by Dora Blume
The nurse comes in and goes immediately to the IV and monitors. She looks them over. The steady beat quickens as the pain increases. The nurse leaves and comes back with a bottle and a syringe. She plunges it into my IV and I look up to her.
“Seriously, my shoulder is killing me,” I say before everything goes black again.
Hours later, I wake to hear my mother’s subtle snoring from the chair next to my bed. I look to my arm again and it’s still bandaged as before. A nurse wheels a cart to the door and I hear her trying to quietly get her supplies. She comes in and sets a container next to me on the bed. It has vials for blood, packages with needles, and tie off bands.
“Ah yes, the four am blood run, you must be my nightly vampire.” I say. I’m not sure why I remember that they take blood every night at four but I do. They’ve done it at that same time every night I’ve been here. I don’t remember much of my stay but for some reason I remember that.
“Ah yes, I love your sense of humor despite everything.” She smiles at me. “Ready for a poke?”
“Yes, can’t really feel anything, anyway.” I look to her and laugh again. I can’t help it, I laugh anytime I’m nervous.
“You might feel this,” she says as she plunges the needle into my arm. The vial fills with blood and she pulls it out and inserts another.
“You must be good at this,” I say.
“I have been taking your blood every morning,” she replies.
“Normally, it takes several pokes before they find a vein.” I look to her as she finishes and holds the cotton ball against the crook in my elbow.
“Hold this,” she says and grabs the tape from the container. She wraps it quickly around my arm to keep the pressure.
“I have been doing this for a long time. You get good after years of practice.” She leaves but before she closes the door she asks, “Is there anything else you need right now?”
“I could go for some ice cream. Can I get some or is the kitchen closed?”
“I think I can get that for you, even if it’s closed.” She smiles and this time it reaches her eyes.
“Thanks,” I say and she closes the door. I try to recount how many days I’ve been in here but it’s a blur. I’ve been sleeping most of the time. It’s useless to try to think back to the accident. Every time I try, I get weird disjointed flashes that I can’t quite put together. Everything is so jumbled so I don’t bother. It might be awhile before I’m able to remember everything, if I ever really do. The brain has a strange way of making it difficult to remember certain things. I keep seeing my friend braced against the tree, the car on its side and I hear my own uncontrollable laughter. I’m not sure why those are the pieces I remember right now, but it’s all I can put together. I wonder if I will ever remember more. For now, it feels too daunting a task to try.
Check out Haunted by a Moment Today!