Welcome Back, Love

I turned the wheel hard to the right, but even then, I couldn’t avoid what was coming. The heavy snowfall had blocked my view of the road, and I hadn’t seen the tree until it was too late. I tried taking control, but it was useless; the wheels slid out, causing the car to turn sideways and slam into a hard, unmoving oak. As metal meat bark, there was a sickening crack that reverberated throughout the car as my head made contact with the window, shattering the glass in an instant. As soon as everything was still, I lifted my hand to my head and felt something wet and sticky in between my fingers. Bringing my hand down to my face, I started at the red liquid dripping down my arm.

Blood.

Peeling my eyes off my hand, I looked around the car. Glass, and anything not strapped down, littered the floor, and blood was spattered all over the interior. At this moment, I didn’t even want to think about what the outside looked like.

I turned my head again and looked out the broken window. It was still snowing and some of the flakes had made their way inside. I could feel them landing softly on my face, almost as if they were trying to heal what they had unintentionally done.

With great effort, I tried moving my body around so I could find my phone, but every time I did, a searing pain shot up my back, so I gave up. Instead, I rested my head on the frame of the car, closed my eyes, and listened to the wind. I must have been worse then I thought because I could have sworn I heard a voice being carried on the wind, and, not matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I tried to understand what it was saying, but it was getting hard and harder to stay awake. I knew that if I didn’t call for help soon, it would be all over, but I couldn’t get myself to move. I stopped trying to fight the darkness and let the voice be my lullaby. For a second, I thought I heard it say, “Help is on the way.” Then . . .

. . . nothing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - One Week Later - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

. . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

. . . what? . . .

. . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

. . . where am I? . . .

. . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

. . . hello? . . .

. . . beep . . . beep . . . be–

“I think she’s awake.” The sudden sound broke the rhythm of the constant beeping. The voice wasn’t familiar. It was definitely male, and it sounded both hard and soft; like whomever it belonged to was kind, but had said hard things to people.

“Come on Morgan. If you can hear me, open your eyes.” I didn’t want to; the dark was familiar, and I was afraid of what would be on the other side, but as soon as the words left his mouth, there was a dull yellow light behind my eyes. Almost like when you close your eyes and look at the sun, even though your eyes are closed, some of the light still gets through. I knew that, even if the yellow light went away, the dark wouldn’t be the same, so, begrudgingly I opened my eyes.

I had squint for a couple seconds afterwards. Whoever it is was probably shining a flashlight or something in my eyes. I contemplated closing my eyes again, but the flashlight was turned off, and I forced to let them see the new place they found themselves in.

“Welcome back to the world, love. How ya feeling?” It was the same voice, but this time, there was a laugh to it. I squinted my eyes and craned my neck in its direction, and found myself looking into the childlike eyes of an old man. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his late 50’s with salt and peppered hair and wrinkles outlining his tired face.

“You gave us quite a scare there, Morgan. We’ve been waiting for you.” He smiled at me. A soft loving smile, one you would get from a grandfather. Suddenly, he turned to the women beside him and said, “Go tell her family that Sleeping Beauty is awake.” With a nod, she left.

As I watched her go, I stole a glance around the room. Hanging on all the walls were machines and equipment used for only God knows what. You could still here the rhythmic beating coming from most, if not all, of said machines. All the walls in the room, including the ceiling, were pure white, and there was a faint smell of antiseptic and bleach.

Hospital.

I turned my attention back to the man in front of me. He still had that warm smile on his face as he said, “My name is Dr. Chauncy. I would shake your hand, but I’d rather that you didn’t move.” I took that as a hint to stop moving around. Then, with smile fading, he asked, “After the crash, you suffered severe head trama. We tried to keep you stable, but on the way here, you slipped into a coma.” He paused for a moment then continued. “Can you tell me anything you might remember?”

I shook my head yes. With a tired, croak like voice, I told him how I remember hitting the tree, and how there was blood everywhere. I also told him about the voice I thought that I had heard. His smile returned as he said, “Ah, yes. Thank God for OnStar.” I couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. Had I really be so out of it that I thought the wind was talking to me?

Just then, my mom came running into the room. She looked at me and I saw the tears in her eyes. She rushed over and rapped her arms around my neck. Through her sobs, I could just make out what she was saying. “Oh–h , Mor–gan. I’m so gl–ad that your ok–ay. This was the worst week ever. I hated wa–iting and not knowing. I was so wor–ried that you wouldn’t come out of it . . . I . . . I . . . ” She held onto me for a few more mintues, before she forced herself to regain her composure.

We talked for a little while longer until Dr. Chauncy told my mom that I needed to rest. “She needs to rebuild her strength, ma’am.” He must have seen the look in my mother’s eyes because he quickly added, “She will wake back up in a couple hours. You’re welcomed to stay with her until then.” Maybe it was just him saying that I needed rest, but suddenly, I felt extremely tired. At first I was worried about going back to sleep, even if he had told my mom that I would wake back up, but she had promised to stay, so I didn’t feel as bad.

As I lay there, my mom held my hand and sang to me. When I was little, she would sing to me every night, but as I grew up, she had stopped. I loved my mom’s soft voice, and the sound of it made it easy to fall asleep. With a final yawn, I closed my eyes and let the sweet words carry me off to a different world.

There were ten pretty girls in a village school.
Picture ten pretty bells in a village school.
Short and tall, cute and sweet,
And the boy loved them all,
But you can’t marry ten pretty girls.

There were ten pretty girls and I’ll tell you this,
That the boys greatest thrill was to steal a kiss,
But it doesn’t mean a thing,
Playing kiss in a ring,
‘Cause you can’t marry ten pretty girls.

Now five were blonde, and four brunette,
One was a saucy little red head.
The boy grew up, the girls left school
When he was twenty-one he wedded
That saucy little red head,
For it was she taught the boy at the village school
Kissing girls may be fun,
But your heart picks on one,
‘Cause you can’t marry ten pretty girls.