Double Occupancy

Aside from the red glow of an exit sign, the room is dark when I awake from surgery. No one comes to check my bandages, pulse, or bedpan. As I acclimate to the gloom, I train my eyes on a large spider walking back and forth across a nearby chiffarobe.

I count its methodical paces down the mirror, across the basin and into the wardrobe. Its takes 233 steps. It’s a 77-minute trip. I’ve have watched it 40 times or more. The IV drip dried up long ago. I’m weak with hunger and thirst.

At last, I pull myself from the bed and clatter to the floor ripping sutures. I drag myself to the chiffarobe, hoping for some drop of water in the basin or crumb of food in a drawer. The wardrobe swings open revealing only a massive web from which protrudes a white sneaker and a nurse’s diadem.