. He flew a good ten feet from his back. Quite frankly, ma’am, I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
“So am I. I’ve been telling him to get rid of that bike.” Cheryl sighed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Tell me, officer, what’s the condition of the motorcycle?” The officer looked down at her and smiled.
“You’re husband will be happy to know that it’s fine. It has a little dent, but it can be fixed. It seems your husband got the brunt of the hit.” The officer jotted down the insurance number, assuming the conversation had ended. Yet, Cheryl’s mind was reeling.

With Ben in the hospital for the next week, according to the doctors, Cheryl had the house to herself. She also had the motorcycle to herself. The bike was in an impound twenty minutes away and Cheryl got it out quickly with money she had secretly saved in a jar under the bed behind some moving boxes she never bothered to unpack. Just as quickly as Cheryl had gotten it out of its prison she had sold it to a man who lived 200 miles away and had happened to be visiting his mother who lived by her in-laws. The event of his mid-life crisis presented the prime opportunity for a quick sale and the bike was gone before Ben was discharged from the hospital.
When the two arrived home, Cheryl wheeled her husband into the house, noticing his head twitching back and forth in search of his bike.
“Honey, did you get my bike back?” He asked with a slight hope saturating his voice.
“Why, I’m sorry Ben, didn’t you hear?”
There was a pause. “Hear what?”
“I forgot to tell you? I must have been so worried about you I never even gave that bike a second thought as soon as I heard.”
“So, what happened?”
“I’ll get you settled…”
“Damn it, Cheryl, just tell me! You think I’m going to be mad at you? Come at you? I can’t walk. I’m already unhappy. What news do you have that could make me sad? Just tell me!”
Cheryl’s eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice became flat and course. She was not one to be yelled at. The accident, the evil attributes of a motorcycle and a husband who didn’t listen had sparked a new power in her that ceased tolerance. In a low voice of anger she answered, “You’re bike was destroyed in that crash and crushed into a metal box.”
That was the sentence that diseased a solid marriage.

********
There is now a man who lives his life resenting his nose. Every morning he would wake cleverly fix his long thinning hair to hide the nose. He would pick out a brightly colored tie with funny little characters of some sort that drew eyes away from his bulbous, slanted nose. His wife always lived under the shadow of the nose. “Benjamin,” she would say, “shut up about that damn thing, I’m sick of hearing it. If you hate it, chop it off, just please, no more.” But Benjamin, who looked into the mirror and remembered his motorcycle, would snort and turn away from his wife.
Benjamin always resented his wife nearly as much as he resented his nose. For the last twenty-seven years, Benjamin had secretly known what Cheryl had done to his bike. He had been awake in the hospital that day she had spoken to the police officer, although he had been in no condition to speak. He knew very well that the bike had been in nearly prime condition. The sly betrayal from Cheryl had ended both his youth and a happiness he realized was a very delicate achievement in life.
Yet, one morning, as he studied himself diligently in the mirror, Cheryl reiterated her statement and they went through their normal routine of snorting, ignoring, and heavy sighs of relinquishment. He looked at his sullen grey eyes and sunken, depressed face in the mirror and found himself contemplating his wife’s words for the first time. He swiped back his hair with the pale palm of his scrawny hand and gave one final sigh in the mirror.
“You know, Cheryl, maybe I should chop it off.” He turned to look at her. She sat on the bed in a nightgown and loose curlers. Her feet were encased in fuzzy slippers and her sagging face pointed to the television that was tuned to the news. In her lips hung a cigarette that billowed tiny clouds of smoke as she exhaled. He was automatically repulsed, and yet she was still his wife. They had been married for thirty-seven years. Divorce had never been an option for either of them. “Cheryl,” he barked, “you hear me?” She waved her hand at him, engrossed more at the television than her husbands griping voice.
“What do you want, you old coot?” She growled when the report was over. She set down the cigarette in the tray next to her on the bed and gave him a sharp glance. The edges of her frayed nightgown made a strange rustling sound as she shifted her body toward him.
“Well, you’re right.” He sucked in a deep breath, admitting that was harder than he thought it would be. “I could do something with my nose. It’s been like this for fifteen years. I’ve hated it for fifteen years. I was in a crash, I had an accident, and I’ve paid for it everyday. I never really had to. Not for a long time now, anyway. What if I did get something done?”
Cheryl sat for a moment stunned at her husband’s attitude. At first, her heart softened towards his cause. She opened her mouth to agree with him, but she suddenly remembered all the years of utter resentment he’d had towards her and that nose. His unhappiness satisfied her. She craved it.
“It was a joke.” She finally said. “You’re a fool to think I’m serious. What do you think you’re going to do? Go to a doctor? Get a surgery?”
“Well, yes.”
“With what money?” Cheryl squawked in a high tone.
“Ours. We have some saved. It couldn’t be that expensive, could it?”
“You’re not spending my house money on your damn nose! If you need something new so badly, get yourself a girlfriend. But if you touch our money, I’ll break your damn nose again.” Cheryl grabbed her cigarette and her ash tray and waltzed out of the room and into the hallway. Benjamin had the biggest urge to run up behind her and kick her, but instead he walked swiftly behind her to keep his argument alive.
“I could use some of the money, not all of it. I could just get my nose done, make it better and that’ll make me better. That might make us better. If it made us better I wouldn’t need a new girlfriend. We had it great, you know, until the accident. It was downhill after the accident, slowly at first, but after so long…we need help, Cheryl.” Benjamin began to beg. It was obvious Cheryl was still not budging. They made their way into the kitchen.
“There’s no way I’m letting you spend our money on something that’s going to be buried in some odd number of years anyway.”
“Aw, Cheryl, you can’t think that way. Don’t you want to fix this? This is for you as much as it is for me.”
Cheryl perched herself in one of the dining room chairs and puffed her cigarette. He had gotten her attention at last. She shifted a bit, and Benjamin could feel the pressure wetting his forehead. He was nervous. He realized he wanted surgery and the prospect of actually being able to get it lit a fire inside of him. He was on a mission.
“Fine,” Cheryl finally said, “but we don’t have too much to spare, only about three-thousand dollars all right? Nothing more than three-thousand dollars, you hear?”
“I’ll call the doctor.”


The doctor’s office was white plastic box with bright fluorescent lights and a beautiful wooden desk with chairs on either side. The nameplate on the desk read “DR. JACOB SMITHSON.” Benjamin and Cheryl were led in and placed in the seat opposite the doctor. He was a tall, lean man with a black goatee and wise, youthful eyes. His hair was thick and waved back in folds. He was blessed with genetics. Cheryl and Benjamin both quickly remembered Benjamin hen he was young.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wendell, welcome. Hope your day’s been going well so far. How can I help you?” Dr. Smithson’s eyes focused on Cheryl. She perked up quickly.
“It’s not me, sir, it’s my husband.” She motioned toward the timid man next to her. “He wants to see how much a nose job would cost.”
“Well,” Dr. Smithson redirected his attention to Benjamin, “a nose job. Let me see your nose.” He leaned over the desk and Benjamin moved forward so that Dr. Smithson’s hands met with his nose. “This isn’t your normal structure, is it, Mr. Wendell?”
“Structure?”
“You’re nose didn’t always look like this?”
“No. I was in an accident when I was twenty-seven. Back then, they did what they could to make it breathe again. Plastic surgery…”
“I understand.” Dr. Smithson pushed in different areas. “This would be quite a surgery to get this fixed. Do you have insurance?”
“Yes, of course.” Benjamin fumbled for his wallet and found his insurance card. He handed it over to the doctor. “Do you think I could get most of this paid for?”
“Considering Rhinoplasty is technically considered plastic surgery, it’s hard to tell what your insurance company will do. You had an accident years ago, and obviously it is not hindering your ability to breathe. It’s doubtful your particular insurance company would do anything about it. You only carry minimal coverage for emergencies and the like. A surgery like this will most likely cost you personally a great deal of money.”
“Well, how much?” Cheryl cut, impatient to hear the results.
“Well, your nose is severely damaged, Mr. Wendell. A nose that would require us to, well, the details are fairly disgusting to hear, especially when you’re thinking about getting it done. The point is, the final result will be excellent and the drugs will keep you mostly painless.”
“No, doctor, the point is the money it will cost us.” Cheryl’s frustration caused her to move to her purse, obviously grasping for a cigarette until she realized where she was. Her hand went limp in her bag; her fingers caressed the cigarette box inside.

“Right, the price would be rather expensive. We do great jobs here, Mr. Wendell, and well, you’re nose, no offense, would take a great deal to get that great job. Around six-thousand dollars would be my estimate.”
“Six-thousand!” Benjamin stood up in a fit of rage. He knew what this meant. “Would that be the cost of other places?”
“Everywhere except Mexico, I assure you.” Dr. Smithson rose with Benjamin to meet him eye level. “Why don’t you and your wife go home and think about it. If you wish to go through with it, you call and we’ll make an appointment.” Dr. Smithson handed the insurance card back to Benjamin and Cheryl ushered her husband out the door. She was overjoyed inside. Benjamin walked stiffly to the car. As they entered the heat of the leather seats in their new Lincoln, Benjamin growled, “What do you think about Mexico?” Cheryl told him to shut up.

For weeks Benjamin spent his time in his office at the grocery store coming up with different ways to get the doctor to perform the surgery. He’d begged Cheryl to give him another three-thousand dollars. She firmly said no. She had a say in the matter, he knew. Much of the money they’d saved for retirement was hers and when they had to buy a new car the year before their money supply had once again become rather low. They had only been able to save a little since the car was bought. Other bills came up increasingly as their old age caused doctors to usher them into new geriatric medication. It did not help when higher car insurance led them to be even more tense with money. Benjamin had no inclination even to spend the three-thousand dollars Cheryl had set aside for him let alone the six-thousand the doctor pledged. He was nervous to withdraw that high a sum of what they considered an emergency fund over a silly nose job. Yet, the surgery was important. It had quickly become integrated into his mind as a necessary part of life. It was crucial to any future happiness he planned on having. He wanted to put the past behind him.
Thus, Benjamin brainstormed until he could come up with nothing that would allow him a free nose job. Dr. Smithson, nor any real doctor within a country-wide radius, would have any inclination to give a pro-bono nose job. Benjamin seemed out of options.

On a crisp spring evening, Benjamin walked in sullenly through the door to find his wife still in her pajamas roosting on the couch. She had the ash tray by her and was puffing a cigarette as she watched television.
“Cheryl, what are you doing?”
Cheryl glanced over and let out her breath of smoke. “I didn’t go to work today. I didn’t feel like it.”
“Well, fine, I’ll just take care of the bills.” Benjamin dropped his jacket over the chair and made his way into the living room to see what she was watching. It looked like a soap opera. Cheryl scoffed at him, but said nothing. “Do you have this morning’s newspaper? I didn’t get a chance to read it before you got your hands on it.”
“Sure, in the garbage.” Cheryl didn’t move her eyes away from the television. Benjamin made his way to the trash and found the newspaper buried under coffee grounds. He growled under his breath. That morning a co-worker by the name of Terrence had come in to his office to announce that he and his sons had made the front page of the newspaper when they won some tournament or other. Benjamin personally had nothing in his heart for the man to be happy for him, but it was a moral issue to place good employee newspaper clippings up on the walls in the grocery store. He promised Terrence he would cut out the clipping that night with his own newspaper since Terrence wanted to keep his own copy.
“I’m going out.” Benjamin grumbled. He stomped out the door and to the little quickie mart up the street. His stern look stared the customers as he lumbered in and spotted the newspaper on the counter. He bought one and was home within ten minutes. Cheryl had not moved from her spot.
“Where’d you go?”
“To get another newspaper.”
“Why’s it so important?”
“Work.” He found the clipping and the large picture, but decided to read the newspaper instead. As he flipped through the paper, an article caught his eye. The headline read, “INSURANCE FRAUD CRIMES RISING.” His eyes lit up. “Cheryl,” he cried, “I have an idea!”

It was not necessarily insurance fraud as reported by the newspaper. It was accident fraud, he concluded, as he relayed his concepts to his wife. Would she be willing to simply pull a cord? She did not comply easily.
“What do you mean you want to set it up?”
“I want to set up an accident, that’s all. I’ll break my nose again, you call an ambulance, the doctor’s fix it, and it’s fine again. That way, it’s covered by our health insurance and we’ll end up paying the minimal cost. Don’t you understand?”
“So how do you propose we do this? You want me to take a bat at you?” Cheryl had turned off the television and was now upright on the couch. She puffed another bit of her cigarette and gave her husband a malicious stare.
“A bat? That’s a little too obvious.”
Cheryl shrugged, unhappy with Benjamin’s decision. “You can’t be willing to go through all of this for a nose.”
“Why not? You should get some work done.”
Cheryl gave a snort and rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a problem with my nose.”
“Will you just help me?” Benjamin crossed his arms and stared angrily at his wife.
“Sounds like you lost your mind.” Cheryl smirked and inhaled more smoke. “But fine, if you think it’ll work, and not just hurt, then I’ll do it, if it’s going to get you to shut up.”
“It’s going to get me to shut up.” Benjamin smiled and walked away, leaving Cheryl sitting amused on the couch.

For the next three days Benjamin spent his time imagining and planning. If he fell of a chair and hit his nose just right, would it work? No, that would simply be too hard. If Cheryl took a bat to his nose like she had mentioned would she hit it? Knowing her, he’d suffer from severe brain damage. That was far too risky. Perhaps he could concentrate his mathematical skills into having something the right weight fall and hit his nose directly? He could support it by a string and Cheryl could let it drop. He could make it look like he had been doing some sort of housework in the process too, should anyone choose to ask. That sounded like a fine idea, a metal wrench perhaps from plumbing? The sink was far too low for an accident that required a heightened drop anyway. Perhaps he could be working in the backyard? Yes, on the roof! Thus, Benjamin set his entire plan into motion.
That Friday night he rigged the pulley system together, measuring where to position his nose right underneath a string above a couple of bushes. These he carefully parted to make it look like he had broken his fall with them. He marked where his nose would go. The object would be a little hammer, not quite as heavy as a regular hammer, but workable against a nose. He would shield his eyes with a padded scarf, should it rebound against another part of his face. Cheryl came out with her arms crossed to watch the procedure.
“You done yet?” She looked up at the whole system and grinned. “Got yourself something too complex for just a nose break.”
“Yes, I’m done, and now I’m going to explain it to you. You wrap me up in this scarf, make it real padded.” He handed her a thick piece of cloth. “Stuff some socks under it and then place my nose parallel with this mark.” He pointed the sharpie-penned mark out on the branch. “Then you pull that string off its place, you see? And that’ll fall straight down.” He made a swooping motion with his hands. “It’ll most likely break my nose. It should, the way I have everything placed. If it doesn’t, punch me one to get the break in bad enough so that they’ll need to fix it. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing that. Then, you take the string off and take the cloth from my head and throw that away and call the ambulance. Be in a panic when they get here, act like you care and explain the situation, you get it?” Cheryl nodded. “I’ll ask for reconstructive surgery and our insurance will cover it. Sound like a plan?”
“Sure. It’s dumb enough to sound like you made it up.”

The next morning was Saturday. It was a clear day that begged to have people outdoors. Benjamin was up with the sun, dressed in a tacky white work shirt and overalls. He made his coffee and read the newspaper, and then he made his way outside to check how the rigging held up the night before. He made some tweaks, and when he was satisfied he went to see what Cheryl was up to.
Cheryl was once more positioned on the edge of the bed, a cigarette in hand, watching the news. This was her morning routine.
“Aren’t you ready yet?”
“Who gets up at eight o’clock to fix a roof?
“Just say I’d really wanted to get it done.”
“Nobody wants to work on anything unless they get paid to do it and even then it’s a difficult call. You can’t seem too hasty.” Cheryl puffed her cigarette and leaned back against the bed. “Give me a minute. I’m not as much of a morning person as you apparently are.”
“You’re not much of an evening person either.”
“I’d be more than happy to tell the police of your little plan.” Cheryl whipped back. Benjamin stopped the intake of air he was going to use for his next sentence and he calmed down. He sat next to her on the bed. This made her rather uncomfortable.
“Listen, this means a lot to me.” He said. “I know we’ve had our hard times, and well Cheryl, I still...just thanks for helping me out today.” He patted her knee awkwardly and then walked out of the room. A small tear came to her face, but she did not budge.
Instead, she yelled to his back, “Before you go into surgery that damn trees been banging against the living room window like it’s going to break it. Will you chop down that big branch over there so that we don’t have to worry about a window payment?”
Benjamin left the room.

He got the big saw and ladder from the garage and made his way around the house to the large window that had the large branch that stabbed at it. Benjamin had been worried for some time about the branch. He was glad Cheryl ushered him to do it. It was a work day, he thought. He must as well get it done.
He carefully set the ladder against the tree and wobbled his way up to where the branch began while he balanced the saw. Then two incidents of irony quickly took place. Benjamin grabbed the branch and began to saw. Sweat invaded the fabric of his shirt as quickly as the saw invaded the branch. The branch loosened and wiggled under his weight and eventually he was able to move it back and forth in hopes to snap it off. But the mass wiggling enraged a nest of bees who had unknowingly stashed themselves in the upper branches of the tree, an area Benjamin had not been keen to look. The bees, whose privacy had also been invaded, rushed down to attack their enemy. The shock from the rush of bees to Benjamin’s head sent him in a railing peril backward down the ladder. Fortunately for him he was grabbing onto the branch which very conveniently decided to snap with the abrupt tug and down he went straight on his back from eight feet in the air.
His breath faded as it blew out of him in surprise and he heard a crack in his back. To add insult to injury the branch came crashing down, right on top of his swollen face. His lips being too large to speak out of, Benjamin lay there in hopes of being found by Cheryl.

Cheryl heard a noise outside, but thought it was the neighbor’s dog again. She, being on the opposite end of the house, found the noise to be nothing more that ignorable. She continued watching the news. When the half hour passed and the show was over she began flipping to find soap operas, until she realized that something was wrong. The tree branch should not have taken her eager husband long. She went to search the kitchen and the living room, but she came up husbandless. She looked out the window at the tree and noticed the branch was missing, but there was no husband nor was there a ladder indicating that he was still around. Confused, she searched the garage and found the ladder not replaced. This got her to thinking urgently. Where had he gone? She jogged outside to the backyard. It was silent. Yet, she saw something jutting out from around the corner of the house. It looked like the edge of a metal ladder.
“Benjamin? Are you around there?” She called. “You better not have set the trap on yourself you idiot.” She came around the bend and saw immediately a log of a branch lying on top of some strangely shaped substance and a ladder. She screamed as she realized the bloody substance was her husband’s head. She ran inside and sat down in the living room for a moment, catching her breath, taking it in. Then she reached for the phone and dialed 9-1-1. Things for her had suddenly become very real.

It took the ambulance drivers five minutes to get there and they found that her husband, although pale and cold, was still breathing. They did what they could to stabilize him before shoving him into the truck and driving away. Cheryl watched from the street. She stood tall and straight, not a drop to her eye. She agreed to meet them there. She was still in her pajamas.
It took ten minutes to change into decent clothes and hop into the Lincoln and another five to get to the hospital. She walked swiftly to the front desk and asked for the status of her husband. Cheryl did not look stressed, nor did she look in shock or in terror. She did not look like she might lose her husband. Lines of worry did not stain her face. She was neutral. This unnerved the receptionist.
“Your husband is in surgery ma’am. He suffered from a concussion, many severe bee stings, one broken rib, and…” She checked her computer, “…a very broken nose.”
Cheryl’s face turned a slight shade of grey and then red and the pink. Her eyes widened. She was surprised, the receptionist guessed. “How long is this going to take?”
“Well, I’m not sure. They’re repairing what the can. You’re more than welcome to wait outside of the surgery ward. The doctor working on your husband will be with you when he has more news. There’s nothing more I can say for you, ma’am.”
Cheryl shrugged and asked for directions to the surgery ward. Calmly, she made her way over and sat down in the chair furthest from the door. She read a magazine that was stationed next to her. She didn’t say a word to anyone who passed. She didn’t even look up, for that matter. She was quiet.
After nearly an hour a doctor came out. He resembled an older Dr. Smithson. His name was Robert Carter.
“I’m looking for a Cheryl Wendell?” The doctor called in the empty waiting room. His eyes looked at the woman reading the magazine and when she did not respond he turned to leave.
“Hold on, I’d like to finish this article.” The doctor stopped and turned, his expression clearly shocked and confused. Cheryl read for another minute and then she slowly closed the magazine and set it down. She stared at the doctor with a look that said, “Well?”
“Mrs. Wendell, you’re husband is stable. He’s suffering from a concussion, but it’s mild. All we’re really doing with that is attempting to keep him awake and aware for the time being. The broken rib is small and easily remedied. The bee stings required work on our part but they’re going to go down. But, for the matter of his broken nose.”
“What?” Now Cheryl seemed completely interested. She even made a motion to stand up.
“Well,” the doctor retreated a little, “that seems to be where the branch hit the hardest.”
“Of course it is. Convenient.” Cheryl muttered. Doctor Carter didn’t seem to understand.
“Well, it shattered his nose and we had to repair it. We did the best we could, but we’re afraid it doesn’t look like how it did.”
“So how does it look?”
“Can I be honest?”
“In baby words please. I’m not an overly educated woman.” By now Cheryl had risen and met the doctor eye to eye. She was extremely interested.
“Well, do you know Michael Jackson’s nose?”
“Yes?”
“It’s a bigger than his nose, but still has that funny shape. The bones were fairly collapsed. They seem to have been collapsed previously. We did what we could to even allow him to have a nose, but this will always have to do. I hope he’s willing to accept it.”
Cheryl laughed a little, but was unwilling to explain any further. She got directions to his room and made her way over to his bed. He opened his eyes and stared at her for a moment, taking in her face.
“Cheryl.” He croaked. His lips were swollen, his eyes were swollen, his nose was wrapped and only the edges of a deeply purple bruise could be seen. Cheryl felt something welling in her throat but she wasn’t sure what it was.
“It’s over.” He said in a bit of a whisper.
“What is?”
“This. I’ve been shit. I need to grow up. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t say that. It’s not fair. I’ve been so strong, please, you jackass you can’t do that!” Something caught in Cheryl’s voice, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She suppressed it. “You can’t be in the hospital like this wrapped like a damn mummy and apologize. You can’t think you’re going to get away with you. You can’t…”
“Cheryl, I’m sorry.”
“You can’t almost die and expect me to say I’m sorry too. You can’t assume that I thought you were going to die and I was going never forgive myself for never telling you that I got rid of your bike, that you should hate me, that you…”
“Stop it. I knew about that. I did hate you, in a way. I was angry at myself. I was angry with getting older. I blamed it on you. I shouldn’t have.”
“You knew? You knew and you didn’t leave me? But it was so important to you and I was so scared and you idiot! You idiot for not paying attention that day! You idiot for not listening to me! You idiot for keeping that damn bike for years and years and thinking you were still young! I hate you for doing that to me! I hate you for doing this to me! I hate you for asking me to hurt you! I hate you… please, don’t you ever scare me like that again. I hated being so mean. You were mean. I became…and then this happened. I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Stop. I thought so too.” Benjamin grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I dreamt of when we were young and I remembered our happiness. Can we have that again?”
“You were never happy we me, or your nose. Can you be happy with me since your nose is now always going to be like that.” She pointed to the bandage.
“We’ll see.” He giggled a laugh but sputtered a cough instead. Cheryl grabbed his chest and tried to calm him down. The nose was legacy. As the weeks went by and Benjamin healed they found a new life in themselves. Benjamin still wore brightly colored ties, but they did not bother his wife. It was incidents that injured the man who had once had everything going for him. He had blamed his wife. The nose was still around. Cheryl still lived in a shadow of it, but it was a shadow she was slowly overcoming. The nose had strangely become their happy ending.