Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
He lays still and quiet, beautiful in his nakedness. The white of the sheet pops against the dark of his skin. A tradesman’s tan, all sleeve, short and sock mark. Too many hours on rooftops, placing tiles in lines. All ratbag and ruin on his face, he has the look of a man easy to smile. A fierce cleft divides his chin.
What is with that tattoo that winds its way up his thigh? A snarling tiger, lurching upwards. Serious ink and serious hours. The surgeon has botched it. The sutures are meticulous, but the tattoo is now misaligned. It wouldn’t have even crossed his mind in the early hours of the morning when he pulled this man together. So very Humpty Dumpty. I pull the sheet back over his legs as his wife tells me that it has just been re-inked.
I gaze away and my eyes drift back to the monitor. On paper he is pristine. The lines are straight, the numbers textbook. It’s all smoke and mirrors. A fucking disaster. He is dead. She has been sitting for hours, dumbed down with grief. Willing him to live and asking me for reassurances I cannot give. His chest rises and falls. He is warm. The dead don’t look like this, I can see her thinking.
She is pleading with her eyes. “They are wrong, please help me. Do something. Can you do something? Please. Please. PLEASE, DO SOMETHING”. Her pain ripples raw and visceral. She slowly spins his wedding ring, and then buries her face into the warmth of his palm. I walk towards her and touch her then. No words come, there are none to say.