Jellyfish Girl

Chapter One

It was an unbearably hot, sticky night in July when my life was changed forever. I wasn't there when it happened. The ones that were said it was horrific, heartbreaking. Of course, what they felt was nothing compared to my pain. They didn't even know Carson. Not really. 

Some of the citizens interviewed said the car rolled dozens of times before finally coming to a stop. Some said it just simply crashed. Either way, I wasn't there. I couldn't save him that night. 

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My fingers brushed the back of my neck, still searching for the ghost of my long hair. I cut it a couple of weeks earlier on an impulse, needing to change myself somehow. I was no longer the girl I was before; I couldn't look the same as before. 

I cut it a week after Carson had been admitted into the hospital. I was numb for so long, and then I just... snapped. After seeing him lying in a coma, I ran home from the hospital, then tied my hair into a ponytail. Frustrated tears running down my face, I stared at myself in the mirror. I remember being disgusted with myself. I ran my fingers through my waist-length, dark brown hair, then grabbed the scissors. Snip. Over a foot of hair fell to my bathroom floor, the tiny individual strands slowly floating to the floor like snowflakes. After what had happened to him, it felt right. 

It's been three weeks since Carson's accident. He still hasn't woken up. The doctors don't expect him to, but his parents still hold onto a tiny sliver of hope. So do I. We refuse to pull the plug yet. 

Every day after school, I drive to the hospital to see him. I always bring a book with me, so I can read to him. I heard somewhere that even when people are unconscious, they can hear everything around them. So I talk to him, read to him, play the piano for him. 

Carson's hospital is the nicest in St. Louis, no doubt. The Dockery's wouldn't have it any other way. Carson's father is a wealthy business man, wealthy enough to support a lavish lifestyle while also allowing Mrs. Dockery to stay at home. Carson is an only child, their pride and joy. He excelled in practically everything, from academics to athletics, and social skills to management. He was planning on going to Harvard when he graduated next year. 

Now he may never wake up. 

Today, I sit in my last class of the day, restless and irritated, ready to leave so I can get to the hospital. When I have ten minutes left, I ask to go to the bathroom like I do every day. My sneakers shuffle on the tiles, echoing through the empty hallway. I fish my makeup bag out of my small purse and grab my hairbrush. My hair has been fixed after I hacked it away. My mother was horrified when she found me kneeling on the bathroom tile, layers of hair all around me. The line where I cut was jagged and frizzed, a result of my hasty job. She immediately took me to the salon to get it styled correctly. 

Now it is much easier to brush out, and I smooth down its poofiness as well as I can. I apply my best mascara to my eyelashes, my best foundation to my face, and slick on my best lip gloss. 

I do this every day, just in case he wakes up. 

Carson wasn't my boyfriend. Not quite. He and I were something different, something with much more meaning.  

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