23- Love him enoght but not like Patrick
The nurse came half an hour later and carefully administered the treatment to my grandfather, who barely complained about the burning sensation in his vein and continued sleeping. Then the nurse, named Yesica, handed me a sleeping bag and told me that Dr. Contreras had sent it to me. I didn't quite understand what she meant until she gave me the large, apple green padded cover. I looked at it enchanted and thanked her, blushing. "A sleeping bag to sleep on the floor?" I thought. I actually preferred sleeping with my head resting on my grandfather's lap. The discreet and professional nurse, like any woman who comes and goes every night looking after others, asked me if I was Meb's family. She had already started to exchange elbows with Leslie nights before. I pretended that the doctor's gesture of concern meant nothing in particular, and told her that Meb and I were good friends. That seemed to be enough for her as she left with a smile and wished Leslie goodnight. The nurse was very kind and had struck up a conversation with my cousin when I went out to the parking lot in the early morning for a hot chocolate. I was sometimes surprised by Leslie's great ability to make friends with strangers; she was so much like Patrick in that sense. Patrick loved meeting new people. He always needed to connect with others, while I was the complete opposite; I let my natural charm do the work and diplomatically handled situations. While I kept my own empathy withdrawn, which I usually reserved for people already known and who formed my own world, my little untouchable bubble. I looked at the sleeping bag, blushing, and bit my lip. Leslie looked at me with perspicacity but didn't say anything. I had forbidden her from saying anything about Meb or discussing the topic. I closed my notebook and laid out my new and comfortable bed on the floor next to my grandfather's bed. I closed my eyes and curled up, ready to sleep, completely exhausted.
It was a beach, I could feel the presence of her body, her skin, her figure, the sand, and the sea. You could feel everything if she was in front of you. The sun was behind me, warming my skin. I looked at my feet, caressed my thighs with every step, and walked barefoot on the cold, squeaky wooden floor. Each step made me feel at home, as I sensed the warmth of the floor tickling the soles of my feet. The glass doors were open and the cool breeze came in with the scent of the sea. The daylight made my hair shine, or maybe it was her eyes on me, I didn't know, but I felt radiant with my back to her. I started to feel an unsettling rush of heat when I saw her arms around my waist, the air became dense and my breath hitched. I felt her fingers glide down my back like a steel dagger melting into my spine, turning into melted ice and cold burning my bones. Her caresses extended to the small of my back. I smiled and felt like I was at home. I closed my eyes, focusing on her index finger tracing my shoulder blades. I had missed her so much. Something inside me broke, and the next second Patrick turned me around and I welcomed her with my lips. I waited for the sensation of her lips on my neck as she started to kiss my chin. A tear ran down my cheek, followed by another down the edge of my nose. I woke up with a bittersweet joy.
It was her, I could recognize her skin. I had dreamt about her, smiling as I hugged the sleeping bag and thought about Patrick and the sensation of his caresses. "Patrick," I whispered. I wiped away the small tears that had fallen and went out for coffee around 2 in the morning. Before I left, I woke up Leslie and told her she could sleep in the sleeping bag for a while. It was a crescent moon that night. My emotions weren't a precipice, they were more like an abyss. My head was filled with clouds despite having my feet on the ground, and my certainty was that feeling of missing her, which was the closest thing to the emptiness that comes after the precipice. I looked at the people who were in the hospital that night. The man selling coffee and a gypsy family sitting on one of the walls in the parking lot. I turned my gaze to the entrance and saw Meb's slender figure walking towards me. "Thanks for the sleeping bag," I whispered when she was close enough.
"Have you slept at all? It's not a bed, but it’s better than sleeping in a chair."
"Yes, it is."
"Do you always sleep there?"
"Yes, after a while you can't imagine how comfortable it is," she whispered, looking at me sweetly.
She told me to follow her to her car, and I did. I realized she was respected and loved in that place when the parking attendant greeted her and told her he would bring her the breakfast he promised her tomorrow, broccoli tacos, his wife's specialty. I wondered how many years she had been working there. I could barely stand being inside that place. She stopped to chat with a nurse who was telling her about the test results from the fourth floor regarding something about a critically ill patient. Now that I see everything through the rearview mirror, Meb wasn't a bad person, and that's the only reason why I loved her, even more than all the reasons she gave me to stay away from her. I was the one who messed it up. I drove her crazy with my naive innocence hidden under that yellow dress that I wore when I approached the pigeons, wanting to dance close to them when I was five years old and played in the Bolívar Square.