Lifeguard Jeon

° T W E N T Y - E I G H T °

When you're dying, people say you see a tunnel and a column of blinding light. Sometimes you can hear the voices of people around you, even though they don't know that you can. I remember a feeling of warmth and love, a kind I never experienced before. I gave myself over to a powerful entity, some great spiritual force in the universe as I floated without a body anymore, thinking about all of my life and my childhood. I saw my parents and grandparents and Cousin Irene. I didn't have to talk to any of them, I couldn't, but it didn't matter because they were there with me in that wide expanse of white, enchanted space in a new sphere of existence somewhere outside the earth.

But then I approached an ending, or a border. I sensed an indistinct line in the sand between the worlds of life and death and I fought back hard, drawn by a strong lifeline. I crossed over to that other, more vivid, pulsating reality that I could see so clearly in my mind. And then I floated, and slept, a deep calming sleep of renewal, rebirth, and completion.

° ° ° ° °

The voices are behind me somewhere. I can't see any one. There's a blinding light, only this one is cold and white making everything ghostly and unnatural, hurting my eyes.

Where am I?

White sheets. A blanket. I'm in bed, only beeping sounds are everywhere.

A tape around my arm holds a needle attached to a tube. i hate needles; why is it there? Tiny droplets of blood, one after another, trickle through the tube that goes inside me. 

Why?

What happened?

What's wrong with me?

Why am I here?

I move and spark of pain courses through my body. I can't move my left leg. It's dead, useless. Is it still attached? Am I paralyzed? I manage to move my arm. I push down the sheet. The leg is totally bandaged; the dressing is spotted with blotches of red and yellow. That's not right.

It's hard to focus, to think straight.

Am I drugged?

I can't remember anything. What happened to my mind? Who's talking behind me? I can't see anyone.

I force my eyes to open. The light burns. I make out the outline of someone in white? A nurse? She comes toward me and pours something from a small envelope, like a sugar pack, into a bag of watery liquid that's hanging on the pole with the blood.

"What is that?"

"A sedative . . . to help you sleep."

"Sleep?" It comes out muffled like there's something in my mouth - or my head. Have they fogged up my brain? "I don't want to sleep. I want to get up. I want to go home."

She shakes her head. "You have to rest, Suzy."

"Why, what happened?"

She doesn't hear me or pretends not to.

"What happened?" I repeat. Is she deaf? Why doesn't she answer?

She studies the monitor that's beeping and writes something on paper with a clipboard. I want to ask her something else, but what? I can't focus. I can't think. Then I look up. Irene comes toward me. She doesn't look like the cousin I remember. Her face is gray and sad and pinched. She's older now. She looks scared. For the first time I see lines between her eyes. She reaches out for my hand and squeezes it. She pretends to smile, but it's hard for her. She's not like that. She's honest. I feel pity for her, but I'm not sure why. A doctor walks in and studies the chart. Her face pale with the same lifeless expression.