Laurels Literary Magazine Fall 2015 | Page 68

I settled on the torture chair as best I could covering myself with a leftover sheet and plastic pillow wedged in the crook of my arm. The lounger couldn’t be moved within range of his sightline, so I announced when I lay down, “Lewis, I’m laying right here,” so he’d know where I was wouldn’t worry. need something, Lewis?” He craned his head back, and I unbundled, scrambling out the wall facing him, but something beyond the wall, something I could not see. I settled back in only to repeat the scrambling, and in this manner an hour or two went by. Sometimes, he would be clutching the railing, the other searching space as if something unseen was just beyond his grasp. I’d ask him what he needed, and he’d tell me, “I’ve got to piss. Hurry.” An overwhelming need to urinate would overtake him, and there’d be no time to call for a nurse. I’d fumble for the canister with the angled neck that permitted urine in but kept it out frame—and reposition body parts into the canister so he could relieve himself without getting wet. I’d stand there, holding him, and stare at the linen closet. Usually, after a few minutes, he’d give up and sigh in frustration. “It’s okay, Jay,” he’d moan, unable to make it happen, but sometimes there’d be success and a dark brown liquid would pool at the bottom of the canister. I’d bundle told me to get some rest. At about 4:30 a.m. I crept to the door. He was breathing heavy and his eyes were closed. I slipped out and walked to the coffee for myself. I crept back in the room, and as I settled back in my chair, he called out again. He couldn’t have slept more than 56