Young Writers Society

Spending the next few moments – or maybe days – drifting in and out of consciousness, Mom and Dad came to visit me. I wanted to tell them to stick around until the medicine wore off, so I could hear what they were saying. I wanted to let them know that I loved them, no matter how many times I shouted at them for petty reasons like eating my leftovers or embarrassing me in front of my friends.

But fate wouldn’t allow it. My mouth wouldn’t open. My eyes wouldn’t stop closing. My world faded to darkness, and when it returned to normal they were both gone.

I felt the squeezing hands and heard the muffled voices of many different family members. I heard them talking about all the wonderful things that I loved to do. Video games. Watching baseball. They were going to take me to GameStop, I hated GameStop but they didn’t know that. They just knew I liked playing video games. And they cared for me, and they were coming back to visit again. But the voices I heard most often were the gruff voice of Dad, and the soft voice of Mom.

And I’d be alone for eons on end. I wanted to ask the RNs to bring me something to read, if it wasn’t for the damn tube down my throat. I wondered if I could yank it out on my own. Prove to them I didn’t need it to breathe. Maybe they’d even let me out of the hospital.

It was a pointless endeavor. My only hope came from the words of a complete stranger, assuring me that I wouldn’t die. Otherwise, it definitely seemed like that was going to be the case.

But the days came and went like gusts of wind in the morning fog, drifting and disappearing, and I felt empty regardless of the company. We’re going to pick crabs together. They grabbed my hand. We’re going to go to the baseball game together, just like the good old days. They grabbed my hand. I hated sports, but Mom and Dad both loved ballgames. It was one of the only things that still brought our family together. I was always doing things I hated just for the sake of someone else.

My vision made a hazed and lethargic return. I saw Mom’s tall frame staring down at me, her short black hair, her cherry-colored nail polish. I saw her smile at me, and saw her exchange words with the doctors. I saw her come into the room, and I saw the frown on her face when she had to leave. I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, the things people were saying seemed to be hit-or-miss. I could hear some things, but other times I couldn’t quite make anything out.

I saw Dad staring down at me. Mom and Dad couldn’t stand each other, so it made me feel good to see them not arguing for once. I saw Dad’s dark skin, his neatly trimmed beard, and his balding scalp. He removed his hands from his pockets and playfully wrapped his fingers around my nose. And I watched him leave.

Five nurses hurried into the room. My heart pounded. They grabbed me by the arms, and touched the machine, and fear settled in, what was happening? The doctor came in next, clipboard in his hands. He said some things, and God, I wish I knew what he was saying. Was this it? Was I really about to die?

A sharp sting pierced my wrist, and everything faded to a dark and lonely state of cold.