Page 31 of Wait For It

Maybe I had. Perhaps deep down, I’d always known it was going to end like this. I halfheartedly fought against my slipping consciousness before closing my eyes in relief.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

This wasn’t giving up… it was merely giving in to the inevitable.

“The car’s down here!”

I parted my lips to cry out before it struck me that I knew the voice.

And suddenly, I didn’t want to be found.

My leg jerked involuntarily,rescuing me from yet another nightmare. I peeled my cheek from the damp pillow, ears still ringing from the whine of an engine that miraculously hadn’t stalled out upon impact.

It was happening again—fact and fiction bleeding together and leaving me in a strange state of surrealness.

One of the hospital psychologists had recommended moving around to shorten the episode and rouse my mind back to the present. I slowly sat up and blinked, hoping to clear my vision, but the dense fog of smoke remained—the crumpled black frame of the convertible still so close I could almost touch it.

Reality told me it wasn’t there and that I was safe in my bed atTrue North, but the nightmare crudely spliced in by my brain begged to differ. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought against the rising tide of panic with each suffocating moment that passed.

The dreams were different every time too. In one, I was still behind the wheel, repeatedly stomping on a brake pedal that no longer worked. In another, the radio stations were changing on their own. It made it virtually impossible to know how much, if any, of what I saw was rooted in reality.

I craved answers but delving into my subconscious for clues only left my mind feeling chaotic, imagining people who weren’t there.

People who couldn’t possibly have been there.

A brief knock at the door saved me from speculating on the matter further, and I cracked one eye open, relieved to find my hospital room had returned to its normal state. It took several seconds more to rid my mind of the haunting images and slow my racing heart.

It only hurts if you let it…

“Good morning, Ariana,” Tsega called as she entered the room, her lips curving up in a wide smile.

I returned the gesture with a small wave, the closest I could get to actual communication for the time being.

Tsega was the weekend aide and, according to Tiffani, a devout Buddhist. She’d felt it was of the utmost importance I know every detail, lest I‘likeconvert’before she returned on Monday.

Given the sheer number of whispered warnings I’d received for the past two Fridays, it was evident Tiffani hadn’t spent her free time studying other religions. If she had, she would have known that Buddhists typically respected different religious views and weren’t exactly known for proselytizing.

She was confusing them with Tristan.

Tsega went over to the large marker board and filled in the daily details, along with who was on-duty. Once that was complete, she helped me out of my mesh prison and into the bathroom for a shower.

Weekends atTrue Northwere quiet. There were no classes to attend or schedules to keep. Most patients spent their time watching movies or doing crafts down in the common areas with their families.

In an ironic twist of fate, I found the sudden abundance of freedom unsettling. It was a bit like watching sand drain into the bottom of an hourglass—a reminder my time here was running out. I didn’t want to sit and paint a teacup or roam the halls in my wheelchair before being carted back behind the walls of a cage I was all too familiar with.

It was a frustrating thing, knowing that what you needed and what you were destined for were miles apart.

Like a well-trained zebra finch, I’d spent my life mimicking the rhythm of my father’s song while poking my head through the bars for even the smallest taste of freedom.

“Today’s a special day,” Tsega explained as she braided my damp hair. “You have a visitor.”

I wasn’t ready.

I managed a small nod and rubbed my sweaty palms against the skirt of my dress while staring longingly at the bright red exit sign above the door.

If only it were that easy.

Tsega paused her gentle movements and, keeping one hand on my braid, crouched in front of my chair. She studied my trembling fingers, clenched tightly together, before lifting her eyes to my face.

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