Brad groaned and opened his eyes. Almost immediately he was alarmed; all he could see was a glaring bright white light. He wasn’t aware that his breathing sped up, but he dimly registered the protesting ache from somewhere near his ribs as it did. His head was throbbing, too, and one leg was itching, though he couldn’t tell which one. He couldn’t be dead—there was too much pain for that—but why couldn’t he see?
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light, and his conscious thoughts slowly returned as he could better see his surroundings. He was on an uncomfortably lumpy bed with starched white sheets and rails on the sides. The blinding light was coming from the tiled white ceilings, where Brad could faintly make out the shape of a hanging lamp enclosed in the glare. White seemed to be everywhere; the walls, the ceiling, the bed sheets, what he could see of the floor and the door to the room. The only colors he could see were the monitors near his bed flashing red and green lights, two chairs on the left side of the room—a hard-looking plastic one and faux leather recliner farther back in the corner—and a handful of cards on the bedside table to his right. He couldn’t tell what time it was—no light escaped from the thick curtains over the single window in the room.
The pains became more noticeable, too, brought into sharper focus—his left leg and shoulder, something that felt like a couple of ribs, and his forehead were all pulsing and throbbing dully. He tried to sit up to get a better view of the room, but it started spinning as soon as he lifted his shoulders. A firm hand came down on his shoulders, pushing him gently back into the pillows, and he looked over to see a young candy-striper that he hadn’t noticed in his hasty examination of the room.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to lie down for a while longer,” she informed him in a low, throaty voice. “The amount of pain meds you’ve been on isn’t really compatible with movement. It’s nice to see you awake, though. I’ll go tell everyone that you’ve finally come back to the living.” She smiled cheerfully at him before turning and walking out of the room. Her words made Brad wonder how long he had been out for, and he examined himself more thoroughly; he felt stiff, as though he had been in the same position for too long, and the crisp bed sheets didn’t have a wrinkle on them. He decided the apparent lack of movement must have been a product of the painkillers—he could feel them swirling around in his brain like mist and making it hard to concentrate.
His head felt unnaturally heavy and hot, and when he raised a hand to feel it he touched something that felt like a bandage. He wanted to check out how bad the rest of him was, but his limbs were too heavy and any movement caused pain anyways. It wasn’t worth the effort.
Brad was having a hard time keeping his eyes open when the nurse finally returned, three people following behind her. The candy-striper didn’t stay, just nodded to Brad and left. His mom was the only person in the small group standing in front of him that Brad recognized. She immediately rushed over to his bed, tears welling in her eyes. He thought he grinned at her, but couldn’t quite tell. “Hey, M’m.” His voice was slurred, and he struggled to make it more coherent.
“Oh, Brad! I’m so glad you’re okay!” She started to hug him, then caught herself and settled for squeezing his hand instead.
“Wha time ‘sit? I’m miss party!” Brad suddenly remembered, wondering again how long he had been out. His mom looked pained.
“Brad, Sweetie, it’s Tuesday. The party was supposed to be Saturday; you, you—“ She broke off, the tears breaking free and streaking down her face.
The other two people, who had been standing silently during the reunion, stepped in now. The short, black-haired woman who Brad took to be another nurse hurried over to comfort Brad’s mom, and a tall, slightly balding old man with horn-rimmed glasses stepped up to the bedside.
“I guess we haven’t really been introduced, Brad. I’m Dr. Rosario, and that’s your RN Kelsea. You’ve been out since Saturday, four days. When the car rolled over you beat your head up pretty bad, and you were in the ICU for a while. You’ve been unresponsive since we brought you in, and we were afraid you were going to go into a coma. You’re very lucky son; that was quite a crash you were in and sturdier people than yourself have been killed when their car rolls. Do you remember anything about the accident?”
Brad thought about that one for a moment. He remembered almost hitting the pedestrian girl, but he couldn’t remember what she looked like. He vaguely remembered rolling down the hill, and a lot of pain. He told that to Dr. Rosario.
“I thought it would be something like that. I doubt if you’ll ever be able to fully remember the accident, though some more details may come back after you’ve cleared the pain medication out of your system.”
The longer Dr. Rosario talked the harder Brad had to try to stay conscious. He let his head loll back onto the pillow. “Mm tired,” he mumbled.
“Okay, sleep now. We’ll leave.”
Brad forced himself to remain semi-conscious until he heard the door close behind them, then he let go and drifted back into the darkness. There was no fear this time though; this wasn’t the dark pool that had enveloped him after the crash. This was more like floating, sleeping on a cloud high above the earth. It was so peaceful he thought he could sleep for days without ever wanting to wake up.
When Brad did wake up though, he wondered if he had done just that. The stiff feeling had relaxed from his muscles and the bed sheets were ruffled and tangled. Brad tried to remember if he had any dreams hat might have caused him to toss and turn, but all he could remember was flashes of a dark forest clearing in late summer and a half-constructed high-rise partially covered in frost. He didn’t really care enough to try and make sense of the images he remembered, so he gave up.
He felt stronger than he had the last time he woke up. His head felt clearer, and when he sat up he was pleased to see that the walls stayed where they should. Looking around the room he saw his mom slumped in the green recliner in the corner, her head falling forward onto her chest, snoring lightly. He hadn’t noticed the last time the dark bags under her eyes, or how sallow her skin looked. She must have been worried sick about him, and he felt bad for having done that to her. He didn’t remember everything about waking up that first time, but he remembered how worried she had been, and he remembered making her cry.
Almost as if she sensed her son’s waking thoughts, she started and sat up a few seconds after Brad did. Her eyes, when they met his, were red and bloodshot. “Are you really awake this time?” She asked.
Brad nodded, knowing his face would be confused, and waited for her to clarify.
“You’ve been sitting up on and off since yesterday morning, and mumbling, too.”
Brad just nodded again, unsure of what to say. He was saved by the RN he had been introduced to walking into the room. She shot a sympathetic glance at Brad’s mom before smiling at him. Her heels clicked on the linoleum as she walked over to his bedside. “Remember me?” She asked.
He tried to remember what the doctor had called her. Something with a ‘K,’ he was pretty sure. “Um, Kelly?”
“Close enough,” She chuckled. “It’s Kelsea. That was pretty good though. You’ve been out for two days. Are the painkillers working alright?”
Brad thought that over for a moment. The aching he remembered from Tuesday seemed to be gone, and though his limbs still felt heavy, it didn’t hurt to move them. “I think so. I don’t hurt at all.”
“That’s good. You should read the cards. Sounds like there’s a lot of people worried about you.” She smiled again and turned away from the bed, reading the monitors and scribbling on her clipboard. Brad rolled carefully onto his side, testing for pain before he released his weight onto it. He thought it looked like there were more cards then there had been last time, though he couldn’t be sure.
Reading through them one by one, he was surprised by some of the people that had left a card. Sean, Ashley, and some of Brad’s nicer teachers had left sincere cards; Christian’s had been signed by the entire football team; Kent had left a joke card; Arik had left a ruffled pink card with punch out paper dolls; even Becca and Keren had left a small card with a short note on the bottom saying they hoped he got better.
As he put down the last card he could swear he felt someone staring at him, and he rolled back over to see his mom standing at the bedside, watching him patiently. “How bad am I?” He asked hesitantly.
She sighed. “Your left leg and three ribs are broken. Your head has a few bruises and cuts. You have some superficial cuts on your chest from the glass and seat belt cutting you. Pretty bad, but it could have been so much worse.” She looked to the door, then back to Brad.
“Will you be okay for a few minutes?” She asked. “I want to run and get something to eat real quick.” When Brad didn’t answer right away she hastily added, “I can stay if you need me to.”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Go eat.” You look like you could use the food, he added silently. Shortly after she had left Brad was slumped in the bed, bored, when he heard voices just outside his door.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you can’t go in there right now. Mr. Liftridge is asleep trying to recover from a car accident!” The female voice was raised in irritation and exasperation.
The door opened to reveal an elderly nurse Brad didn’t recognize standing in the doorway, with Kent and Arik just behind her. She didn’t look pleased when she saw that Brad was sitting up in bed. Kent saw Brad too, over the nurse’s shoulder.
“Oh, hey Brad,” he called. “Sorry to hear you’re asleep. We’ll come back later, alright?”
“Fine,” the nurse snapped. “But make it quick.” She stalked back out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
“Guess what, Mr. Liftridge,” Kent started. “Becca and Keren were askin’ about you at Christian’s party. Cryin’ actually, ‘cause they were afraid you was goan die. It was touching, really.” He sounded so self-assured when he said this that Brad almost believed him, before he remembered what a good actor Kent was.
“Yea right,” Arik snorted. “The party never even happened yet. We were goan make it twice as big when we thought you were goan die, but after the doc said you were goan live no one felt like partyin' anymore.”
“Shut the hell up.” Brad reached over his shoulder to grab one of his many pillows, and hurled it at Arik as hard as he could. His strength wasn’t back yet, though, so the pillow fell to the ground three feet in front of Arik, who laughed.
“Now, now, Bradley, watch your language. You’ll break your poor old grandmother’s heart,” Kent said in a scarily accurate imitation of Brad’s grandma, while at the same time Arik spoke.
“You call that a throw? Marrisa’s got better aim. It’s a good thing you didn’t go out for football.”
Kent’s grin faltered and he turned to Arik. “Hey, no slamming Marissa.” He pushed Arik—only half playfully—into the wall, about three inches from an expensive-looking monitor.
“C’mon Kent, calm down. Ya know he only says that ‘cause he thinks she’s hot,” Brad said.
“He’d better not. There’s no way he’s goin’ out with my fourteen year old sister.” He did not seem to be over his uncharacteristic burst of temper, but before he could do anything else, the door to the room opened and the old nurse came back in.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But people have complained about the noise. You two have to go now.” Brad guessed no one had really complained, but he didn’t say anything, just waved good-bye to his friends as they were ushered out of the room. He was glad they’d had to leave, because his eyes were getting heavy again. He’d planned to stay awake until his mom got back from her lunch—or dinner or breakfast, he had no idea what time I was—but he didn’t think that was going to happen. Sighing, he closed his eyes and fell back asleep.
This time when Brad woke up he got the feeling he had slept for a more reasonable time. He felt comfortably rested for the first time since he had come to the hospital and he wasn’t stiff at all. The blankets were tangled around him though, and he vaguely remembered the dreams that had caused him to toss and turn. They were still the same as the first night, the moon shining fitfully through ragged clouds to illuminate a forest clearing, and construction sites. This time there had been something different though, and he struggled to recall what it was, unable to explain why it felt crucial or him to understand.
After a moment of thinking he got it. The construction site had changed. Instead of looking abandoned, this one had had men in hardhats swarming all over the place in a panic, and there had been an ambulance parked nearby. For some reason the scene looked familiar, but he couldn’t think why. He understood why he would be dreaming about accidents at a construction site, but that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He pushed the dream to back of his mind, trying not to remember.
Someone had finally thought to open the curtains, and bright sunlight angled in through the window, giving Brad the sense it was sometime in the morning. No one else was in the room with him, but judging from the impression in the recliner someone had recently vacated it.
He had just decided he had enough energy to cross the room and use the bathroom when a loud, familiar voice sounded from the hallway. Someone had left a pair of crutches propped on the bedside table still covered with cards, and Brad slid out of the bed and positioned himself awkwardly on them before hobbling over to the door. Looking out into the hallway, he saw Christian standing facing him, talking to a redheaded nurse Brad had seen in his room once. They were talking animatedly but quietly, and Brad couldn’t think of what Christian would have said loud enough to travel all the way Brad’s room.
Christian saw Brad and waved, showing off his bare left arm. He said something quickly to the nurse, winked, and hurried up the hallway to Brad’s room. While Brad closed the door behind him Christian hopped up to Brad’s bed. “Make yourself at home,” Christian offered, gesturing—again with his left arm—at the hard plastic chair.
“Thanks,” Brad muttered sarcastically, limping and wobbling over to the recliner. “Your cast is off.”
“Yeah, I told you I was getting it off Monday,” he was grinning when he said this, and Brad wondered what else he had missed. Christian must have guessed where Brad’s thoughts were heading. “Michaela found out about Kathlina. Apparently Kirsten saw us and tipped her off.” Only Christian could be smiling at the thought of his girlfriend finding out he was cheating on her. “She chewed me out big time. Totally bitched me out. I’ve never seen her so pissed, even when she walked in on me and Brittney at X’s party.”
Brad still couldn’t believe Michaela had stayed with him after that. “So she broke up with you?”
“Naw. She started to cool down after like ten minute of screaming in my face. Said she’d forgive me if I never did it again.”
“So you’re still together?” Brad asked, incredulous. How could she really believe he wouldn’t cheat again? What does Christian do to these girls to make them so willing to take him back no matter what? Brad thought, then wondered if he really wanted to know.
Christian shook his head. “Nope. I broke it off. She’s too clingy. I think she took it pretty well, really. At least she didn’t start bawlin’ like Lexi did.”
“So now you’re with Kathlina?” Brad asked.
“Not yet. I dunno if I want to get tied down again so fast.”
“Right, ‘cause you really respect being ‘tied down’ when you are,” Brad replied, sarcastic.
Christian just grinned. “Anyways, I’m having the party this Saturday instead. Two days from now, in case you’re too messed up to keep of time. We can’t wait any longer or my parents will be back. So you gotta get them to spring you by then.”
“I’ll try,” Brad said, doubtful.
“Ya know what’s not fair? When I was in the hospital for my arm, I got all the bitter old nurses. How come you get the hot interns?”
Brad shrugged. “Karma?”
“Ha. Right. So, what do you do for fun in this joint?”
“You mean aside from hit on the ‘hot interns?’ I don't know. I've been asleep, like the whole time. But it's boring. I can't wait to leave.”
A voice from the doorway made them both jump. “Well then you’ll be happy to here we’ve decided to let you out today. You’ll have some meds to take at home and you’ll have to be careful not to do any vigorous activities for a while, but there’s really no reason for us to keep you here longer.” Dr. Rosario was standing just inside the room, leaning on the door frame.
Brad was surprised. “Are you sure? I’m still so tired all the time.”
“Absolutely. The grogginess is just a product of the heavy pain meds you’re on. Once they clear out of your system and you start taking the more basic pills we’ll give you, you should feel fine again.”
“Sweet,” Brad turned to Christian. “You know I’ll be on crutches at your party though, right?”
“Yeah? Remind me to stand by you. I’ll look better by comparison.” Christian laughed, and then added, “Then again, I look better by comparison even when you’re not a cripple.” He grinned impishly as he easily dodged the weak punch Brad aimed at him.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Your family is waiting in front. Your father seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.”
That both surprised and irritated Brad. He hadn’t expected John to be there to pick him up—he usually didn’t get off work until six—but he couldn’t believe John had the nerve to show up and then complain it was taking too long. “Step father,” he corrected. “Let’s go then.”
Dr. Rosario came over to help Brad up and situate him on his crutches, while Christian hopped off the bed and stood waiting by the door. Outside the confines of his room for the first time, he realized how busy the rest of the hospital was. Nurses bustled everywhere, some reading from or scribbling on clipboards as they moved, small groups of them chatting in corners, a few wheeling gurneys, and one helping a scrawny old man out of a wheelchair. The hallways all smelled strongly of antibacterial, among other things.
In the last hallway Dr. Rosario took the lead, while Christian fell back to chat with Brad. “So who was that nurse you were talking to?” Brad asked casually.
“Just now? That was Amber. Oh, that reminds me; if you happen to run into her in one of your check-ups or whatever, I’m working to get a degree in radiology at Ohio State.”
“You told her you were in college? And she believed you?”
“Dude, she’s twenty-two. I’m seventeen. It was a little white lie. And come on. I might not be Kent, but I’m not that short.”
Brad would have said something else, but they had reached the waiting room and anything else they said would be overheard by Brad’s mom and Kamren. John was standing by the front door, looking impatient. As soon as she saw Brad round the corner, his mom practically tacked him, and Kamren wasn’t far behind.
When he had disentangled himself well enough to get a good look at them, he was struck by guilt. His mom had lost weight and had dark circles under her eyes. As she moved, Brad noticed her wincing slightly, as though her back was giving her problems after sleeping in chairs for too long. Kamren, who had always been slim before, was even skinnier. She looked gaunt and haunted, and Brad thought he knew why—if she had been in the car with him there was no way she would she would have survived; her build was far too frail. She had narrowly avoided dying just a week ago. That was enough to shake anybody. Then of course she had almost lost her big brother. That was bound to take its toll, too.
A minute later as John was talking to Dr. Rosario, a nurse came over to where Brad and Christian were standing, and handed Brad a small brown paper bag. “It’s your meds,” He explained, in response to the quizzical look Brad gave him. “Pain medication for your ribs and leg, and instructions on what you can and can’t do, check-up appointments, and so on.” He hurried off with a friendly nod as Brad turned to Christian and offered him the bag.
“Here, help a cripple out and carry this.”
Christian rolled his eyes but grabbed the bag. He only had to hold it for a moment, though, before the rest of Brad’s family came over and Kamren took it from him. Brad’s mom looked him over again.
“They haven’t been feeding you enough in this place. Luckily, I made a fresh batch of wheatloaf this morning. It’s ready for us at home.” She saw him try vainly to stifle a grimace and grinned. “Only joking. How does pizza sound? You’re welcome to join us, Christian,” she added, looking over at him.
Christian smiled politely and replied, “Thanks, but I already have plans for dinner,” and winked at Brad when she turned her back to speak to John. “Actually,” Christian said, coming to stand beside Brad. “I better get going if I wanna get there on time. See ya!” He waved to everyone and hurried out through the glass hospital doors. John ushered everyone else out less than a minute later, complaining that he had only taken an hour off work and didn’t have all day.
Anger flared in Brad. No one had forced him to come. It wasn’t as if Brad had cared whether or not John showed up to take him home. What right did he have to come of his own accord, then moan and complain the entire time? Brad wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that it still hurt when he saw how little John seemed to care for him.
That night Brad lay down in bed, unable to relax. He was comfortable full for the first time in a while, but his leg itched and sweated under the cast and he couldn’t get used to having to sleep flat on his back. Unwilling to think of the absolute indifference he had felt radiating from John ever since Brad’s accident, he let his mind drift instead over the coming party, only a couple days away now.
There would be many people, more than there would have been had the party been last Saturday, given the extra time for more people to be notified. For some reason that didn’t make Brad happy, and he realized it was more than discomfort that kept him awake. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. He didn’t know why, but he knew he didn’t want to go to that party. It felt wrong.
Then he shook himself. Come on, he thought. I’m not gonna skip the party of the year just because I got a bit of a bad feeling. Besides, they postponed it just so I could go. I can’t exactly cancel on them after that… He continued to repeat that in his head, but the troubled thoughts stayed with him as he finally sank into a fitful sleep, woken countless times by horrible nightmares that caused him to sweat and scream, but vanished like mist before he could remember what they had been about. He woke up feeling as if he hadn’t rested at all.
“Are ya sure you feel up to goin’? Ya know it’s bound to get crazy.” Brad had just finished breakfast, and his mom had taken the opportunity to attempt to dissuade him from attending the party. Again.
“Mom, I’m fine,” he insisted for the umpteenth time. “What d’you think I’m gonna do, swing off the chandelier or somethin’?”
“Knowin’ Kent and Arik, it’s a possibility, ya have to admit.” It irritated Brad even more when he realized she was probably right. That sounded exactly like the kind of stunt Arik would pull. He remembered his dark hunch from the night before, but shook it off.
“I’m goin’ to the party, mom. Chris postponed it just so I could go.”
“But ya look so tired. Did ya get any sleep last night?” The woman just wouldn’t give up.
“I’m fine. I swear, it’s like you want somethin’ to be wrong with me.” That was below the belt and Brad knew I, but he had to leave soon or he was going to be late.
“How can ya say that?” His mom sounded hurt. “Of course I don’t want anythin’ to be wrong with you. But I think somethin’ is.”
“Nothin’s wrong. Now I gotta get goin’. Kent and Arik’ll kill me if I’m late. They wanna get there early.” He walked out the front door as he was talking, and quickly threw a good-bye over his shoulder, trying to ignore the worried, hurt look in his mother’s green eyes.
One thing I noticed was the overuse of double dashes in the first two paragraphs. Dashes are wonderful (I use them excessively, as well) but if there are a lot of them used right next to each other, it becomes obvious to the reader and disrupts the flow of the prose. Try changing some to semi-colons, periods, or reworking it so commas can be used.
