Just Jack

Part Two: Chapter Thirteen: Just Keep Breathing

Chapter Thirteen

Just Keep Breathing

     Life is a carousel. A never ending, spinning until you feel sick, carousel. Its one from a crappy carnival passing through your town. Its one that you used to love, but once you grew older, you began to hate until one day you completely forgot about it altogether. We are all stuck on this endless ride. Through the doom. Through the laughter. We watch the people whizz by and sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cry. Other times we feel nothing at all, other than, get me off this God damn ride. There are those lucky few though. The people who just go along for the ride, smiling through all the pain. We all know them. The happy-go-lucky people. The, glass-half-full people. Don't you just hate them? Nonetheless, the carousel of life keeps turning, and no matter how much you want to, you can't get off.

     Remembering that night comes in flashbacks and echoes. Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming. Its like I'm twelve years old all over again, going through the same pain- same guilt. Only this time, there's that flicker of hope almost blinding me by its brightness. I didn't have this the last time. There was no hope, none at all. Yet, hope is not always a good thing to have because just like your keys or your cell phone, you can easily lose it. And hope, is a very dangerous thing to lose. Without it, I have nothing. If I can't hope for things to get better, what do I have to look forward to?

     She doesn't trust me to drive anymore, and I can't blame her. Mom fixes her hair in the rear-view mirror, ironically, as she drives. And she says I'm dangerous? She's flustered this morning, pale, no make up, shirt buttoned the wrong way. But she's here for me, she's doing something for me so I don't comment. Not that I've chose to comment on anything much lately. Ever since the crash two weeks ago I've been anything but conversational. Long, lonely days spent in my room- and it's not doing me any good either. When your alone, you just have your thoughts. And my thoughts, my over-thinking, can be dangerous. I'm my own worst enemy.

     So it's come to this. A visit to Bridge Bay Memorial Hospital. I've never been to this one, which is funny considering how much of my childhood and adolescence I've spent in hospitals. I wonder will it be like the familiar, and somewhat comforting, confinements of Saint Clares. Mom thinks a visit will do me some good, maybe help me deal with my guilt. I, on the other hand, think it will only make matters worse. Even the thought of seeing her lying there, lifeless yet alive, scares me and makes me feel a thousand times worse for putting her there in the first place. Emily. The girl who understands me. The girl whose smile is brighter than the sun. The girl, who because of me, is now in a coma.

     Mom turns out of our street and I watch, in the mirror, as our house grows smaller and smaller. Sammy sits quietly in the back, gazing out the window. It begins to rain, small drops at first and then suddenly its pouring. The window wipers swish across the windscreen as fast as possible, as mom leans forward in her seat to see better. Their sounds are the only thing we listen to for the whole ride and, for the silence, I am thankful. My eyelids become heavier and heavier and I soon let them fall but it feels like as soon as I do, the car halts to a sudden stop.

     I wipe my window clear so I can see out. The hospital is rather large. It has a huge porch made entirely of glass. If i look closely I can see doctors and nurses walking by. A pregnant woman in a pink robe stands outside the hospital, puffing away on a cigarette. Mom sighs, seeing her at the same time I do. I don't move from my seat, afraid of what I must finally face. It's been two weeks since I've seen her face and that last time I seen it, it was covered in her own blood. What will it be like seeing her in a hospital bed? What will it be like being in her presence without being able to look into her eyes or to kiss her lips?