I can't feel a thing. Someone-a nurse or doctor-told me my arm is broken, and there's a gash in my side where something from the car wreck cut into me. There are tiny cuts all along my left knuckle from when the glass shattered into a million pieces and scattered all over me. But I can't feel a damn thing.
No one will tell me if Jimmy is okay.
A nurse comes into my little hospital room and checks the huge bandage on my side, which is red with my own blood. She changes the bandage and says, "Does it hurt?"
I shake my head numbly.
"We're going to put a cast on your arm in just a few minutes. You're being so very brave." The nurse smiles at me. "Just remember not to move your arm, okay?"
"Can I see Jimmy now?" I ask with a tremble in my voice that I can't hide.
"I'm sorry," the nurse says. In other words, no.
"Can you at least tell me if-" I falter and cover my mouth with my right hand, unable to finish the question.
"I'll let you know as soon as I know anything," the nurse says. "Just rest up now."
I fall back against the pillows and feel the warm tears pool into the crevices around my eyes and nose.
Someone steps into the doorway, and I jump and look up. Deb. Our eyes meet, and I hold her gaze as she inhales and grimaces. Finally she shakes her head. No.
My heart shatters like the glass in the windshield.
Debstumbles into the room and pulls me into a sitting position. She sinks downonto the bed and holds me with her trembling arms, but I can't feel anythingexcept the painful stabbing in my chest as my shattered heart keeps on beating.