Chapter 5 #2
There’s blood spilling down Ash’s white skin, a deep cut on his forehead.
Shards of glass are stuck into his chin and the pain in my right arm is unbearable.
My head is spinning, the sound of screeching metal rings in my ears.
The image of a red truck flashes before my eyes and I start to fear my legs won’t hold me up much longer.
Ash walks up to me quickly, stumbling on his feet, pale as a ghost.
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have been standing for so long.
Grabbing my side with a strong arm, Ash helps me back on the bed, pushing one leg after the other on the mattress. A red truck. As Ash leans into me, I grab a hold of his t-shirt and stare into his blue eyes.
Gone is the encouraging best friend. In its place, this Ashley is sweaty and holding onto me like his life depends on it.
I forgot how tall he was—how skinny. For the first time since I woke up, I remember that he is made of flesh.
I hold tighter onto him, hoping to dig out the Ash I have grown up with from this corpse-like version of him.
“Are you okay?” Panic colours his voice.
I release his shirt and he steps back blinking rapidly. For a second, I wonder if he will leave the room. “Do you want me to shave you?” Ashley babbles out instead.
“Shave me?” I whisper and the hair on the back of my neck stands up at the intensity of his gaze.
Ash licks his lips, “Yes.”
I contemplate the offer, somewhat disoriented and thrown off balance both physically and mentally.
I think of the man I saw in the bathroom mirror earlier this morning: the thick hair longer on one side, the precious curls matted and the thick scruff on my jaw that I would have never let so out of control.
That man is not me.
My heart is keeping a wild rhythm in my chest and I force myself to exhale longer.
How do I get myself out of the man I saw in that reflection?
Where is that man? A glance in Ash’s direction makes my mind up.
I feel myself relaxing. If there is someone who can bring Ashford back, it must be the person who made me who I’m in the first place.
It has to be Ashley. It has to be my best friend.
“Yeah, shaving sounds good,” I agree eventually.
???
Ash asks for help, of course. Because Ash is good at many things, but hair management has never been his cup of tea.
His hair has been kept at shoulder length since university.
What started as a rebellion slowly turning into a lifestyle.
Most days his hair is in a low ponytail or a messy man-bun that compliments his high cheekbones and elongated face shape.
As for facial hair, Ash has always preferred a clean shave that shows off his strong jawline and has never aged him down.
There was only one brief exception: a short two weeks where Ash had experimented with a moustache. That had not lasted long. Ash was still living in Birmingham and had video called me one night before going out. “What do you think?” he had asked, pursing his upper lip at the camera.
“No.”
“Come on, Ford, hear me out.” Ash relaxed his face and the moustache had felt even weirder.
“I’m hearing, man.” Although I definitely was not ready to support this in any way.
“Is it giving sexy seventies or creep twink?”
My look must have said everything, because when he called me a week later the moustache was gone and never mentioned again.
So Ash gets his little brother Erik (who by now must be the tallest man in England) and Morgan, his friend from university who, over the years, has shown me enough styled wigs to be trusted with both real and fake hair.
They show up with razors and hair cutting scissors and a spray bottle with a dense liquid I know not to question.
They look extremely professional and when Erik greets me with a shocked, “Christ, dude,” I know it really must be bad.
I crack a joke anyway, “Did I wake up at the barber shop?”
They sit me up and each pick a side: Ash the left cheek, Erik the right one and Morgan behind me. Following Erik’s cue, Ash draws precise lines with the razor as I observe quietly. It’s not long until I spot Ash’s tongue nervously trapped between his lips. Some things never change, I muse.
Ash keeps working, with one hand comfortably resting on my shoulder.
From the simple touch, warmth radiates throughout my entire body.
When he’s done with his side he peeks up, waiting for instructions.
They all move behind me then, chopping strands of hair at random while Morgan praises and curses my thick red hair.
“Has it always been this luscious?” she wonders out loud.
“Must be the near-death experience,” I reply blankly.
When Lindsey the nurse stops by to deliver my dinner, she lingers by the door and offers her help. I start telling her that I’m in very capable hands, but at that moment, Ash’s fingers graze a sensitive spot on my scalp. I flinch, jerking my head away to the side.
“Sorry,” Ash whispers.
From her spot, Lindsey the nurse explains, “That’s the spot where the tube of the shunt was draining liquid out of your skull. It will heal.”
I can’t tell if the goose bumps on my neck are because of what she said, or because of Ash’s light caress.
With my left hand I grasp the spoon from the dinner tray and dip it into the jelly, hoping food will serve as a distraction.
“Grim,” Erik comments and I smack my lips.
“Fierce,” Morgan disagrees.
Once everyone is done with my hair, Morgan moves to stand in front of me and lowers to my height, contemplating her work.
“And?” I check with her.
“Done better. Oestrogen couldn’t have given me such a head of hair, could it?” Morgan is staring directly at me and I grin in response. Morgan is gorgeous, and everyone knows she likes to hear it.
“You’re-”
“Oh, piss off. I’m done here. Getting a coffee.” She concludes, leaving Ash and Erik to deal with her mess.
After the floor has been swept and the bedsheets cleared of hair, Erik disappears with Lindsey the nurse down the hospital corridor and I’m left alone with Ash.
“I love it when I can see your dimples,” he says, examining my shaved cheeks.
“You once told me you didn’t know the word dimples until you saw them on my face,” I joke, knowing it will make him blush.
When it does, I tell myself this is how it’s always been between us.
I tease Ash and he teases back, and it ends there.
But now there’s something else in Ash’s gaze that I cannot place.
And maybe it’s that we came close to dying and losing each other.
Or maybe, it’s what he says next.
“I didn’t know anything before I met you.”
???
The second week I learn a series of facts.
I have been in a coma for fifteen days, I’m still a vegetarian and my closet consists of 99% black.
Yes, I still play cricket in summer but not much rugby.
I still own my first guitar and my viola.
Yes, Ashley and I go to the cinema every second weekend and he still dislikes every single Batman film ever made.
No, I’m not a famous songwriter (yet), I didn’t get a dog and no, Ashley is not with Jonathan anymore.
This last bit, I don’t need to ask.
The last puzzle piece comes with my lunch tray about a week after I have woken up from a nap. There’s a new nurse making the round, someone I have never seen before.
“I’ve been told you don’t eat meat. Apologies. As usual, just eat whatever you feel like. I’ll be back in thirty to take you to the bathroom.” The nurse sends me a smile and then turns to wink at Ashley. “I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone.”
I don’t say anything, don’t ask any questions. But I see the way Ashley tilts his head to the side in guilt.
Pushing food down my throat is painful, but I try.
There’s fewer cables attached to my arms, and somebody put a thick blanket on my legs.
Your boyfriend, I keep thinking. But no matter how long I linger on the words, they don’t strike a chord.
Ash and I? Boyfriends? Maybe the nurse meant it in a platonic way. Like friends who are boys, boy-friends.
The look on Ash’s face tells another story. When did he stop seeing me as ‘Ford the Best Friend,’ and when did I become ‘Ford the Non-Platonic Partner?’
I eat in silence.
Every time I make a pause, Ashley hands me a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated,” he says over and over again, and doesn’t add much more.
“So, we…?” I finally ask after taking a small sip. Meeting Ashley’s eyes, I don’t really need confirmation.
Ashley is petrified, ready to flee the room—the country. But he doesn’t move, surprisingly. He shoots me one of his blinding smiles. “Hilarious, right? Bet 2022-you didn’t see it coming.”
I simply duck my head, inexplicably flustered. “How long?”
Relaxing his shoulders, Ashley inhales deeply. “Just over two years.”
“Over two years?”
“Two years, one month and eight days.” Ash is staring at me, challenging. He’s about to add something, when his phone rings.
It takes me by surprise. It’s the first time since I woke up. I must have a phone, too, right? I wonder where it is.
“Fuck. Shit, fuck.” Ash exclaims, hands gripping the device as he reads a message over and over. “I gotta go.”
“What?” I frown. Ash has never left my side for more than a night, and I suddenly have so many more questions, so much energy.
“Okay, please don’t panic. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” Ash’s face is red—purple—and his breath ragged and broken. He glances at his phone, again. “I’ve gotta go home.”
“Uh? Why?”
“Ford, you and I…!” His phone rings again and Ash’s chest fills with air. I’m scared my pupils might pop out from the pressure of not knowing and knowing too much.
Nothing prepares me for what Ash tells me next. “You and I have a daughter.”