Josiah Marquez

Days of today...
I learned just over a year ago what a coma truly meant. It’s a state of unconsciousness where the brain doesn’t respond to stimuli, much like Bernardo’s condition. His brain wasn’t dead; he had enough stimuli to breathe on his own, for his heart to keep beating, but not enough to respond.
Whenever I fought with Ana, whenever I lost control, I would spend days away from home, seeking refuge. When I looked at Bernardo, with all those wires connected to him, all I felt was helplessness. I couldn’t help him. There was nothing I could do to lessen his suffering or bring him back to life.
The woman with black, curly hair was a constant presence by his side, usually dressed in simple clothes—dark leggings and a plain tank top. Leda never left her son’s side, only stepping away when I arrived, and only allowed herself to leave when Isabela or I stayed with Bernardo. Bernardo didn’t have a present father, and Leda didn’t have responsible family members to share the duty of staying with her son so she could rest. I suspected that she didn’t trust anyone else around him.
I didn’t understand how she could believe in a miracle. Leda lived with a constant prayer, asking God every day that her son would get better.
He didn’t have brain death; my friend was in a state called "Vegetative." He showed vital signs and even opened his eyes sometimes, but he couldn’t interact with the world around him.
I understood that looking at Bernardo could be frightening; sometimes his muscles would contract when he was pricked for blood samples. Tears would flow from his eyes for no reason, he chewed his own mouth in involuntary movements, or opened his eyes and left them open for long periods... He had life in his body, but none of it was voluntary or conscious.
Bernardo was very thin and frail, although his face was swollen, making him look chubby. I trimmed his nails, shaved him, and helped with everything I could. But my heart bled every time I saw him, and all I wished for was to wake up one day to the news that Ber had improved, that he had awakened, that my friend was back to living.
That hospital room was suffocating, even though it was as refined and well-equipped as a hotel. The walls were still blue, like the sky, but they didn’t evoke anything other than hell. It was a cell in purgatory, where my friend was sentenced to live trapped in an inert body.
I always talked to Bernardo, but sometimes I couldn’t hold back my tears, especially when I spoke about how life had gotten so much worse without him. At times, tears would stream from his eyes, making me believe he was listening.
It was another day when I took the opportunity to tell him things, and even though he couldn’t respond, talking to him made me feel better.
" Ana said she never cheated on me... " I said, holding his hand. — I misunderstood everything, Ber. I ruined things with the woman of my life because I let jealousy and anger towards Lucah take over.
A tear slid down my face, slowly tracing a path down my cheek before falling onto the bed, soaking the sheet. I was sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his bony hand due to his drastic weight loss. I wished so much for Ber to be with me, for none of this to have happened. It was easy to spew things when I was angry and blame others, but the truth was that I felt a lot of guilt for my friend being in that bed.
Two weeks ago, when Ana confronted me, saying she had never cheated, that Lucah was gay, the world had come crashing down on me like an avalanche. I wanted to collapse, but I stayed strong. A storm of words screamed inside me that all the issues that had separated me from my wife were my responsibility. The fault of my damn lack of control.
I told Bernardo about the bucket they used to mess with Ana. How Harry took him to the studio and handed him over to me, and how I threw it on Cristian’s glossy, expensive desk when he returned from his trip. I recounted every detail of how I accused my damn father of tormenting my wife, but he was such a bastard that he pretended not to understand and grunted that he was probably an envious lover of Ana. I shouted threats at my father, warning him to stay away from her if he didn’t want his dirty laundry leaked to the press. I only didn’t make him swallow the bucket because one of his suited security guards held me back, throwing me outside and slamming the office door in my face.
I continued narrating the events to my friend, sobbing as I remembered my “dirty laundry” session with Ana, her saying she didn’t remember doing anything to him. I cried as the weak man I was, apologizing to Bernardo for handling everything incorrectly and for him ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time, in front of my car and the speakers.
Ana said she didn’t hit him. I saw in her eyes how much she truly didn’t believe she had hurt Bernardo.
Did she hit him?

My perception had failed once before...
I thought I saw her cheating on me, but in the end, there was no infidelity on her part. Ana still hadn’t detailed everything that had happened that night, only telling me that Lucah was showing her an audio from his boyfriend. But everything she told me made sense. Jonas was always holed up in my house, and I knew that the “short guy” who thought he was funny was gay. How did I never suspect it? Also, I’d always seen my brother sneaking women into my dad’s house, even sleeping with the maids... I had seen him with several of them in Cristian’s mansion in Barra da Tijuca, and from the time Ana told me he was dating Jonas, he was cheating on his boyfriend with those women. Or maybe he did it to impress our father? And then played the nice guy role for Marta, the one who maintained a solid relationship for years and engaged in social causes?
My mind was a sea of confusion. I was so damn angry... with myself. I didn’t react well to the truths Docinho threw in my face. I didn’t have the right attitude to acknowledge my mistakes; instead, I was a fool and just tried to justify them. Everything she said fit together—her outraged reaction when she saw me yelling at her on the night of the breakup, my mother and Luana turning into lions to defend her. How did I stay so blind to these details? How could I have been so stupid?
And worse, what hurt even more, was hearing that Ana only fell and hurt her hand because I let her go in the back of my truck. How could I forget that I was the one holding her? Damn! My chest burned with pain thinking that I caused her so much suffering, that I physically hurt her. No matter how many times she said it was accidental, I would still blame myself. I saw her with her hand immobilized for a long time, and I was always sad for her, wishing I could comfort her, but I went along with what I was told—that she would “kill me” if I dared to come near. I felt like a piece of shit! A loser! And she was so sweet, like spring in person, like a delicate flower... Ana was so kind that she said she forgave me. How could I let that woman slip away? How could I have been so stupid?