AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I fought it, though, as I struggled to stay conscious and present.
The ice chips helped.
Sorry, I already mentioned that. Sometimes my brain felt as if it was running on a hamster wheel, spinning over and over and repeating the same information again and again.
“We’re going to brush your hair if you can sit up,” Flora said and set the cup on a table nearby.
I knew I was in the hospital, but it wasn’t like any room I’d ever seen. It was too fancy, for one, and the food was delicious. Like five-star dining and not the slop they normally scooped onto your plate when you were a patient.
This space was more like a guest room in a beautiful home with medical equipment, and all the staff was quite familiar with me. Devoted and dedicated to my every need as if I was a favored niece or a celebrity client.
I didn’t know who was paying for it, but I worried they’d ask me to cover it at some point, and I felt like I had nothing to my name.
I struggled to sit and was alarmed at how weak I was. My muscles didn’t seem to respond when I commanded them to move, so I exerted more force of will until my arms lifted as if on their own accord.
Flora helped me up the rest of the way, and I sat leaning forward as she drew the brush through my long, thick, wavy hair.
A single strand of it fell across my vision, and it was dark, almost jet black.
But that seemed wrong. I jerked away, and alarm shot through my body, zapping my arms with energy, so I lifted one and grabbed the rest of my hair.
“How long have I been in here?” I gasped, staring at the locks in my grip.
“I don’t know, not too long, a couple months maybe,” Flora said. “Since the accident.”
“Accident?” I asked. “What accident?”
“We’ve gone over this,” Flora said with immense, careful patience. “You were in an automobile accident. You crashed your Mercedes one night after dance lessons. But you can get all the details from Mr. Remington when it’s time.”
“Who’s Mr. Remington?” I asked. “And what happened to my hair?”
“Your hair is perfect,” Flora said with a smile. “It was matted with blood when you came in, but we washed it and cared for it.”
I got the distinct impression that she was avoiding some crucial details about my life. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know much of anything. Every time I tried to lock onto a solid fact about myself, it evaporated like mist in the morning sunlight.
“It’s too long,” I said. “And it’s so dark. I haven’t seen this color in years. I feel like I had short hair. And it was bright pink.”
Flora laughed and took my hair gingerly from my hand, and continued to brush it behind me. Long, slow, careful strokes.
“That’s a new one,” she said. “I’ve been helping coma patients for years, and this is the first time somebody got confused about their own hair, darling.”
“It was pink,” I said, but as soon as I pictured myself in the mirror with a bright pink mop of short hair shaved underneath, it was gone. Dissolved, waving before my inner eye.
The image that replaced it was the face I’d seen in the mirror this morning. A gaunt, hollow-cheeked girl with long, thick, beautiful hair. Dark, beautiful hair.
“I washed it myself, sweetie,” Flora said, and I leaned back against her, letting her comfort me. She was so much more than a nurse. She was a friend to me now. A guide through this new, confusing world. “It’s always been long and dark and utterly gorgeous.”
“Where’s my phone? I have pics on my phone. I can show them to you,” I said.
“Phone?” Flora laughed again, but concern took over as she looked at me and realized I wasn’t joking. “Phones are attached to the wall, sweetie. And cameras take photographs. I think the coma is confusing your head.”
I was sure I used to have pink hair and a phone that I could hold in my hand and take pictures with it, but the harder I tried to imagine them, the foggier it all got. Then, finally, just as I almost caught hold of a definite memory, they all dissipated into the mist. In their wake, nothing was left in my mind, and I realized I didn’t even know what I’d been arguing about.
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “It must have been a dream. A strange dream I had when I was sleeping.”
“The brain does funny things when you’re in a coma,” she whispered and brushed a stray strand absentmindedly. “You’ll be confused at first, mixing all your dreams with the black spots you can’t remember. It’s normal. Just keep that in mind. It’s all normal.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I began to feel sleepy and pulled the blankets up, the top metallic cover crinkling as I moved it. It was to stimulate healing, Norris had said. It still felt strange, but I didn’t worry about it.
