2A Chapter by Cheyenne
“Do you think it’s anything serious?”
“Whatever it is, we’ll cover it, no matter the cost.”
“Shh, I think she’s waking up.”
My eyelids opened and I glanced around the room in a daze. I was lying in a hospital bed, dressed in one of those stiff paper nightgowns and had IVs coming out of both arms.
Around me, I saw my parents, a doctor, and a nurse leaning over the edge of my “bed” and glancing down at my face curiously.
“Mom?” I moaned. My temples throbbed as I spoke. “Dad?”
“She sounds terrible,” my mother told the doctor.
“There’s nothing we can do.”
“Why am I here?” I asked no one in particular.
“Oh, Sarah, dear.” Mom bent over and gave me a light hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“We thought we were going to lose you,” Dad chimed in.
“Why is nobody listening to me?” I whined. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing my head with a knife every time I uttered a single word. I tried to sit up, but terrible pain shot throughout my entire body, causing me to cry in distress and lay back down again.
“Don’t try to move,” the doctor warned. If I weren’t in my current state, I would’ve either smacked him across the face or made some sarcastic remark about how “perfectly on time” his comment was--or both.
“What’s wrong with me?” I said frantically, afraid that I was paralyzed for life.
The doctor and my father had a silent conversation with their facial expressions. The doc asked Dad if he should tell me about my condition. Dad replied that he probably should; it was better for me to know the truth.
“What?” I blurted. “Tell me--AH!” The knife sunk into my head again and again.
“You probably shouldn’t talk, either,” the nurse advised.
It took all my best efforts to not roll my eyes.
The doctor looked down at the sheets attached to his clipboard. “You had quite the adventure. Let’s see…all your ribs are cracked”--I winced--“Your vertebrae somehow dislodged itself out of place”--I shuddered--“And you fractured your jaw and broke your right leg.” Okay, the last part wasn’t so bad. It was just slightly hard to take in the reality of the situation.
“What about Elliott?” I questioned my parents, flinching at the pain I felt.
“He’s going to be better off than you, that’s for sure,” Dad observed.
“Frank!” Mom gave him a scolding look, then turned to me again. “He just has a couple fractured ribs and a sprained neck.”
I didn’t know how somebody could sprain their neck, but that didn’t matter. Suddenly, anger welled up inside of me that Elliott got off so easily. After all, it was his car that drove us off that overpass.
“Don’t be upset with him, dear,” my mother told me. “He was just--”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I cut her off and looked at the doc. “How long do I have to stay like…this?” I nodded at my bandaged up and pathetic self.
“Three months,” he said. “Then you go into physical rehabilitation for another month. After that you’re free to go about your life normally again.”
I weakly smiled outwardly, but on the inside I was majorly depressed. How could I just lounge around on a hospital bed for three months and then go to some rehab center afterward? What if there were a bunch of old insane people there?
I was really going to miss out on a lot of things. Like--well, hmm…
I sat there silently for a few minutes and pretended to fall asleep so everybody would leave me alone, all the while thinking about what I wouldn’t be able to do.
I can’t…, I started to think, but nothing came to mind.
Suddenly, the truth dawned on me. I couldn’t think of anything I would miss out on, because, really, there was nothing. I was living a rich and boring life, if you even considered that a life at all. I had rich and boring parents and a rich and boring fiancé. And pretty soon I would be the bride in a rich and boring wedding.
All of a sudden I gasped. The wedding! It was in one month. What would we do? Would we have the wedding in the hospital, in this very room? No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. We would just have to put it off.
Or maybe it would just never happen. With all the evil thoughts I’ve been thinking about Elliott in the past few minutes, the marriage doesn’t seem like such a good idea. We’re supposed to love each other, right? And not want to break one another’s necks?
I sighed quietly. My thoughts just seemed so confusing. Maybe, just maybe, if I closed my eyes and fell asleep, everything would be okay when I woke up…
But for some reason, I couldn’t fall asleep.
It didn’t have to do with the fact that my parents were watching me sleep and it didn’t have to do with the fact that my mom was saying one of those rosary prayers (I didn’t even know we were Catholic).
It had to do with the fact that I kept wondering what would happen when I got out of rehab. Where would I go? Home was so dull. What would I do? All of my daily routines weren’t the least bit exciting. I needed someplace that would bring me back into character…although I have to say that I have no idea what my character is anymore.
“Mom, Dad,” I murmured without opening my eyes.
They quickly hurried over to the side of my bed, probably afraid that I was uttering my last words.
I talked a lot; even though it deeply pained me to do so. “I wanna go someplace…after rehab is over. Can we spend the summer away from home?”
“Oh, but you’ll already be Home, dear,” Mom said. I could hear the sad smile in her voice.
“Cut it out!” I snapped, causing my head to get stabbed by the knife once more. “I’m not ready to die yet, Mother! I still have another sixty years.”
“Do you think she’s delusional?” Mom whispered quietly to Dad.
“I’ll ask the doctor about it later,” he replied in an equally low tone.
“Guys!” I was frantic. “I’m not going to die! Now listen to me--OUCH!” The pain in my head throbbed so wildly I was sure my brain was going to explode right then and there.
“Where would you like to go, dear?” Mom asked, not seeming to notice my agony. She was probably thinking about Italy or France.
“Anyplace you want, sweetie,” Dad promised, thinking of Australia.
“Anyplace,” Mom confirmed, and even though I couldn’t see her I knew she had nodded her head. I also knew she was asking (in her head), “Italy, France, or Australia? Choose wisely.”
I said the first words that popped into my head:
© 2010 Cheyenne
What is Forever?
AboutI'm a thirteen-year-old girl who lives in a little town in Illinois, USA that nobody knows about. :P I love to write, and have been doing so for as long as I can remember. I'm currently working on.. more..