by E. J. Mellow
— 2 —
I ONCE READ somewhere that the odds of getting hit by lightning are one in a million. One in a friggin’ million. So, if this situation were to be viewed optimistically, I’m a pretty unique individual. But here’s the thing—I just got hit by lighting on my birthday, so optimism can go kiss pessimism’s butt.
Getting hit by lightning sucks. And I mean, really sucks. I could try and give a thousand comparisons for how much it sucks, but I’m not quite sure I’d do it justice, so let’s just settle on this one: imagine every horrible, terrible, no-good feeling all rolled into one, multiply it by a thousand, sprinkle on some more suck, drizzle a punch in the face of kill me now, and finish it off with a stab (for good measure, of course) of you’ve got to be joking, and then we might be close to what it’s like.
With that said, one can imagine I’m not currently in the best state of mind.
Nonetheless, my parents, being the saints that they are, try their best to calm me down and explain what happened before the good doctor walks into my room. His thick, dirty-blond hair barely passes the top of the doorframe unscathed, and his blond beard camouflages a natural youthfulness. If not for his white lab coat, I could picture him hanging out on the beach, surfing. He smiles warmly, but given my present mood, he might as well be baring his teeth and hissing.
“Glad to see that you’re up, Molly. I’m Dr. Marshall.” Grabbing the chart attached to the edge of my bed, he begins scribbling notes while asking me questions.
“How are you feeling?”
I clear my throat, which is raw and dry. “I’ve felt better.”
Dr. Marshall’s smile merely deepens. “Well, your brain seems receptive, which is excellent. And all your vital signs are up to par. I saw to you when you came in, and let me just say, you are one of the luckiest lightning-strike survivors I’ve ever come across.”
My mom absently squeezes my hand, and I gasp in pain. “Oh, sorry!” Flustered, she grabs my arm.
“Ah, Mom!”
“Oh, oh!” She flings her fingers back, realizing her repeated mistake, and flutters them around like individual chickens that just lost their heads. “Are you okay? What should I do? I’m so sorry.”
“Mom, just…just sit on your hands or something.”
Wide eyed and worried, she does just that.
Dr. Marshall watches with barely contained mirth, and I would scowl at him if it didn’t hurt to do so. “Yes”—he nods to my pitiful state—“you’re going to feel as if you have a nasty sunburn for a bit. You also have a slightly ruptured left eardrum and second-degree burns where you were wearing a piece of jewelry around your wrist, which I’m sorry to say is ruined. You’ve suffered a concussion, so you’ll probably experience intense headaches, ringing in the ears, dizziness, nausea, and other postconcussion type symptoms.”
He rattles these items off like he’s talking about the weather, and I suddenly do feel all those things, though I’m not sure if it’s because the shock is wearing off or my slight tendency toward hypochondria is kicking in. My heart monitor begins to beep faster, and everyone’s attention goes to it.
Dr. Marshall chuckles. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to frighten you.”
“Well, you failed,” I mutter.
The doctor’s good-natured jovialness is off-putting, given that he’s dealing with someone who just got struck by lightning. Can’t he see that everyone needs to be as miserable as me?
“Tell me, Molly—do you remember anything that happened last night? Can you tell us anything about what you experienced?” He eyes me intently.
“Uh, not really. I just remember that I got scared because some lightning struck close to me, and that’s when I nearly fell, so I caught my hand on the lamppost. Then there was a lot of pain, and everything went black.” And blue…I remember the color blue but decide to keep that to myself. Who needs a detailed list of all the colors I saw?
My mom lets out a worried moan while my dad stands beside her and squeezes her shoulders. Grouped like that, my parents resemble the picture-perfect suburban couple. My mother in her country-club attire, short brown Mom bob and gold jewelry. My father, with his manicured dark hair and usual court-lawyer attire of starched white oxford shirt and black slacks. The only thing that sets his appearance off is his day-old scruff and sleepless circles rimming his eyes, revealing his true concern that he’s trained to conceal for his job.
Dr. Marshall examines me a little longer before restoring his happy expression. ”Yes, when you placed your hand on the lamppost, you had direct contact with the strike point. But you still came out with astoundingly minimal casualties. Lightning-strike survivors usually suffer some form of brain damage, permanently or for a couple of weeks. And others have even had their backs broken from a strike.”
On command, a tingling sensation dashes up my spine.
“I can’t say again how lucky you are to be here with so few casualties. I have no other way to explain it except to blame it on…luck.” He clips the chart back to my bed. “We’re going to keep you overnight to make sure everything is okay and you don’t experience any postseizures.”
Postseizures! Umm…what now?
“If you need anything, there’s a red button on a cord next to your bed. Just press that and a nurse will be here within seconds. I’ll be checking on you tomorrow morning before I sign your release. I’ve also prescribed you pain medication, and the nurse will be in here shortly to give you something to help you sleep. I want you to come back in a week to tell us how you’re faring and to run some tests. Glad you’re with us today, Molly. Mr. and Mrs. Spero.” He nods toward my parents. Once at the door, he quickly turns back around.
“Oh, and I forgot to mention, sleeping disorders after something like this are also common, so don’t be too concerned if your dreams seem…odd. They usually go away with time.” He beams another one of his annoyingly chipper smiles and exits the room.
I let out a sigh of relief. That’s one problem I won’t need to worry about. I don’t dream. Replaying the doctor’s words in my head, a thousand questions come to mind that conveniently weren’t there when I could have asked them. What exactly happened to my body when I got struck? Will I have crazy symptoms in two months that aren’t surfacing now, like some sort of late onset? Did this mess up my chance to have kids? Why didn’t I ask any of these questions when I had the chance? Doctor, come back!
My mom gently strokes a bandage on my left wrist, bringing my attention to it. Every muscle screams in protest as I gingerly lift it for a closer inspection. “Is this the burn the doctor was talking about?”
“Yes, that’s where he said you were wearing a bracelet. I hope it’s replaceable. The nurse said it was practically glued to your arm.” My mom’s brows pinch in with concern.
I frown—Jared’s gift, ruined. I’m also a little queasy over her description.
“It was a gift from a friend, for my birthday.”
“Well, I’m sure you can get another one.” My mom tries desperately to force a happy demeanor.
“Speaking of friends”—my dad takes a seat on my bed—“a young man named Jared came in here earlier while you were still out and brought you flowers.” He points to a tasteful bouquet sitting on a small table near the window. My chest fills with warmth at the sight of them.
“You met Jared?” I ask, a little uncomfortable at the thought of them together without me as a buffer…well, at least not a comatose one.
“Yes, oh, and Molly, you should have seen him. He looked absolutely devastated. Kept saying how he blames himself for not convincing you to stay with him yesterday night. He sat with us for a couple of hours while you were asleep. Didn’t want to leave your side. He’s a very sweet boy.”
“He’s almost thirty. I don’t think that makes him a boy.”
She wiggles her hand dismissively. “Nonetheless, he seems very sweet. Are you two dating?”
Oh man, here it comes. “Mom, do we really need to get into this right now
? I did just get hit by lightning. My relationship status is probably not the most important thing to discuss. What I really want to know is, how did I get here? Who found me?”
My dad tucks in the covers near my feet. “A couple was walking behind you when it all happened. They saw you get hit and called 911. You were out cold from last night to this evening, no movements or anything. Looked like you were just sleeping. They thought you could have been in a coma.”
Last night to this evening. So it must be Wednesday afternoon. My head swims again with the realization.
“I’m just happy we’re nearby. I would have died if we couldn’t have gotten here as fast as we did.” My mom rubs her delicate fingers against my arm, and I swallow back the threat of tears brought on by my own overwhelming sense of gratitude and shock.
“Getting struck by lightning…what are the odds?” my dad says with a sigh. “You know, I think your grandfather said he got struck when he was a boy.”
My mother scoffs. “Who can believe anything that man says?”
My grandfather has always been a bit on the odd side, ever since I was young. He recently had to get a live-in nurse because his mind has finally started to go with old age—practically out of nowhere, he started to rant nonsense about his life that no one in the family had ever heard before, and with my grandmother passed away, there’s been no one around to verify.
A knock on the door brings our attention to Becca standing in the entrance with balloons.
—∞—
After my parents wander to the hospital cafeteria, Becca saddles up on my bed.
“I was a mess when your mom called. I came as soon as I heard and told work to fuck off. You’re obviously more important than that job.”
That’s when the dam breaks and tears start to fall.
“Oh, Mols, don’t cry.” She moves to wipe my cheek but pauses. “I can touch you, right? I’m not going to get zapped or anything?” I immediately start to laugh, which makes me wince in pain. Becca smiles sheepishly.
“No, I think you’ll be safe.”
“Man, babe, I hate to say it, but you have the worst luck!”
“Gee, thanks. And here everyone was saying just how lucky I was.” I roll my eyes at her. Thankfully, that doesn’t hurt.
“I mean, come on. Think about it—getting struck by lightning on your birthday! That has to be the single worst birthday present ever.” We both start to laugh. I, of course, try my best to keep it at a minimum because my whole body gives me the middle finger when I do.
“Yeah, that does sound pretty bad, not to mention I will never go out in a storm again.”
“I don’t blame you. Neither will I. Your experience, I think, has scared me more than it has you.”
I scoff. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, you’re calmer than I would be. I’d be yelling at the nurses to shoot me up with more painkillers and demanding six or seven brain scans to make sure everything is okay.”
“I wasn’t so calm earlier…trust me.”
Becca nods. “Maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe now you’ll realize you have some strange power or discover you’re a math wizard. I heard of a guy that suddenly picked up the piano after he got hit. Do you feel like you want to play music?”
I laugh. “No, no music notes coming to me in a vision.”
“Yet,” she adds with a gentle nudge.
My parents and Becca hang out for a little longer before a nurse enters, announcing that I need to get some sleep. Everyone says their good-byes, telling me they’ll be back in the morning for my release. One of the nurses—I learn her name is Julie—changes the bandages on my wrist before pressing a button that’s attached to an IV in my arm. Cool liquid flows into my veins, and slowly my eyes droop to a close.
—∞—
I’m gently being carried through the air while the sound of crickets surrounds me. The darkness softly begins to dissipate like a fog being burnt away by the sun, and I find myself standing in a large field at night. The tall grass tickles my bare ankles as I gaze around. Familiarity swarms me, but I can’t put my finger on why. I have a desire to reach out and touch the air in front of me, but I’m constricted by an invisible source containing me in a small, cool bubble.
There’s a bright light in the distance. The skyline of a city pushes up and out of the empty field that surrounds it, the only structure in sight. With no roads leading to or from it, the metropolis seems to float in its own pulsing glow. A gentle wind stirs the leaves in a tree, and I turn to a solitary elm standing at the top of a small hill a few yards away. As I study it, my eyes are drawn into the night sky that covers the land like a blanket, and I gasp.
Instead of blackness, the sky is painted with thousands of shooting stars. Constant white lights zoom past overhead, and gazing at it too long has the effect of making the world spin very fast. Still, it retains an intensely mesmerizing beauty, like watching the hypnotic flow of the northern lights. And yet…I feel that I have seen this before. But how is that possible?
A movement draws my attention to a shadowy figure leaning against the tree. My stomach tightens in fear, and I search my surroundings, thinking I should run, but I’m completely exposed.
When I glance back, I’m suddenly standing inches from the tree, and I take a staggering step away in shock. I watch, my heart racing, as the figure moves from the shadows and into the soft night’s light.
It’s a man about my age, maybe a few years older. He’s dressed all in black—black boots, black pants, black T-shirt—and has a strange strap around his torso, pressing taut against a lean, muscular body that is evident even through his shirt. An object that resembles a quiver rests on his back, but I see no arrows. His arms are delicately lined with muscles, and his face is cast down, blocking out any details. He wears a buzzed military-type haircut that is raven-black in color.
I hold my breath as he tilts his head up; he will see me in seconds. But when his eyes go to mine, they hold no acknowledgment—as if they can’t see me at all—before they continue toward the sky. His eyes—I take a breath in again—seem so familiar, so brilliantly blue. Where have I seen them before? I study his features, which seem carved from a master’s hand, from the sharp cut of his cheekbones down to his prominent, straight nose and angular jaw that shows through his scruff. I stay silent, not wanting to interrupt the songs of the crickets that fill the night or the man who stands in front of me. When he lets out a gentle sigh, I have an instant desire to reach out and touch him—in that moment, he seems to shoulder a sadness, a stoic sensibility.
His gaze dances back in my direction, and the blueness of it penetrates through my core, sending shivers along my spine. Not until the moment passes do I realize he’s not looking at me, but past me, toward the city in the distance. He shakes his head as if discarding some thought and moves his face into an amused smile, transforming his features into an even more unbearably heart-stopping sight.
Adjusting the strap around his shoulder, he walks forward, and I stand stock still with wide eyes as his tall form crosses my path without a hint of awareness of my presence. The smell of night and spice play off his body as the breeze glides by, and it’s intoxicating. His movements are graceful and strong as he makes his way toward the city in the distance, and I grow panicked, not wanting him to leave. I try taking a step in his direction, but my feet are rooted to the ground, the grass holding my ankles in place, an invisible shield keeping me still. I try calling out to him, but no sound escapes me.
My heart flips when he abruptly stops. Turning around, his gaze slides over my form as if he senses someone’s there. His eyes narrow, looking hard in my direction, and I have a desperate desire to stay invisible and be seen all at once. Finally he relaxes and turns once again, setting off at a jog toward his destination.
With his departure, the grassy hills begin to morph and move and grow into mountains. I’m lost while floating between them with no sense of direction. My body courses through images
that make no sense and colors that I can taste. A familiar sapphire blue expands in front, and I will myself forward, letting it wrap around me, cooling my skin. Just as my body is slowly being swallowed into it, my eyes jerk open to a sunlit room and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor nearby.
— 3 —
“GOOD MORNING, MOLLY.” Nurse Julie enters my room carrying a tray of standard hospital breakfast food. My head’s heavy, like I had too much to drink the night before, and it takes a few seconds to reorient myself to my surroundings. “How are we feeling?” She pulls over a wheeled cart and places the tray on my bed. I swallow the taste of sleep in my mouth.
“My head hurts a bit and my body’s sore, but it doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore.”
She nods. “That’s excellent. You’re probably going to have a headache for a little while, but don’t worry. There was nothing wrong with your scans. It’s your concussion giving you that pain. Your muscles will also be sore because the strike basically gave your body one large charley horse.”
“How pleasant,” I say both to her comment and to my breakfast that suspiciously jiggles when I poke it. Yum.
After getting down a few bites of the plastic-tasting food, I grab some toiletries and ask the nurse to help me into the bathroom. I have enough strength to stand on my own and walk, but every muscle screams in protest. Once I’m in front of the mirror, I grip the sink until my knuckles are white to keep from falling over with shock. I look horrible! Why didn’t anyone tell me? My hair is all over the place, I have dark circles under my eyes, and my lips resemble those on a petrified mummy. I push away the horrible thought that Jared saw me like this.
Yes, even after getting hit by lightning, I remain vain.
Once showered, my rat’s nest of hair combed and a two-inch thick glob of lip balm smeared on my cracked lips, I step out of the bathroom to find Becca and my mom standing in my room.