I'M WAITING

I'm waiting for him. He's going to come soon, I'm sure of it. He's off doing important stuff like walking in space or finding a cure for an awful disease. But my daddy will be here someday.

I sit on the step and watch each man as they walk by. I see a man with long black hair walking in this direction. He could be a rock-n-roller, you know. But the man walks past the house although he gives me a brief smile.

So I'll just wait some more. I'm really good at it when I want to be. I'll just sit here with my book and the puppy nobody but me can see.

I'm waiting.

I'm waiting for her. She promised to come back, and she will. The people who are letting me live with them are nice. They feed me and make sure I take a bath every night. They don't even mind that I'm smarter than their kids.

But they don't know that I heard them talking last night when I couldn't sleep. Mr. Evans is getting a little tired of me being around all the time. And Mrs. Evans isn't so sure that the authorities shouldn't take me away.

But I've gotten pretty good at reading people. Nothing will happen. Tomorrow Mr. Evans will laugh when I make a joke and ruffle my hair. He'll grunt about giving me a haircut and then wink. Mrs. Evans will pat my head and make sure I have two cookies in my lunch box.

But for right now, I'll just sit on their porch and wait.

I'm waiting for him to open his freaking eyes....to look at me and growl in irritation that he's in the hospital. AGAIN. I've spent over half of my life looking for Sentinels; and when I find one, he turns out to be an over-achiever in the 'get the job done no matter the cost to my health' department.

This time we are going to have a long serious talk about the difference between Sentinels and Superman. We're going to talk about how you can't physically do the stuff at 40 that you did at 20 without seriously jeopardizing your body and overall health. AND we're definitely going to talk about how dead heroes don't accomplish ONE DAMN THING!

We won't talk about how he's tearing my heart out every time his unconscious body gets loaded into an ambulance. We've got enough to talk about without adding that to the list. I'm just holding his hand to anchor him when he starts to regain consciousness and for no other reason.

So for now, I'll just sit here and wait for him to open his eyes.

I'm tired of waiting for him to say it. I'm in the hospital again which is where I've always figured was the perfect time and place to hear him finally say it. After all, the relief that I've survived another roll of the dice should lower his mental inhibitions, shouldn't it? And, yes, I figure he's got to be the one to say it. After all, he's the one with all the problems about being involved with his test subject. If I say it first, he'll just find all sorts of reasons to argue against it.

I watch him through slitted eyes and wonder if he knows how easy it is for me to read him sometimes. Well, in his defense, he thinks I'm unconscious. Ahh....he's thinking about it. Yes, he is. DAMMIT! He's not going to do it.

I honestly don't think I put myself into situations where I wind up in the hospital waiting for him to say it. That would be just plain stupid. My job...our job is dangerous so these situations just happen. But to paraphrase Danny Glover...I'm getting too old for this kind of shit. I'm not going to stop doing my job the best way I know how, you understand. But I think it's time I got to enjoy some of the perks.

So it's time to stop waiting. It's time to open my eyes...and his. I squeeze his hand and smile at the relief on his face.

"Hey, Blair. C'mere."

March 2005   

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