Page 26 of Sparrow

By the time it was all said and done, and the smoke cleared, I had spent the better part of two days in the hospital.

I made it home Sunday afternoon, but I had been on pain meds, and Monday morning came and went before I even remembered my plans with Owen.

He had been on my mind a lot, but I lost track of days in the medical stupor. I thought I had more time till our meeting. I somehow thought I could heal up enough to drive out there and hop out to meet him on crutches.

But before I knew what was happening, it was Monday, and I woke up when it was already past the time when I should have met Owen—at least I thought that was happening.

I couldn't focus on the clock.

What time was I supposed to meet him?

I tried to think about what day it was. In the back of my mind, I knew I had heard conversations about the day of the week. It was past Sunday. It was Monday. A helpless feeling washed over me when I realized I must be late. I thought of Owen being in the woods alone, with a phone, and I began to cry angrily.

"Oh, no, what's the matter, Corey? Are you okay? What's the matter? Do you need more pain medicine?" My mom crossed to my bedside. I didn't even know she was in there.

"Is it ten o'clock in the morning?" I moaned. I wasn't able to get the words to come out of my mouth correctly.

"Is-is it ten, y-yes," she said.

"What day is it?" I knew my voice was off. I could hear it.

"Monday, Corey. Are you okay? Are you feeling pain? Oh, Lord Jesus, why are you crying? Are you in pain? Stanley!"

"No, don't get… just leave me alone," I cried. my voice came out in a deeper tone than I wanted it to and much quieter. It was heavy with emotion and exhaustion, and I felt like I was unable to wake up. I desperately wanted my mother to leave me alone.

"Corey, don't."

"I want to be alone!" I said shaking my head. I usually didn't feel anger welling inside of me, but today was different. I was upset about missing our meeting and I wondered when and how I was ever going to see Owen again.

"What's the matter?" A man's voice said from the hall. I didn't even bother looking that way.

"She's mad, that's what's the matter. She woke up crying. She's not being herself. It could be a reaction to her pain pills. Come in here."

"The doctor said it was safe for her to take two at the time," Stanley said. "That's what you've been giving her."

My mom went into the hall with him. I heard them retreat down the hall. I heard them move away from me. But they began talking again, and their voices were still audible.

"What do doctors know? None of this should have ever happened. She's not acting like herself. I hate hearing her crying. I regret all of this Stanley. It feels wrong."

"You need to calm down, Claudia."

Claudia was my mom's real name, and that got my attention. Stanley had only called her that a few times, and it was always when he thought I couldn't hear him. Neither of them thought I could hear them now, or he never would have said that. I wasn't even sure why I could still hear them. I was back in my bedroom and they were…where were they?I could clearly hear their voices and what sounded like the sink running.

"Don't tell me to calm down. It's my daughter who's the little lost sheep in your story."

"I love her too," Stanley said.

"Obviously not like I do, or you would have thought of a better way to do this."

I got to the other side of the bed, closer to the door.

"Sometimes things hurt, even when they're for our own good." It was Stanley who said it. His voice was quiet and somber, and it sent chills down my spine.

Chapter 10

I could put no weight at all on my right leg, but I got to the very edge of my bed, leaning on my left leg, bracing myself against the wall, and listening to my family in the other room.

I didn't care about pain at the moment. I could have sworn that Stanley said that I had been hurt for my own good, and it made me experience a whooshing sensation, a wave of fear and dread. If I had been hurt for my own good, then I had been intentionally hurt. I knew that was what my mother was implying—at least I thought it was. Everything was still hazy.

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