I write this like a story but you know better

Before you jumped on Jeff’s car, thinking it was a joke, before you fell off and hit your head on the pavement, before the seizures and the blood collecting on your lips, you called me. You just wanted to chat.

~

My little sister came over, her boyfriend too. I called Sam, and left a voice message. “I’m celebrating my birthday, and it just isn’t proper if my best friend doesn’t show up. So, get ye ole ass over here, Sam-a-loaf!”

I sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette. Pulling the white filter from my lips, my voice constricted, I revealed a secret. I looked at my sister, aware of the beer in her lap, and said, “I don’t think I’ll ever fall out of love with him.” “I know.” She said. “I feel like I’m watching a movie where the guy and the girl are supposed to end up together, but it is taking them forever to get there.” She said.

Then I broke a promise. I told her what we agreed to keep secret. I told her how you said you still loved me, how you miss me, how you still think of me before you fall asleep. I told her how you don’t want to hurt your new girlfriend’s feelings. I told her how I don’t want you to break my heart again. I relived this conversation with bitter hope.

~

My phone glowed before it rang.

“Hey Sam, you on your way, yet?”

“Sarah? Are you calm and sitting?”

“What the hell, Sam?”

“Willis was playing around and he fell. He hit his head.”

“Well, is he ok, or what?”

“We don’t know. Andrew said we should get to the hospital now.”

I left my sister so she could take care of the dogs. I didn’t cry, not at first. I felt as if nothing changed, as though I didn’t know you were hurt.

~

In the car I rolled my window down. It was cold. I didn’t turn on any music. It wasn’t until I turned onto Summit that I realized I could lose you forever. Not just to your new, prettier girlfriend, but to something greater. Something I never understood. I felt sick. My throat was acidic, my tongue dry. My fingers felt too close together. My toes touching each other irritated me.

It wasn’t until Sam got in the car and asked if she should drive, that I noticed how hard I was crying. I insisted on driving. I had to drive.

Andrew called Sam. He told her you were stabilized, that you were going to make it. Only twenty minutes from the hospital, I pressed on. I had to see you.

~

At the hospital your step-mom came to me, her eyes wet, her face scrunched.

“He had to go into emergency surgery. We don’t know if he’s gonna make it.”

“I thought he was stable?”

“No. No. No he’s not. He’s got blood on his brain. He’s got it in his brain. He’s got it in his brain.”

The nurse lead us into a waiting area. I sat near your dad. He looked bigger than usual. He sat with his head in his hands, then looked up at me. “He better come out of this so I can kick his ass.” The idea that you might not “come out of this” made me sob. I attempted to hold back the noise, wanted to hold back the tears. I felt stupid.

~

We waited until three in the morning, when your dad sent us home with a promise to call when you were out of surgery. He called around four and said you made it out alive. Now we just had to wait and see if you’d make it out the same.

I watched the clock turn.

I watched our friends sleep.

I watched the dog run in his dreams.

Nine thirty he called again. He said the doctor’s expect a one-hundred percent recovery, that you’re lucky because few people make it out of a coma with this surgery.

~

I went back to you. Only your family could visit you. They said that you could hear things. That when you heard them cry it agitated you. You would gag on the ventilator and throw up. This is why I couldn’t see you.

The next day you woke up once when they pulled the ventilator from your throat. The tube pulling against your dry lips, you coughing the words, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Then asking your dad for his chapstick before falling asleep again. I went back to your room. Your mom sat with one hand on yours, the other on a Styrofoam cup with coffee. Her blue eyes sagged beneath her brown hair. Your grandma stood at the foot of your bed and asked who I was. “Sarah.” I said. “I’m an old girlfriend.” I said. She looked at me, “I remember seeing pictures of you. He always liked to show off how beautiful you are.”

You started to squirm, and your feet came out from under the blankets. I reached down to cover them back up. Your mom asked if I would prop up your arm, that it’s been swelling pretty bad and it should stay elevated.

I grabbed your hand and pulled it onto a pillow in your lap. I grazed my fingertips against your arm. I looked at your mouth, slightly agape. I could see how you knocked your tooth out of place. Your upper lip was swollen. You had two black eyes. Gauze wrapped around your head, and tubes came out beneath the wrappings. An IV pierced the bend in your arm. An oxygen monitor clipped around your index finger. You looked tragically beautiful. I rubbed your arm again, this time you opened your eyes and looked at me for a second, then closed them. Your eyes snapped open again. You stared at me for a long time, they never looked so blue. “Willis, honey, it’s Sarah. You ok?” It sounded like you tried to say something. You kept staring at me and tried to sit up. You started pulling off the monitor and tried to take off the IV. You tried getting up. I pressed my hand to your chest. “Stop it. What are you doing? Just hold on a second. Lay down.” I said. You wouldn’t. “Maybe you should go.” Your mom said. She was holding you down. I turned to leave and you stopped.

I didn’t know what to make of that. I still don’t.

~

I’ll be able to see you again on Saturday. You should be talking by then.