Fading

Fading

On chilly mornings the sea would wake up covered in fog, the kind that would glow a pleasant yellow light as the sun poked itself through. On such a day a person’s breath would condense and mingle in the air- so did Tom’s as he sighed, gripping the cold steel rail. His windbreaker gave him the appearance of a large rock, and if he were a smoker a cigarette would be dangling from his free hand, shaking ashes into the ocean. Tom was not a smoker. He glanced down at his watch. It was 6:30AM. He couldn’t see anyone out on the pier- the city was still asleep. He tapped his foot against the old planks, hanging his head and letting his hair fall into his eyes.

Yesterday he had been to the hospital. The day had been just as cool and sunny. He’d opened the curtains, to try and make the room less bleak.

Sammy seemed more machine than human.

Her dark hair had been humid with sweat, stuck against her face. Her face, pale and sullen. There was a tube in her nose and others more in her arm, monitors all around her, all displaying grim numbers.

Tom had sat next to his sister, almost perched on his stool, and he’d thought no amount of sunlight could make this scene any less bleak.

A sudden cry snatched him from his reverie.

“Hey there,” said a small voice. Tom spun around and came face-to-face with a teenage girl. Her hair was tied in a side ponytail that rested against her shoulder. Her small fingers poked out of the sleeves of her oversized jacket, crossed over her chest. She was wearing a skirt that was much too short for her age. Tom avoided looking at it.

“What?” Tom grunted, leaning against the rail.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Absolutely innocent.

“Nothing,” said Tom.

“You looked kinda depressed,” she chirped.

“It’s nothing,” Tom reiterated.

“Liar,” she pouted.

Tom turned to face the sea once again. He paused, sensing she was still there, and turned to glare over his shoulder.

She was blushing. “Fine,” she said with a glare of her own, and twirled around to leave, causing her jacket and skirt to flare up. Tom averted his eyes quickly. He did not have to see that.

Before she could stomp off, Tom found himself stopping her.

“Wait,” he called out, before he could realize what he was saying. She stopped and turned around on her heels, looking a little surprised.

“Don’t… go…”

She smiled and hopped up next to the rail.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” she said, clasping her hands again.

Tom said nothing, staring out at the sea again. He could now see some activity at the pier.

She watched him expectantly.

He glanced down at her.

“You’re guilty,” she said conclusively, nodding to herself.

“Guilty?” Tom tried to reply nonchalantly, but even then he felt a little stabbing sensation.

“Yeah, it’s obvious now. With that face you’re obviously guilty about something.” She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him.

“What if I’m not?” said Tom.

“Oh, but you are,” she said.

“Then what if I am?” he said. It was no use battling it, after all.

“Then you have to fix it, of course!” Her tone was that of a very impatient person speaking to a child. Tom grimaced.

“It’s not as easy as that,” he breathed quietly, his fists clenching slightly.

“But you can’t run away from it.” The girl’s expression had now changed to one of concerned contemplation. She turned and leaned with her back against the rail, crossing her legs and tapping her hands against them.

Tom exhaled sharply, fighting a knotting sensation in his throat.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I just felt like I could help.” She nodded to a building a short walk off the pier. “You come this way every day. I always see you from my bedroom window. Today you didn’t. I got worried.”

“You… were worried?” Tom said incredulously. She turned and smiled at him.

“Yeah.” She said. “I suppose it’s none of my business anyhow.” And with that, she hopped on her feet and marched off.

Tom watched her go. She had a bounce in her step. He glanced back out to sea. The fog had nearly disappeared now, and the sun was shining brightly in the morning sky. A new feeling was stirring in the pit of his stomach.

A complete stranger had come to see if he was all right.

Tom let his head hang down once more.

---

He pulled the curtain aside gently. There she was. She was awake now; she looked like an antique porcelain doll, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her skin bleached and cold. The machines were all there also, same as the day before. She stirred as he walked in, and mouthed a “good morning”.

“Morning, Sammy,” he said with a smile. She smiled also- a weak smile, but a smile, nonetheless.

“Tom,” she said breathily, attempting to raise her hand. Tom sat next to her, taking her hand and setting it lightly on the bed again.

“I’m here, Sammy,” he reassured her. “I’m here.”

She closed her eyes.

Her grip loosened, but his didn’t.