I'm Still Here (Je Suis Là) Read Free Page B

breathe. I suppose I must have listened to ex-boyfriends a few times, if I’ve woken up before them. But they’d probably all have thought it was stupid. I do remember one guy who breathed at triple speed in his sleep. I wanted to laugh when I heard him, but I was frightened of waking him up. That relationship didn’t last long.
    My romances have always been chaotic, and far less regular and less numerous than my sister’s. I’d guess there have been about ten, from memory. Some short, others longer. At the moment I’m single. It’s better that way because who knows how a guy would have reacted to this coma. Would he have dumped me at the start? Would he have waited? Would he have moved on without saying anything to me at all? Would he have come in and told me that it was over? That wouldn’t have been too hard; he’d probably have assumed I couldn’t hear him anyway. And he would have been right for the first fourteen weeks.
    So, I’m single and glad about it. It’s hard enough to hear my mother crying every time she visits; I have no desire to duplicate the experience with anyone else.
    Even as these things go through my mind, I stay focused on my accidental visitor. His breathing is deeper. He must be fast sleep.
    I concentrate all my attention on him. I don’t want the time to pass. He is my only distraction, the one novelty in all this time, practically the only thing that has reminded me that I really am alive in some small way.
    Because I can’t honestly say that Pauline’s visits, or the nurses’, or my mother and her sobbing, actually cheer me up. But this is like a pebble being thrown into the water, an actual change. This would make a ripple on my surface if only I could move.
    I want time to stop, but it doesn’t. I’ve only got this little siesta that he has allowed himself in my room. As soon as he leaves, everything will be as it was before. I’ll just have to see it as a birthday present. I’d like to be able to smile at this thought.
    I hear voices coming down the corridor, and my whole being lights up from the inside. It’s Steve, Alex, and Rebecca. They sound animated and happy. I have a sudden desire to tell them to be quiet, so they don’t wake my visitor. But as usual I can’t do anything, and actually I’m a little curious to see how my intruder is going to explain his presence.
    The catch on the door squeaks and then the footsteps and voices all stop at once.
    â€œSomeone’s already here!” exclaims Rebecca.
    â€œDo you know him?” whispers Alex from behind her.
    I suppose Rebecca shakes her head. I hear them come in, circling the chair, and I imagine them bending over my visitor to examine him.
    â€œHe’s asleep—shall we just leave him and see if he wakes up?”
    â€œNo, let’s get him out,” says Steve.
    â€œWell, he’s not bothering anyone,” says Rebecca, hesitant, “and if he’s a friend of Elsa’s, he can celebrate with us, can’t he?”
    â€œWell…”
    I can hear Steve’s reluctance. I know he used to have a soft spot for me. Girls who are interested in climbing up glaciers don’t grow on trees, even when you live near the Alps. Rebecca stopped three years ago, when she started getting too frightened. Perhaps I should have listened to her when she tried to persuade me to do the same. But no, I’m “too passionate.” I could tell that Steve had fallen for me quite soon after we met, but I was with someone at the time, so I made it clear that I was only looking for a climbing buddy. My other friends were too tall, I needed someone my height. Steve is perfectly proportioned. We made a killer team.
    As soon as he understood that I wasn’t interested in him romantically, he cast himself in the role of big brother. It’s nice to feel as though someone’s looking out for you, when you’re the