Opening my eyes, I was staring straight at a shelf of canned green beans. My thoughts were swimming, oh not again! From what I could gather, I was at a grocery store. There were canned goods, bread, and boxed foods strewn all over the shelves and floor. The sun gleamed brightly through two shattered glass panels at the front of the store, behind the registers. I was glad there was sun because, looking up at the ceiling, I could tell the power was out. And the smell! Oh it was a horrible smell. A quick look around told me why. All the frozen foods, meat, and dairy had been sitting in their coolers thawing. The power must have been off for a month, based on the rancid stench that was permeating through the store.
I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see Jared, again. This time he was standing at the end of the aisle shouting something behind me, laughing. I turned around to see who he was shouting at, and it was Blaine. They were tossing a loaf of bread over me in a twisted game of “monkey in the middle.” Blaine threw the bread over my head, to Jared, and walked over to me. With sympathy in his eyes, he held my face in his hands. It wasn’t until he swept this thumb under my eye that I realized I was crying. He was saying something to me, but it was muted. Why couldn’t I hear anything? I didn’t care. I was with Blaine. I felt safe and warm with him. Like nothing was important but the very moment we were in right then. And it was then that he tipped my head up and kissed my forehead.
We were back in Blaine’s truck. After we pulled apart, breathing heavy, my heart was racing so fast I could hardly catch my breath. Looking around, I acclimated myself back to reality. The windows were fogged up and in a muffled tone, I heard one of the kids in the parking lot laugh and holler, “Get a room!” I was having trouble getting my bearings. The vision was so real, the things I saw, the things I touched. I ran my hands along Blaine’s truck seats. They felt real enough. Patting my hands on my chest and arms, I felt the softness of my cotton shirt. Touching my chin, then my cheek, something wasn’t right. My cheek was wet, and my eyes burned with fresh tears. “Are you crying?” Blaine’s voice pulled me back into reality. Unable to respond with words, I leaped across the seat and latched onto him in an embrace so close a pencil would not fit between us. He wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my head into his chest, sobbing.
When I was finished blubbering like an idiot, I released my clutch on Blaine. Laying his hand on my shoulder, he whispered, “You okay?” Finally making eye contact, I could see he was pained. It wasn’t until I had finished convulsing in sobs that I noticed his hands were shaking.
I had no idea what gave me the urge to cry like that. In the moment, a feeling washed over me like the tide on a rocky beach. I hadn’t seen anything that would make me cry. I mean, the scene in my vision wasn’t a carnival, but what I was experiencing didn’t put me in a mood to sob. Then I remembered myself in the vision. There was a tear running down my cheek while Blaine held me in the aisle. But why was I crying? The guys were teasing me, but that was nothing new. And just like that, it occurred to me. Blaine and Jared were trying to cheer me up. So the biggest question was why did I need cheering up?
Still struggling to find words, I jerked my head up in a half-hearted attempt at a nod. Even though I had spent a good length of time sobbing, and likely had no tears left to cry, I was still fighting the urge to bawl. Staring Blaine in the face, I could see he was stricken with a horrified expression. All the color was gone from his face and his eyes struggled to focus on me. It was easy to see that whatever he had witnessed was much worse than my vision. Without a word, he turned the key in the ignition, put the truck into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot.
Neither one of us spoke the entire ride. Blaine pulled the truck in front of my house but never put it into park. He was staring directly at the dash, a look of grief on his face, as if it physically hurt him to say what he was about to say. “I need some time to think. I’ll call you later tonight. Okay?” he asked, his voice cracking with every word.
Still unable to speak, I nodded in response. Blaine did not touch me the entire trip home. We had spent the ride in deafening silence, a foot apart. That ten-minute drive was an eternity without his touch and, at the moment, his hands were glued to the steering wheel. I wanted to hold him, pull his head into my neck, and cause the pain shooting through my chest to subside. I could feel myself getting weak, having him in the cab so close to me, without a single kiss or brush of his hand on mine. Before leaving the truck, I needed reassurance that he was okay. Lifting my hand slowly, I gently placed it on the back of his shoulder. The warmth of his body under my palm instantly sent an energy surge through my arm and relief washed over me. It was then that Blaine dropped his shoulder away from my hand, and my heart fell. “I’ll call you tonight,” he said, staring back through the windshield.
Stepping out of the truck, I closed the passenger door. He hardly waited until I had stepped back before pulling away, and I watched as he pulled into his driveway down the street. I felt my body getting weaker by the minute, my chest so heavy I could barely hold it in place. It was as if gravity was pulling me harder than anything else. When I got to my room, I locked the door, climbed into bed, and buried myself under the covers. I didn’t want to see anything, do anything, or talk to anyone else. Clinging to my cell, I drifted off to sleep waiting for Blaine’s call.
He never called.
Chapter 7
The next morning, my alarm rang with fury. With a groan, I hit the snooze for the third time. I was not in the mood for school today. Still woozy from the events of yesterday, staying in bed seemed like the best idea. I wondered, briefly, if I would be convincing enough for mom to keep me home from school, but instantly remembered why I was so miserable. Blaine. It was being without him that had made me so sick. Staying at home would be another day without him. It would only get worse.
With this thought, I fell out of bed and crawled to the closet. I squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans, a pink camisole, and my favorite purple cardigan. Standing in front of the mirror, I slipped on a pair of silver ballet flats and pulled my hair up in a messy bun. After one last look at myself before leaving, I came to the conclusion this would be all I had time for, grabbed my bag, and rushed to the bus stop.
Arriving at the school, I searched the parking lot for Blaine’s truck. Nothing. Bright green, it wouldn’t be difficult to find in a sea of cars. I remembered, a few months ago, when his dad bought the truck for Blaine’s sixteenth birthday. I immediately noticed its uncanny resemblance to the inside of a kiwi. But currently, its absence was definite. He must have been running late.
Rounding the corner into Mr. Grant’s classroom, I could sense butterflies rising in my stomach. Every day, in Mr. Grant’s class, Blaine sat behind me. Today, I was more excited than ever that he would be there again. I took my seat, heard the bell ring, and began to stare at the door, waiting.
Ten minutes went by, followed by twenty. Mr. Grant’s words came through like the teacher on Charlie Brown, muffled trumpet sounds in the distance. Thirty minutes, then forty, complete agony. Why was he not here yet? My butterflies tangled and twisted into a knot. Soon, my knees began to weaken beneath my desk. Forty-five minutes, and my chest became heavy again. Forty-seven minutes, the air was thick, making breathing more difficult. My palms began to sweat, my mouth getting dry. It took a conscious effort to swallow as beads of sweat began to form slowly on my forehead. Fifty minutes, almost an entire hour without him by my side, or even in the room. I noticed a couple of students staring and realized it was time to get out. With the way things were progressing, getting out of my body would be my first choice, but getting out of the room would have to do. I decided to excuse myself to the bathroom. I began to raise my hand, a sensation of being covered in mud, heavy as an elephant. I managed to choke out, “Um…Mr. Grant. May I please be excused?” To my advantage, his back was to the blackboard, giving him a clear visual of my condition. He gave me a nod, granting me permission, and continued flipping through pages of the text book.
Standing didn’t seem the hardest part. My knees would hold me once erect. Walking would be my greatest challenge. I strategically placed one foot in front of the other, pulling the cinderblocks that were my ankles along with me. The door in the corner of the room became fuzzy, my vision getting snowy like a bad television channel and edged in black. I extended my hand to brace myself on the desk at the front of the room just as everything went into total darkness.
Chapter 8
I awoke to a strange room. The sun shone brightly, through the slats of huge vertical blinds, onto the tiles of a green linoleum floor. I was in a hospital.
The clock on the wall read half past six o’clock. Across the room, Blaine sat slumped down in a chair, his arms folded, head cocked to one side, sleeping. Why is Blaine here? I thought. I held my head against the pounding and winced. A moment later, the nurse walked in. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she whispered, clearly trying not to wake Blaine, snoring lightly in the corner. She gave my IV a quick check, glanced over at Blaine and back to me as she said, “You have a sweet boyfriend. He has been worried about you this whole time. As soon as he got here, he wouldn’t leave your side. He even sent your parents home to get some sleep last night while he stayed here.”
Shocked at the word boyfriend, I replied, “Um…he isn’t my…I mean, he’s a friend.”
A look of bewilderment struck her face and she said, “Well, then you have got one really great friend.” She smiled while making a note on her clipboard before quietly leaving the room.
I stared at Blaine, sleeping in the chair. Boyfriend? Why did she think he is my boyfriend? Blaine and I were just friends. He has never expressed anything more.
Blaine’s snoring grew louder, and I couldn’t help but snicker. A fast food cup sat on the table beside my bed. Blaine’s I assumed. Beside the cup lay a few unused napkins, sparking an idea. I began to grab one napkin at a time and wadded each into a tiny ball holding them in my lap. One by one, I launched them with the hand lacking an IV needle. Completely void of the abilities of a left-handed pitcher, I missed on the first two attempts. Finally, the last one hit him square in the nose. He flinched with a snort and opened his eyes. Still half asleep, he took a minute to realize what had happened. Patiently, I waited for it to click completely, and he jumped to my side.
“You’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?” A deadly firing squad of questions.
I waited for him to take a breath before hitting him with mine. “What happened to me? The last thing I remember is detention with Mr. Grant and then, poof, I woke up here. And why did the nurse think you are my boyfriend?”
His expression faded from relief to horror, and he said, “You really don’t remember what happened?”
“No. I mean, I remember you getting me into trouble. I remember taking the trig test after lunch. And then I remember sitting in detention, daydreaming. After that…nothing.” My gut told me something was missing by the look on Blaine’s face.
He began to rake his fingers through his hair. “Listen, Kara, you fainted in Mr. Grant’s class and hit your head on a desk, pretty hard. You really don’t remember?”
“No. I fainted in detention?” Confusion overwhelmed me now. I had no memory of being the slightest bit ill. In fact, I remembered sketching the oak tree outside the window before awaking in the hospital.
“Kara, you fainted about two days ago, and you had detention about two days before. You really don’t remember what happened between detention and when you fell?” He sounded concerned now. Why was he so worried about me, and why did the nurse think he was my boyfriend?
“I can’t…I don’t remember anything after detention. Why? Did something bad happen?” I searched his expression in my own desperation to figure out what had managed to escape my memory.
He looked toward the door. “Hang tight. I’m gonna get the doc.” He stormed out, leaving me no chance to question him further.
Chapter 9
After what felt like an eternity, Blaine returned to the room, followed by a doctor with a thick southern accent, who introduced himself as Dr. Miller. He asked me a series of questions including the year, if I knew my age, and directed a light into my eyes to check my pupils. “Well, Kara. I don’t see anything wrong with your cognitive function. Your vitals are good considering the hit you took to your head. Best I can figure, you have temporary amnesia caused by the trauma to your head. Usually, people come out of it shortly after getting back to their regular routine. In a couple of weeks, you may have some pieces of your memory return. I don’t see a reason why it would become permanent, but the human brain is a very complex organ. It’s quite possible you may not have the memory of those days return at all, but highly unlikely.” He glanced back at Blaine with a half smile, turned back toward me and said, “Since you are awake, we will need to monitor you for another twenty-four hours or so, and you should be able to get back to your own bed before you know it.” He proceeded to give me a light pat on my shin before leaving the room.
I looked up to Blaine, searching for answers in his eyes. He was staring down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. He looked horrified, almost as if Dr. Miller had given me a prognosis of death. He didn’t speak, wringing his hands over and over while leaning against the window sill. My patience wearing thin, I said, “Are you gonna tell me what I missed, or what?” The look on Blaine’s face scared me. Had something happened in those two days before my accident warranting being withheld from my knowledge? Had I knocked over a liquor store and went on a bank robbing crime spree? What in the hell is going on?
In response, Blaine straightened up and hurried his reply, “I need to call your parents. They need to know you’re awake.” And with no time to protest, I sat alone in my hospital room.
Blaine avoided making conversation the rest of the day. My parents showered me with more affection than I remembered receiving in the last ten years while he sat in the distance overlooking us. I didn’t understand why he felt compelled to stay. Not speaking the entire time he sat here, what reason did he have for being there at all? Whatever happened during those two days had changed him in a very negative way.
***
By noon the next day, the hospital allowed me to be released. Aside from the lapse of two days from my memory, my tests had come back normal, leaving me fit to head out. The night before, I had asked Blaine to go home and get some rest. He looked horrible, dark circles under his eyes, and probably needed a real shower. He didn’t fight me and, in hindsight, I was relieved he wasn’t there to witness my tossing and turning. Restless, and depressed from confusion, I didn’t get much sleep the night before. But when I woke this morning, Blaine sat in a chair across the room, waiting.
Today, despite the awful weather outside, I felt more like myself. What a cruddy day to be heading home. The overcast outside threatened to storm with the smell of rain in the air. Although my parents had to be present for my release, Blaine insisted on driving me home. Without protest, I hopped into his truck. We traveled in deafening silence, uncharacteristic of Blaine. Always expressing a need to fill silence with jokes, or his singing – more comical than melodic – but for him to drive without a word, or so much as a goofy smirk in my direction, was definitely out of the norm.
I had had enough. “Okay, brain damaged doesn’t mean deaf. You gonna talk to me, or what?”
Blaine let out the breath he had been holding and gave me a half smile. “Is that what you want?”
“Well, I have never been good at charades, and I make a crappy mime, so yeah, it would be nice.”
He smiled again, this time bigger. Now we are getting somewhere. With his mood brightening, I decided to push my luck and get some answers. “You gonna tell me what happened in those two days that I can’t remember, or am I going to have to read about it in the school paper? You still haven’t filled me in, and I am beginning to think I did something beyond embarrassing. If I did, tell me. I can take it. Did I strip down naked in the middle of history cl
ass and do the Macarena on Mr. Grant’s desk? Or worse, in the middle of the pep assembly? You’ve got to help me out here. I am in the dark, big time.”
I studied his face carefully as the smile faded to a hard line. He glanced in my direction before cementing his gaze back to the road. With a heavy sigh, he said, “You really don’t remember that day, after detention? Me climbing the tree, getting caught by old lady Qualls?” The idea of Blaine climbing the big oak outside the school made me giggle inside, the picture he planted of Granny Qualls in my head, shouting at him, a bonus.
“You did?!” I half snorted, trying not to laugh aloud.
“Well, yeah!” he snapped back, sounding irritated. “What about that night, when you, Crystal, and Jared came to my house. Remember? Sardines?”
“Ew…” I never ate sardines, they creep me out. “We ate sardines?” My stomach reeled at the thought.
“No. The game, sardines, the game. We played it, all four of us.” A hint of impatience was in his tone.
“Oh. Well, no. Like I said, all I remember was sketching that tree and that was it.” I looked down at my shoes, consciously aware of my inability to pluck two days of my memory out into the open.
I allowed a long moment of silence before adding, “Just tell me what happened.” We pulled into my driveway. My parents weren’t here yet. They had wanted to stop at the drugstore to pick up my prescription on the way. Blaine put the truck into park and locked his eyes with mine. His breathing unsteady, he had pain in his eyes, as if looking at me hurt him physically. We were locked in a stare for what seemed like an hour before he broke eye contact and looked down at his hands. In a hurried tone, he answered, “Nothing happened, just a normal weekend. You left after the game, went home, we played video games with Jared the next day, and on Sunday, we went to Lingo’s for lunch. I overslept Monday morning when you fell, so I didn’t see it happen.”
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