It Takes Two

I’m much happier here, sat between my mother and father, basking in the white clouds and the constant sunshine, blissfully ignorant. There are harps playing somewhere in the distance, the soft music never stopping but never losing its fresh quality, a constant reminder of peace. My head feels so light and clear, as though I never need worry about anything again. If only everyone down on earth knew the bliss waiting for them up here; for who would struggle through the toils of life when this sweet slumber awaits above?

My least favourite part of the day was putting on my uniform. A disgusting light blue shirt in size ‘Small – Large’ that went beyond the length of my knees, saved only by being tucked in by a pair of thin-material trousers that drooped over my black shoes, one of which was seriously lacking in the laces department. I closed the metal locker with its usual stiff bang, and grimaced at the man in the scratched mirror that stared back at me. I reminisced of my old uniform; a smart suit and expensive shoes, and the tie my mum bought me when I was 14; I wore it every day until I left. Everything had fallen apart since they died.

The wards were particularly quiet today. There were no dramatic stories of “Jean stole my magazine!” or any scumbags trying to steal the morphine from Dr. Ranganesh. On days like this I would wander aimlessly, and I would be glared at, people intimidated by the ‘Security’ labels on my shoulders, as though I was a real policeman or just anyone who had any remote power. Well, I’m none of those three things; I’m Robert Days, junior security guard at Norwich Royal Infirmary. And I hate this job.

I sat staring out of the window on the 7^th floor, the rain drizzling down the windows. Rain induces the worst of thoughts. My mother would tell me to “Quit, then!” My father would inform me that “it would get better, stick with it” – I always had a choice of advice to go with.

I picked up one of the patient’s papers, and read the date from the top; November 12^th. It was 15 years tomorrow. I had a gut wrenching shock hit me, and I felt like I had just a few months earlier, when I nearly asked for more compassionate leave 14 and a half years after they died.

“But you’re coping so well!” I was comforted by the soft tones of Gemma, my long-standing best friend over the phone that lunchtime. “It’s a process” she would say in that unmistakable tone. “You know that we all adore you, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and ever will have – you’re amazing.” She spoke so softly and confidently, as though she had been troubled by my problems all day too, and she had come to conclusions after long periods of thought about my own life as well.

I always welled up when they said that and I always thought I might be boring them by now with all of this. I coughed and cleared my throat when someone came into the store room, and muttered something along the lines of “Hayfever” to cover the show of emotion. Crying felt easier than smiling.

“Days, you’re needed on the rooftop.” My superior, dressed in his perfectly fitting uniform barged at me from the door, passing on all responsibility for what happened next; he was on lunch now.  

“What have we got?” I asked.

“A jumper.”

I found him on the slightly-raised stone edge of the hospital’s cliff-like roof. He had a long, stylish trench coat with a turned-up collar adoring his very calm, unwavering body. The cold stabbed me in my chest and I zipped up my hoodie and my thin standard-issue coat, walked towards him, and prepared to begin the speech. His coat didn’t blow in the wind, which had knocked my hair out of place with brute force, the biting cold separating my ears from any senses. He stood there, unperturbed by the elements.

“It’s so boring isn’t it?” The jumper screamed in a curiously calm tone. He had me under his thumb within moments. I was his.

The last one I had dealt with was so nervous and unstable, he almost fell over the edge because his shoes kept clicking together – I had to pull him back from the edge myself. But this one, he had a rope of words tied around me, and I was being pulled towards him. His language so beautifully crafted yet so poignantly paranoid.

“We’re all just staying here, plodding along, and approaching death very, very slowly.” Cynicism seems a frighteningly tame way to describe his tone. There was something almost fuzzy about him – his black, perfectly combed hair was almost not real, with the rest of his appearance similarly perfect. He did not look like a man on the edge of death.

“Look at your life, look deep, and stare right into the heart of darkness that your mind harbours and tell me what you see.” He warranted a direct reply from me; his speech was so controlled.

I couldn’t speak and managed merely a squeal; I was met with disappointment and a turn of the head away from me and back towards the clearing sky.

“What are the worst things about your life? The very worst, the things you have to supress and ignore everyday just to keep the happy face that everyone expects of you, Robert.” He was more supportive this time, looking inquisitively for an answer, and he used my name in a shocking, though comforting tone, in the same way a therapist would.

I found myself weeping instantly, my cheeks flooding with tears as I told him everything. A complete stranger and I told him everything; my parents, my ex-girlfriend, this job. I shared the most private corners of my existence with this suicidal randomer, I opened up completely and went so low and deep. I felt tired with emotion and my head felt increasingly heavy.

“Now you know why I’m here.” He replied in such a short manner to the outburst of a lifetime. “It’s time, Robert.” He nodded to me with a reassuring smile. 

“I know.” I said reluctantly but quickly, as though I knew this day had been coming yet I had feared it for so long that I tried to forget it would.

As I stepped up onto the ledge myself, and looked across at him (I never got a name) to my right, I thought of Mum’s complete adoration for me. I thought of my father’s belief in me, and his love.

I looked up to the blue sky and the clouds, blew a kiss on my hands and then pointed upwards, and felt a sudden burst of excitement. I would see them within seconds.