Stand By Me

by Sarah Collins

I start my day, as I always do, by yanking back the sheer curtain and observing the sherbert orange and raspberry swirl mixed in the sky as the sun rises over the edge of the Outer Banks. The cotton ball-like clouds float and create shapes. When I was young, I thought the Outer Banks was the most beautiful place in the world. But somehow, being here has changed that. The light has become dark. The beauty has vanished within the storm clouds.

            Every afternoon, the morning sun is replaced by an angry grey that encapsulates the sky, and the air grows heavy with the scent of impending rain. Here, darkness has washed upon me like never before, and I yearn for the light and beauty of the Outer Banks that once occupied my world.

I trace the edge of my wheelchair, swirling it in circular motions. My legs, once strong and agile, now lie dormant. I was an athlete, a tumbler, and a woman full of life. But not anymore. Instead, my once vibrant body has been replaced with an old, decrepit one. Time has etched deep fissures on my forehead and scratch-like marks around my eyes. My body was tight and smooth, but now it sags and wrinkles. My husband used to tell me daily about how beautiful I was, but those words are a distant memory now.

The doctors and nurses tell me I've been here for almost a year. I don't believe them since it feels like five. I'd run away if I could walk, and they'd never find me. The monotony of my square-shaped room, the bland and mundane food, and the constant surveillance by the nurses all weigh on me. I yearn for the days when I could walk to the edge of the Outer Banks and feel the sand between my toes. I ache to see my husband, John, and have him hold me in his arms. That's my idea of freedom, the escape from the prison of this room.   

I had hoped that someone would have found me by now. The days have dragged on, and still, I haven’t seen any family or friends. For as many days as I can remember, I asked Nurse Rosie if anyone had come for me. And every day, she’d say not today, Mrs. Betty. Recently, I had the idea of putting an ad in the newspaper because John reads the newspaper every morning. He specifically checks the ad section.

For weeks, I had asked Nurse Rosie if she would send a letter to the local newspaper editor that I would draft. Her answer was always an excuse: I don’t have time; it’s not a good time; the doctor says no.

But last week, she finally agreed, probably because she had grown tired of my constant nagging. So, I prepared a letter and gave it to her. In my letter, I requested my ad to be run today because it’s John’s birthday.

Suddenly, I hear the rattle of salt and pepper shakers, and I know Nurse Rosie is approaching. She’s a respectable woman with bouncy scarlet hair. Her white mid-length dress hugs her body, revealing her slim figure.

“Good mornin’, Mrs. Betty,” Nurse Rosie says, setting my breakfast tray on the table. It has orange juice and oatmeal on it. “How are ya doin’ this fine day?”

“I’m fine,” I say, swishing my hand at her. I lean over my wheelchair, staring at the tray, ignoring the food. “I’d like the newspaper. My ad was supposed to run.”

Rosie sits in the chair next to me, “Come on, Betty, let’s eat before we get into this again. Some oatmeal?” she says, handing me a bowl of beige paste.

I put my hand in front of the bowl, forcing her to put it back on the tray; otherwise, it’d fall. “Rosie, I’m done playin’ these games with you.”

“Mrs. Betty, there’s no ad today.”

“But how will John know where I am? It’s his birthday.” My hand trembled as if I were on a rickety rollercoaster, and I pounded my slipper on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. “Get me a phone. I’ll call the newspaper myself. Today was supposed to be the day.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint ya, Mrs. Betty,” Rosie said while fixing to leave. “It was the doctor’s orders, Ma’am. He wants ya to rest. He says he’ll talk with ya in due time.” 

John and I met when we were teenagers in high school. He was the football quarterback, and I was the head cheerleader. He was the most handsome young man with his ash blonde hair swished to the side and his sky-blue eyes. John pursued me for months by giving me flowers and candies; naturally, we fit together. But it was so much deeper than that. John understood me. He saw the worst sides of me and loved me all the same. He saw me for who I was and never tried to change me. Even when we weren’t together, I could feel his presence inside me. Our souls intertwined like a gnarled tree’s branch. There was no me without John. We’d been together for 50 years, a testament to our enduring love. He’s all I’d ever known. Even when his looks faded and his hair turned white, I loved him, nonetheless.

Since I have been here, John has visited me in my dreams every night. He would tuck my hair behind my ear and hum “Stand by Me” by Ben E. King. I’d never liked the song and didn’t understand what it meant, but I’d grown used to it. His presence in my dreams served as a bittersweet reminder of the distance between us.

By suppertime, I was feeling the heat of the sweltering summer. The longing inside of me had grown insurmountable since the morning. I had never missed John’s birthday. I couldn’t endure another moment of this unbearable separation. Only with John could I find solace, could I feel safe. Once he laid eyes on me, surely, he’d understand. He’d convince Nurse Rosie and Doctor Lane that I was ready to leave. They’d have to believe him.

I never rang the nurse call button. It’s like pulling a fire alarm for an emergency, but this was an emergency. I pressed the call button with a force that imprinted my thumb.

Nurse Rosie swung open my door. Out of breath, she braced her hip. “Betty, I came as fast as I could. What’s the matter?”

I attempted to stand, wobbling my way onto my feet. “I want to see John. He doesn’t know where I am. You people are keeping me here against my will.”

Rosie ignored me while tilting her head towards the doorway, “We have an Emergency Doctor Lane.”

Doctor Lane rushed in, and his stethoscope hung lopsidedly. “What’s the matter, Rosie?” He peered at me while I attempted to stand, “Betty, you can’t walk. Please, sit down in your wheelchair.”

I hung onto the loveseat as if I were hanging onto a cliff edge. “I want to see John. It’s been too long. He needs me at home. You can’t keep me here.”

Nurse Rosie and Doctor Lane exchanged a knowing glance, their authority palpable in the room. “Alright, Betty. I’ll tell you where he is. But you must sit down,” the doctor said.

I plopped into my seat, squishing my cardigan. Finally, some answers. I was going to see my Johnny. 

The color drained from Rosie’s face, making it indistinguishable from her stark white uniform. “Doctor, no, it’s too soon to tell her. She isn’t ready.” 

The doctor waved his hand at her, “It’s time we told her.” He stared at me unassumingly.

“Spit it out,” I said.

The doctor continued, “Betty, there was an accident. You’re here because of a car accident. John was driving.”

My chest ached. An accident? I couldn’t remember one. “And where is he now? Is he here, too?”

“No. No. John didn’t make it, Betty,” the doctor said.

“What, do you mean he didn’t make it?”

Suddenly, memories of broken glass stained with blood filled my memory. My Johnny slumped over, “Stand by Me” playing on the radio.

“Why haven’t I remembered until now?”

“The crash caused head trauma-related amnesia,” the doctor said. 

I sat silently, unable to speak for the remainder of the day. With the doctor’s few words, my world had ceased to exist. I had nothing. My hope was gone. My future was gone. No one was coming for me. John was gone.

*

That night, I fell into hibernation; my body relaxed, and my brain stopped turning. I had my answers. I woke to a song echoing through my ears. “When the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see. No, I won't be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid. Just as long as you stand by me.”

John rested in my doorway; his hand firmly planted in his right pocket. A cloud of daffodil yellow surrounded him, his skin unwrinkled and his hair blonde. 

I called out to him, my voice quivering with desperate hope: “John? Johnny? Is that really you?”

He walked to the edge of my bed, reaching for my hand. “Yes, Betty, it’s me. I’ve come to take you away.”

“They told me you were dead. I’ve wished for you for so long.” 

He enveloped me in his arms, his voice filled with a joyous relief. “I’ve missed you, Betty, and your radiant beauty.”

I peered at him, “But why have you come now?”

“Because you have remembered.” He grabbed my unwrinkled hand, and our hands intertwined like they had many years ago. “It’s time, darlin.”

John and I walked hand in hand outside and to the ocean's edge. The waves of the Outer Banks crashed against the shore in a rhythmic, soothing motion. 

He tucked my hair behind my ear, “My Betty, I’ve been waiting for you.”

* * * * *

Sarah Collins lives in a small town outside Portland, Oregon, with her husband and three dogs. She's a part-time graduate student who enjoys reading classic literature. Her main passion is uplifting women through writing.