She is motionless. The beeping from the monitor is steady, the only noise.

“Sarah?”

She doesn’t move.

“I saw your mom today.”

I pause.

“She told me about your brother. He, he is going to college. UPenn.”

I look at the machine. The numbers haven’t changed.

“It’s a good school.”

Beeps.

“I thought you should know.”

She still hasn’t moved. Dust floats in the air. It makes the air sparkle, spots of light. My throat burns. I put my head down. Sarah warms me.

*

“I can’t ask him to leave.”

“It’s past hours.”

“I know that.”

The woman, white coat around her, stares into the other. She is wearing purple. Color covers her body.

“It’s horrible.”

“It happens.”

The woman in white turns. The door stands open. She doesn’t respond.

“She needs to rest,” the woman in purple says.

“No.”

“Everyone needs to rest sometime.”

“She gets plenty.”

The two women are silent now. They watch the man inside the room. He knows they are watching, they’re sure. He stays next to the bed. His head comes up.

“I’m not going.”

“Fine.”

“Not yet.”

“Ok.”

*

It’s quiet inside the room. The door is open, but noise stays in the hall. The women, outside, mutter. They look, and it’s at me.

“Sarah.”

Never a question. I run my hand over the sheets and can feel her.

“I want to tell you things.”

I rub my face. Go through my routine. Touch my eyes, then my sleeves.

“Things that happen during the day, Sarah.”

The machines hum.

“I’m still going to work. Did I tell you that? People say I shouldn’t be there. They wonder about you.”

I shake my head.

“Jacobs, he keeps telling to me take time off. Says I need it.”

She blinks, and I stop. It’s nothing, I know. An involuntary response. I still wait, but the room is silent. The machine beeps, and I continue.

“Yeah. I haven’t taken it though.”

The women outside shuffle papers. They stay, busy with work. I glance. They notice, and turn away.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess.”

The window shade lets light through, and I can hear cars below. Staff walk by the room.

“They won’t let me come more than I do.”

The women outside don’t hear. Reports and charts are passed along. Sarah stays, lies in her bed.

*

“It’s been over an hour.”

“I know.”

“I can tell him,” offers the woman in purple. She looks worried.

“Please don’t.”

“If you want, I can.”

“No. I have to.”

“Those aren’t the rules.”

The woman in white looks at her clipboard. The numbers, the sentences, the same. She has not changed them.

“I know the policy.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok.”

The woman, white in her coat, sighs.

“I’ll go, now then,” she continues.

The woman walks. Her steps weigh her, heavy on the floor. The man sees her, his back straightening against his chair. His eyes red, the woman moves her head to look at the floor. At the door, she raises her hand.

*

I hear the knock, from the woman. The one dressed in a white coat, in uniform. I leave my hand on the bed, where I can feel Sarah there. The woman waits in the door.

“Mr. Clark?”

She wants me to respond. The woman slides her hand down the door frame.

“May I come in?”

I wave, a motion close to permission. The woman enters, stopping at the end of the bed. Sarah’s bed.

“Visiting hours are over?” I ask.

“I’m afraid,” and I believe her.

“It’s ok,” I tell her.

“It will be,” she says.

*

She closes her mouth, wondering. The last thing she said, too much. He, this, it’s delicate.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

The woman sees his hand, resting on the bed. He remains, motionless.

“Why?” he whispers.

“I, I just..” but she can’t finish.

The woman sees the light come into the room, and hit the dust traveling in the air.

“I should leave?” he asks.

The woman shifts. Her feet move.

“Visiting hours, they’re over.”

“Ok.”

The woman sees the machines. The numbers are the same, and the beeps have not changed. She notices her clipboard, and marks a point. She looks at the man. His hands are together now.

“Can I have a minute?”

“Of course.”

She leaves, weight gone, but no lighter.

*

I watch her leave. The room, empty again, is quiet. Sarah, in her bed, lies motionless.

“I have to go, Sarah.”

I feel her hands this time, taking them from the bed.

“I will be here tomorrow.”

Her hands are warm, soft from the bed.

“Let me visit you, ok?

My throat, burning again, chokes the last word.

“I love you.”

*

The woman watches the man get up. No stretch, but stands silently before putting the other hands down. He glances at the woman in white, outside the door. She sees him, and he walks, leaving.

“Thank you,” he says.

“It’s ok,” she responds.

The woman in purple shifts her papers.

“Will I be here tomorrow?” he asks.

“I hope so,” the woman in white says.

*

I look at the woman. Lines on her face, but young.

“Ok,” I say.

There is a pause.

“But not the next day.”

“I don’t know.”

The woman in white moves her hands, closer to me, then stops, and drops them.

“Ok.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

I walk from the desk, and the room. Stairs are ahead of me, behind doors, beige like the walls. Sarah is behind me, lying in her bed. My throat burns again, I push the door out, and leave. I think about her hands, her warm, but Sarah stays, remaining, always still, motionless.