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well.”
    “Thanks,” he muttered without turning to look
at her as she left.
    When he heard the door close behind Jewell,
he rolled over to stare at the door hoping that she would come back
to tell him the she felt about him the way he felt about her. It
was crazy, but when he looked into her eyes, he felt like she was
the only thing that mattered in his life. There was nothing else in
the world, just her. When she was in the room, all of his pain
disappeared; all of his thoughts were about hope and beauty and
her.
    She was the woman that he had been looking
for his whole life without even knowing that he was looking. He had
dated before, in high school, in college, but nothing could have
prepared him for this. The electricity between them was palpable.
He was certain that she must feel it too. For a moment, when she
first walked in, he believed that she could feel it, like he did,
the inexorable draw, pulling them together like two magnets.
    But then, it was gone. The look in her eyes
that made him think, maybe…just maybe; but when he asked her why,
her answer was one of concern; simple, professional concern. Then
he understood. She was a nurse, concerned for her patient, checking
on his well-being, nothing more.
    But he could not bring himself ignore that
she did not feel about him the way that he felt about her. He would
convince her. He would make her see the possibilities of what they
could be, together. He tried to go to sleep. He was tired. He
hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since his accident. Every couple of
hours someone came in to give him a shot, or to check his injuries,
or to measure his pulse, or to shine a light into his pupils to
make sure that they were dilating correctly, to ensure he hadn’t
suffered an injury to his brain.
    He hadn’t, he was sure of it. In fact, he
felt fine. The self-administered morphine that hung from a bag next
to his bed and attached to a tube in his arm, remained untouched.
He hurt, but not enough to suffer the disorientation brought on by
the drug. He asked the nurse for an aspirin now and again drawing
confused looks and sometimes a reminder about the morphine.
    The nurses always seemed surprised he wasn’t
in more pain but he wasn’t. When he was five he climbed a tree in
front of his house that was tall, but spindly. It was very young,
and not strong enough to support the weight of a young boy. When
one of the branches broke he plummeted towards the ground landing
with his arm twisted under his body. His arm broke in three places.
The doctor told his uncle that Collin would likely be in a cast for
at least six weeks, more likely eight. His uncle, who was a doctor,
had removed the cast only two weeks after it had been put on.
Collin’s arm was fine. His uncle didn’t seem pleased. In fact, he
almost seemed despondent that Collin had healed so quickly. Collin
was thrilled to be climbing trees again so soon after his
disastrous mishap. So the fact that Collin now felt fine, with the
exception of some lingering pain where the injuries were
particularly bad, did not surprise Collin.
    Now, lying in a hospital bed after a near
fatal crash, he was grateful for his quick healing. His body ached.
Sometimes, when he was sleeping, he would turn onto his right side
and the pain from his injuries would jolt him awake, pain stabbing
through his entire body. When he was awake however, he was able to
maneuver so as to minimize the pain. It had been almost five days
since the accident. He knew that he shouldn’t feel this good, not
that he really felt all that good, but he was glad that he did.
    But now, there was a new pain. Something in
his chest, stabbing, throbbing, and sending a conspicuous ache
throughout his body from his head to his toes that he was unable to
ignore. He glanced at the morphine. He knew the morphine was there
to help curtail the physical pain of his injuries, but he knew that
the euphoric effects produced by the drug may help to ease the
psychological pain