“He can’t decide, can he?” His voice is shaky now. “Because he is dead, and no one can bring my boy back.”
Dead?
Why can’t I remember?
Why does it hurt so much?
I feel something wet trailing down my temple. I try to lift my hand to wipe the tears from my face, but I still can’t move. Whoever is next to me gasps, and the sudden light above me is covered by a shadow.
Someone’s fingers touch my face, then pull my eyelids open. A sharp light flashes in front of my eyes, and my pupils follow it as it moves left and right. Whoever stands in front of me is blurry. Everything is blurry. I can’t remember how I got here, or what happened.
“She’s waking up,” a female voice says. “I’m going to get a doctor.”
It’s quiet in the room now. No one is saying anything anymore. Maybe because they are afraid of me waking up, or maybe of what I will find out. And I’m scared too, because I feel everything all at once, and also nothing at all.
My eyes are open now, and I feel like Dasha is taking my hand. They move left and right, then stop on a glass of water on the small table next to the bed. I’m so thirsty. My whole throat feels so dry, and all I want is to drink water.
I manage to lift my hand just a little above the bed, and I point toward the glass. Dasha stands up, and as she lifts the glass, a doctor and two nurses come inside.
The doctor comes closer to the bed, points a small light into my eyes, and says, “Miss Vale, my name is Dr. David Reynolds, and you have been in an accident.”
He licks his lips and continues, “You’ve been in a coma.”
While he speaks, the nurses take the plastic tube that is connected to some kind of machine and pull it out of my mouth. I finally feel something. I can move my tongue, but my lungs still burn as my mouth stays open without my control.
“We were not sure if you would wake up or not,” the doctor continues, but all I try to do is move my legs, ignoring every word that comes from his lips.
I move my leg off the bed, but the nurse puts it back. As I look at Dasha, all I see are tears, and slowly it all starts coming back.
Flashes of light appear in front of me, and that feeling in my lungs returns, like I am drowning all over again. As I scream, I see my parents floating away, and I see Daniel drowning in front of me.
I move on the bed, left and right, and the only sound that comes from my lungs is uncontrollable screaming. Tears fall down my temples as the nurses try to hold me in place. While the doctor tries to say another word, one nurse holds my arm while the other puts a needle into my vein.
My eyelids fight with my eyes again, and in just two blinks I am already drifting away. This time, I can’t hear them anymore. I only see darkness, and little spots of light that slowly disappear as well.
I wish it had been simple. I wish my parents had been bad people. But they weren’t. They were good, and somehow terrible things always happen to good people. Some of us are left behind, forced to keep living for them, carrying the pain because there is nothing else we can do.
I already know the story they will tell when I open my eyes again. They will say I am lucky to have survived. They will say Istill have my whole life ahead of me. That I can live. That life is a gift.
But what if it isn’t?
What if my life is already over?
I have nothing left. No one.
When I open my eyes again, the first thing I see is a long strip of light on the ceiling. I stare at it, maybe a little too long, until I hear the sharp screech of a chair scraping against the tiles. I turn my head to the right and see Dasha standing up.
My mouth is less dry now, and there is no tube down my throat. But my whole body still feels weak and numb, and as I try to lift myself into a sitting position, I struggle to hold myself upright.
Dasha looks at me. I see her more clearly now: her wrinkled face, red lipstick on her thin lips, and gray hair twisted into a neat bun on top of her head.
We say nothing. She quickens her pace toward me until her hand meets mine. She just looks at me and starts to cry as she helps me sit up.
“How long have I…” I clear my throat, stopping.
“Three months,” she sniffs. “It’s April 8th today.”
A tear slips down my cheek. My first thought is to ask what happened, but it’s useless because I know what happened. I want to ask what happens now as well, but I know the answer to that question will only be lies.
