Page 99 of Forgetting You, Remembering Me

I stand in front of the tall white building, which houses the fate of my future. Saxon is inside, but what exactly am I walking into. A sense of peace surrounds me, but the manicured gardens and well-tended blooms are an illusion, there to soften the blow.

Gripping the straps of my backpack, I walk up the stairs, proud of myself for not dashing into the foyer like a madwoman. I will not overreact. I will think positive and brush negativity from my mind.

However, when the marbled counter comes into view, memories crash into me, and I suppress a whimper. The young nurse with earrings that look like pink glitter baubles smiles. I focus on the shimmer and not on the sharp, medicinal stench which stings my nose. “Hello, Miss. Can I help you?”

“Hi. I was wondering what room Saxon Stone is in?” I could have called Sam the moment I landed, but my cell had died, and I didn’t have time to spare.

“Sure. Let me just check for you.” She tinkers away at the computer while I dig my fingernails into my palms. “He’s in room 317. Go up this hallway, take the third left…” As she’s giving directions, all I can think is thank god, he’s not in intensive care. Or worse. It can’t be that bad, right?

Once she’s done, I thank her, before following her instructions. Natural light fills the long hallways, brightening the stark white paint. A sense of stillness walks in my footsteps as I hold hands with positivity, but it’s in vain when I take the third left. The farther I venture, the darker and more suffocating things become.

A dull beige replaces the white, and the light has been throttled, giving way to darkness. The tone is quiet, nurses whispering, visitors dabbing at their red-rimmed eyes. When I pass a chapel, a gut-curdling wail fills my gut with dread. Nevertheless, I refuse to give into the doom and gloom, but my steps become a brisk walk.

Please let me turn the corner and return to the light,I chant over and over again.

As I watch the numbers above the doors, though, my optimism soon makes way for realism because I come to a stop in front of room 317. The curtain is drawn, so I can’t see who’s inside. A small part of me hopes there’s been some mistake, but I must let go of the dreamer and embrace the realist Lucy because I’ll need her when I walk over that threshold and into this room.

Hushed voices are coming from inside—a man and a woman. “No change. Any signs of life?”

“None.”

Unable to stomach this a second longer, I charge inside, my squeaking sneakers on the linoleum making my presence known. “Hello?”

A doctor in a white coat peeks his head out from around the curtain. “Hello? May I help you?”

“I’m Saxon’s…friend. How is he?” I hate to refer to myself this way, but if I were of importance, the hospital would have contacted me by now.

The furrow lines around the young doctor’s face have me feeling faint. “He’s stable for the moment. Have you spoken to his family?”

“Just his brother, Sam. I’ve been in Syria for work.” Sweeping my hands downward, I hope to explain my ratty appearance as I haven’t had a chance to shower or change my clothes. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

This is possibly against all hospital protocol, but the doctor must sense the desperation in my tone. He emerges fully, closing the curtain behind him. His actions have me wondering what state Saxon is in. “Mr. Stone had a motorcycle accident. He was struck by a truck and fell down a twenty-foot embankment. He’s sustained a very serious head injury. At the moment, he’s in an induced coma to give his brain time to heal.”

“All I really remember is looking over that embankment and seeing my best friend’s broken body.”It appears fate has a sick, twisted sense of humor, after all.

“How long has he been in a, a…coma?” That word fills me with dread.

“He was brought in four days ago. We’ve taken him out of the ICU because…”

“Because why?”

“Because his condition has not changed. It’s not worsened. Or improved.” In other words, Saxon is a lost cause. They’d rather give that bed to someone who has a hope of surviving.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I know what the answer is, but I need confirmation.

He reaches for his chart off the wall. Looking it over, he sighs. “We’d hoped to see some response by now. There is very little brain stimuli.”

Oh god. I hug my middle, disbelieving that I’m here once again. “May I see him?” I whisper, my need to be close to him leaving me breathless.

“Of course. The nurse is just cleaning him up. She won’t be a minute.” With nothing left to say, he replaces the chart and goes to leave. However, he stops and touches my shoulder. “Don’t be alarmed when you see him.” His assurance has the opposite effect, but I’m thankful nonetheless.

The respirator and other beeping machines sound loudly, which gives me an insight into what I’m walking into. Yes, I have lived through this before, but this is so much worse. “You can come in. I’m almost done,” says a soft voice from behind the curtain.

Wiping my sweaty palms onto the legs of my jeans, I know winding myself up will never prepare me for this, so I step forward and gently pull back the curtain. It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing because the sight before me is beyond words.

I blink once, dumbfounded, and unsure if I’ll ever be the same again.

“It’s okay, you can come closer.” But that’s the thing, I can’t. If I move a muscle, I’m afraid of crumpling into a heap.

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