Author: Abigail Betts
Two hours until the end of her shift. And every minute seemed to slip through her grasping fingers. The pain-killers were starting to kick in, and she fought against the fog of drowsiness that was descending on her. She desperately wanted to stay awake and aware tonight, she wanted to memorize this place perfectly before she left. With her back to the rowdy kitchen staff, she meticulously wiped down each menu on the counter to help her stay awake and focused. The dining area was empty; so she quietly sang to herself. A feeling of running-out-the-clock hung in the air tonight, so no one paid any attention to her quiet hymns.
Analia would have liked to stay there forever, but her mother was planning a party for tonight. She did not feel much like celebrating, but her mother did. It was impossible to miss the fridge full of casseroles and tiramisu. To the Castiglionis, there was no other way to celebrate; her mother had perfected their tried-and-true formula for celebration. But Analia felt less than enthusiastic thinking about a family party tonight. She would rather stay in this dingy little restaurant. The patrons were polite and loyal. She loved the little old couples who came every Sunday after mass, ordered the same drinks, and always tipped her twenty percent. The hours were reasonable, her manager was easy to get along with, and never made her work holidays.
But it was probably for the best that she left. She could already imagine the relief that would flood into her mother’s eyes when she came through the door tonight. And that relief would be ten-fold when Analia left. Her mother was so excited. For the past two decades or so, Analia had watched hope slowly fade from her mother’s clouded eyes: to think of her daughter, over forty, single, and a waitress… More than one Castiglioni had been lighting candles for Analia after every mass. All that worry and guilt was because of her.
It was almost a relief to think that, soon enough, very little would belong to her anymore. Very few people would be attached to her anymore She had felt the crushing pressure pushing her down for the better part of twenty years, and it was finally coming to a head. The escalation of guilt was finally coming down again. Now that the possibility of children had finally escaped from her, she could not bear to live in the disappointed heartbreak in her mother’s eyes for a second more.
Everyone could let out a sigh of relief now. Time had finally worn down Analia’s hope and resolve. She might as well make everyone else happy. Life in a convent might be better than wiping grease-coated menus, anyway.
Analia paused and rubbed at her aching back for a moment. They were closing down the restaurant for the night, and each chair that she flipped onto a table sent shooting pains throughout her body. This was just further proof that her body was begging her to let go and give up.
After a few measured breaths, she reached for another chair. But as soon as she had it in her arms, pain flared through her abdomen and made her cry out as the chair fell to the linoleum floor. Her manager rushed from the kitchen and asked, “Are you alright?”
Analia breathed heavily, clutching at her stomach and feeling her racing heartbeat echo through her body. “I think so, thanks,” she straightened up slowly and forced a smile. “I think I’ve just tweaked my back the wrong way.”
He smiled at her. “I suppose it wouldn’t be right to go out on an good note, huh?”
He chuckled to himself and went back to the kitchen to close everything down for the night.
She went back to closing the store out front, but the pain burning through her abdomen and back only worsened. When she had finished, and checked out at the register for the final time, her head was swimming. She was sweating, and her hands were trembling as she clocked out for the last time. Her rapid heartbeat echoed through her head like the roll of snare drums at the gallows.
Analia called out a hurried farewell to her manager and stumbled out to her car in the abandoned parking lot. She leaned against the car for support while she dug her keys out of her apron. She knew she needed to get to the hospital. She sat down in the driver’s seat, breathing heavily, and stared at the phone in her hand. If she called her family and told them that she needed to go to the hospital, they would probably convince her to go home and rest in bed while the rowdy noise of the family’s celebrations leaked through her thin walls. And something felt worse about this than the flu or a stomach bug, but no one at home would buy that until she was passed out on the floor.
Her mind briefly wandered to who else she could call, but even wandering near those thoughts were too painful. So, instead, she turned the keys in the ignition and drove in the direction of the hospital; alone and praying that she wouldn’t lose consciousness.
The worst of it wasn’t the surgery. She didn’t mind the IV lines hooked up to her body. Her mother’s outraged visit wasn’t too upsetting; her mother’s anger was mainly funneled through her disappointment that the party had to be cancelled. Although, Analia still felt the blame aimed at her treacherous self. Her mother’s eyes seemed to scream “How dare you choose tonight to develop acute pancreatitis?”, even though her mother’s actual words had been, “How dare you forget to call?” Analia was actually pleased that no one stayed with her in that hospital room. Her mother had even changed the date of her flight until she had had a full recovery period in the hospital.
The worst of it was driving herself to the hospital. No one should have to drive themselves to the hospital.
Analia had helped him from her car and struggled to support his weight as they made their way into the hospital. His leg was horribly swollen, and the arm he draped around her shoulders pressed a clammy palm onto her arm. She looked up at his face as they passed through the doors, and his eyes were rolling back into his head.
“Someone help!” She called. “He’s going to fall!” A nurse and a patient in the waiting room grabbed his body, and she felt them disconnect him from her body.
She stood frozen as a swarm of hospital staff surrounded him, put his body on a gurney, and took him away through a door.
A voice tore Analia’s eyes away from the door. “You brought him in?” A nurse asked her. The woman helped Analia onto a hard plastic seat. “Are you alright? We’re going to need you to fill out some paperwork.”
Analia nodded mutely. The nurse returned with a clipboard and pen. Analia grasped the pen, but her hand was shaking violently. The woman took the pen and paperwork from her, and took a seat next to her. She asked Analia the basic questions on the paper, and filled them in for her.
“Age?” the woman asked.
“He’s…twenty-five.”
The nurse paused with the pen for a moment. “And how old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
The nurse smiled weakly, cast a glance at Analia’s hand, then re-focused her attention on the paperwork. “Reason for admittance?” the nurse asked.
Analia tried her best to note each of the symptoms with a detailed chronology of their occurrence. “I think the fever started first, and I gave him some ibuprofen. Then he was sweating so much… I took his heartbeat, and that’s when I got worried. The fever spiked a couple degrees, and he was getting dizzy. I was re-adjusting the blanket to lay him down on the couch, and that’s when I saw his leg…”
“Where was the swelling concentrated?” the nurse asked her gently.
“His calf. His left calf.”
The nurse nodded and wrote. “Marital status?” she asked.
“Mine?”
“His.”
Analia spun the ring around her finger. “Single.”
The nurse looked down at Analia’s hand, but said nothing, and wrote down her answer. “Next of kin?”
Analia answered immediately. “Me. Analia Castiglioni.” The nurse took her information, then asked, “Relationship?” Analia was silent, and spun the ring around her finger again.
Analia felt unsteady as she leaned against the airline counter. Her father hoisted her luggage onto the scale for her. Analia was still recovering and weak, but the doctor had assured them that the surgery had gone perfectly. She was out of immediate danger after a few days. The flight had been postponed a week.
Her family saw her to the security checkpoint. Analia endured kisses and hugs with a smile on her pale face. The last thing she saw before she turned her back and fell into line was the glowing relief in her mother’s eyes. The short, hard woman looked like Sisyphus at the top of his hill. She was unburdened.
When Analia’s flight arrived, someone would be waiting to drive her to Bridgeport, Connecticut. The sisters of Santa Damaris were waiting for her with open arms. The convent was two thousand, eight hundred and ninety-six miles from Northwest Hospital & Medical Center. That was almost far enough to make Analia happy. That hospital was the reason that Analia’s mother would have no grandchildren. That hospital was the reason that Analia’s father never got to walk her down the aisle. That hospital had tried to kill her twice, but the second time had felt like a poetic kind of cosmic symmetry that brought her a strange sense of peace. She had been glad to walk through those doors by herself this time.
Quiet tears flowed down Analia’s face while she struggled to remove her shoes for the security checkpoint. Bending over was still fairly painful.
At least she hadn’t had to drive herself to the airport. It’s a terrible thing to have to drive yourself to the airport.