Page 52 of Finding London

I wake with a start. The bed is moving violently beneath me. The room is dark, and I fumble to find the light switch above the bed. I click it on, and the space floods with pale light.

“Sarah!” I scream when I see her.

She’s in the bed beside me, convulsing and spitting foam from her open mouth.

“Sarah!” I shake her. “Oh my God, Sarah! Please don’t do this! Sarah! Sarah!” Tears fall down my face, and I pray to whoever will hear me.

I reach for the cheap motel phone screwed onto the wall. When I pick up the receiver and listen, I don’t hear a dial tone.

I hate this fucking place!

I knew that the phone connection was hit or miss, but I’ve never cared as much as I do in this moment. I wiggle the cord attached to the receiver and push it up. Finally, I get a dial tone. I push 911 as fast as I can. Thankfully, the phone stays connected long enough for me to tell the operator everything that’s happening. I beg her to tell the paramedics to hurry.

I don’t know what to do to help Sarah. She’s no longer shaking, but her mouth is ajar, and traces of spit are falling from it. Her eyes are closed, and she’s motionless. Her arm is dead weight, hanging limply off the side of the bed as I hold her in my lap. I rock her back and forth and beg her to stay. I blink back tears and notice the empty pill bottle and glass on the end table.

Oh, Sarah.

I hold my hand against her chest, but I can’t feel her heart beating. “Sarah! Please! Please! Please!”

I gently lay her on the bed. I hold her nose while I breathe into her open mouth. I have no clue how to do CPR properly, but I can’t just sit here and let her die. I put my hands together and press against her chest, like I’ve seen done in movies. Nothing happens, but I keep going while begging her not to leave me.

There’s a knock at the door, and I run to open it. The paramedics come in and get to work, putting her on a stretcher. I hand them the empty pill bottle and tell them what I think happened. In a matter of seconds, she’s being loaded into an ambulance.

As they close the ambulance doors, I cry out, “I love you, Sarah! I’ll see you soon!”

I will see her soon.

I run back into the room and get dressed. I don’t know how long it will take me to get to the hospital if using the bus, so I opt to call a cab. I don’t know why I didn’t go in the ambulance. They didn’t offer, and at the time, I didn’t think I could, but people do it in the movies. Maybe they didn’t extend an invite because they think I’m the one who did this to her. Or maybe they needed space to work on her. I know I couldn’t have done anything to help, but I feel so lost without her.

When I get to the emergency room, I run in like a crazed person. The receptionist flinches when my palms find the counter with a smack.

“A girl was just brought in—Sarah Berkeley. Well, you wouldn’t know her name if she’s not conscious yet. She overdosed on some pills, I think. I need to know how she is doing.” I think I might have frightened the lady behind the desk.

“Sir, you need to calm down. A minor was brought in, but I don’t know what her status is at this time. But I will tell you that, unless you are her parent or guardian, then no one will be releasing that information to you.”

“I am her guardian. I’m the only family she has!” I yell.

“Can I see your ID?” she asks calmly.

“I don’t have an ID.”

“I see. Well, why don’t you have a seat? Then, I’ll see what I can do.”

Two days have passed. Not only did that bitch have no intention of helping me, but neither did any of the bitches to follow. I’ve never met a group of people so intent on following the rules as people who work in a hospital.

I can’t prove to them that I have a right to know how Sarah is. I can’t even prove who I am. I don’t own a single form of identification. I’ve begged. I’ve pleaded. I’ve cried. I’ve screamed. I’ve been about two seconds from being arrested, but through it all, nothing. Not one word about Sarah has been given to me.

I haven’t left the waiting room in two days. I’ve been living off of the drinking fountain and a couple of bags of chips from the vending machine—not that I’ve been real hungry anyway.

I’m not sure what I should do, but I know that leaving here isn’t an option.

My elbows rest on my knees, and my fingers tug on my hair as I lean into my hands. I pray silently to Sarah, begging her to come back to me.

“Sir?”

I look up to see the older lady from the reception desk peering down at me. She looks like a wicked witch. Then again, they all do.

“She’s gone. You should go.”

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