by Gia Riley
The machine was beeping wildly, and cold, wet hands adjusted the patches on my chest. They were sticky, and my skin felt like it was ripping when they pulled them off and stuck them back on again.
“Stay with us,” someone kept telling me.
I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move my body. My arms felt like bricks, and I wasn’t sure if my legs were still attached to my body. But my stomach, that was the worst. If I could open my mouth, I would scream and tell someone to take the knife out of me.
Plastic.
The taste was so strong, and I almost threw up when something cold was jammed between my lips. And then the voices that told me to stay, stopped.
I wasn’t sure if that meant I was okay or if I’d passed out completely. I tried hard to find them again, but the warmth that lifted me up was so calming that I wanted to follow it instead.
I floated away from the noise. I didn’t know where I was going or if anyone was with me, but it was quiet and peaceful.
My insides didn’t hurt anymore, and my arms and legs did what I told them to do. If I had the time, I would do a cartwheel midair. I hadn’t done one of those since I was nine. I knew that because, once I’d turned ten and my birthday had been forgotten, I had decided it was time to stop acting like a little kid. I had to be strong and accept that disappointment was a part of life. Or so Mom and Dad told me.
But, as fast as that warmth had swooped me up, it disappeared. I’d only gotten to enjoy it for a couple of minutes before a crushing heaviness took my breath away.
I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t really describe it. I’d never felt an energy so strong, like gravity had kicked in and the weight of a thousand men pulled me back down to Earth.
A lightning bolt shot right through me, and it hurt. God, it hurt so bad.
Whoever had made it happen, I begged them to stop. I wanted to float away again.
I couldn’t speak, and I was in so much pain, so I tried to open my eyes and tell them to stop hurting me.
Suddenly, the darkness disappeared.
A bright light shone in my face. I thought it had come from a car maybe. We must have still been outside.
When I swallowed, my tongue hit something hard, and I gagged so violently, I thought I’d throw up. I was gasping for air, reaching for my throat, but my hands were tied down. I couldn’t move.
I saw a face.
A man.
I couldn’t remember what he looked like, just that he was there. His mouth moved in slow motion, and his words weren’t making sense.
It was like being trapped underwater with little bubbles exploding around my ears. Every third word pushed through the energy, and I’d make sense of a sentence or two.
He was dressed like a pilot.
God, I must sound crazy. This isn’t making any sense to me.
But he wasn’t an airline pilot. He looked like he was going to war.
He shouted, “She’s back. Let’s move.”
That was when I thought I must have died. I was afraid it was going to happen again, so I concentrated on the black blades swinging around above my head. I’d never been in a helicopter before. I was afraid of heights, and imagining being so high up in the air made me almost throw up again.
The blades disappeared, and there was no shield from the rain anymore. The raindrops landed on my cheeks. They were so cold, and all I wanted was for the warmth to return and suck me back up into the air.
I take a breath and try to remember what happened next, but there’s nothing else to connect me to the week I lost in this bed. Only the sound of the man’s voice.
“That’s all I remember,” I tell them.
I’m not sure if what I said made an ounce of sense to either one of them, but they look pleased. Pleased that I spoke about the accident or maybe that I still have the brain capacity to make up such an elaborate story.
The man grabs my hand and laces his fingers with mine, careful not to jostle the IV. Nothing about his hand is familiar, and I’m left wondering if it’s okay to be touching at all.
“Who are you?” I ask him, wondering why he still hasn’t told me his name. If he’s someone who saved me, then I want to know. I need to know. “Are you the pilot?”
He sucks in a breath, and the tears flow harder down his cheeks. There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, and he barely blinks.
A few seconds later, he clears his throat and says, “Cash. I’m Cash. Your husband.”
I search his face for anything familiar. A dimple. A wrinkle. Maybe a freckle. But nothing about him triggers a single memory. I should feel more than this. I should have love for the man I married.
I’m not sure how long ago, but we exchanged vows. Vows I don’t remember. And I’m sure I wore a white dress, probably my dream dress, and I don’t even know if it was made of lace or satin. My first Holy Communion dress was an expensive chiffon, and I hated that itchy material, so I’m sure it couldn’t have been chiffon.
Cash brushes his finger down the side of my face, chasing away a tear. I didn’t realize I was crying.
“I think I want to be alone,” I whisper.
He pauses and then lets go of me.
I wait for him to say something, but he just tucks closed fists into his pockets and stares at the floor.
Brittany places a new bandage across my stomach, and now that I know I’m married, the location of the incision scares me.
What if I was …
No, I would remember that.
Wouldn’t I?
“Was I pregnant?” I question, as much afraid of the truth as I am of the unknown.
She fixes the sheet and then places her hand on top of mine, like she’s preparing me for the shock of a lifetime.
Looking directly into my eyes, she says, “Take a deep breath. I know this is a lot for you to take in all at once. It’ll get easier.”
What if she’s lying? What if it only gets harder? And why didn’t she answer my question?
I have a husband.
I might have a child.
“Did I have a baby?”
He or she might have a name. God, I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. I should know that.
I swore, if I ever had kids of my own, I’d make them my life. They’d never be overlooked for a business deal or shipped off to a relative’s house because I was too busy to pay them the attention they deserved.
I might have already messed that up.
The monitor beeps wildly, and Brittany unsnaps the wires from my chest. It finally shuts up, and I can hear myself think.
Cash is still crying, and the second our eyes meet, he turns and walks toward the window. His shoulders shake, and he keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s afraid to touch anything.
“You weren’t pregnant,” Brittany explains. “You were bleeding internally, so the surgeon had to open you up and find the source. For a couple of seconds, you flatlined, meaning your heart stopped pumping.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering if that is why I almost floated away. Could I have been on my way to heaven? Is that what dying feels like, cartwheels in the air, no gravity holding you down?
“But I came back,” I whisper. Obviously, I came back. I’m in this bed, breathing and talking. “I can still have kids someday?”
“They shocked your heart back into sinus rhythm,” she explains. “And we won’t know about babies this soon. I’m sorry. I’ll have your doctor explain all of this to you as soon as he’s available. I know it’s a lot to take in.”
The crushing pains.
The lightning bolt.
It all makes sense now.
I wasn’t dreaming. I was dead.
And then they brought me back.
But I don’t know what to do with the thought of not being able to get pregnant. It’s all too much to process.
The nurse sits Cash down in a chair, and I stare at him. The important person in my life is a stranger.
“I love you, Meadow,”
he says with so much conviction that I’m certain he must mean it.
A loving wife would say it back. But all I can give him right now is a bland, “Thank you.”
It’s not even close to being enough.
Cash bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut.
Brittany stands in between us with a sad expression. “Do you need anything while we wait for the doctor?”
There’s nobody else I remember, so I tell her, “Just my parents.” I glance out the window, and the buildings are tall and gray. It’s oddly comforting. “We’re in the city, right? They should be only a couple of blocks away.”
Cash lets out a strangled groan and then stands up again. Nurse Brittany encourages him to sit back down, but he doesn’t listen.
“Your mom’s dead, Meadow. She’s buried next to your grandmother. And your dad moved to London six months ago. You really don’t remember?”
Cash is out of breath, and he has little beads of sweat lining his forehead. I concentrate on watching them absorb into his eyebrows just so I don’t have to focus on what he just blurted out.
Being in this room is suffocating us both, and I start to cry.
A forgotten marriage is one thing but my parents? How could I not remember my own mother’s funeral? I don’t even know what killed her. And why would my dad move all the way to London? He never traveled. The only thing he cared about was work and Mom.
“Mom’s really gone?”
Brittany looks as troubled as I feel and hurries out of the room. I’m sure she wants to get a doctor in here before I uncover more of a life I’ve forgotten.
“I don’t remember. Why don’t I know that?” I sob.
My nose is running into my mouth, and my head’s throbbing from crying. But I keep talking, spewing what I do have knowledge of.
I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove, but I tell Cash, “I remember Grandma. She was in the country. I loved her house and all those summers I spent there.”
His eyes widen, and he takes a step closer to me. After glancing at Brittany, who just returned with a syringe and a clipboard, he says, “She remembers,” with so much excitement.
But remembering does nothing to erase the pain of never seeing my mom again, and I wonder if this is how it will be if my memories don’t come back—me reliving every horrible truth twice.
Brittany gives me some medication that I don’t bother to ask about. If it makes me go back to sleep, then I want it. Because looking into Cash’s eyes is too much. He knows everything. And I can’t remember what I did last week, before the accident.
The doctor finally arrives, and Cash starts asking him questions right away.
I overhear something about my blood pressure being elevated and typical behavior following a head injury.
None of it matters.
Unless there’s a magic pill to give me my life back, I think I’m better off staying quiet. My memories are jumbled, large chunks of my life are completely missing, and I can’t tell if the things I do remember are fact or fiction.
All I know is that I’m scared.
I want my life back.
The one where my parents are alive, and I’m tucked away inside Grandma’s bathtub.