Work in progress

I feel the day trailing away. The shadows lengthen then shorten. The chilly air matures and warms me until all the warmth is used up. Then coolness comes again.

The steady rhythm of my heart keeps time with the seconds that creep past me. Was I different before? Or was I always here, waiting for --what? I don't know. And I think I don't really care.

A tingling warmth invades my middle. Nothing unpleasant, just something unusual. I think I like that feeling, but once I focus on it, it disappears. The tingling is in my chest now; I'm happy to feel it again, it beats the monotony of nothing. My heart beat gallops. It keeps pace with the tingling warmth; then I see strawberries in my mind. Strawberries are in my nose. I remember the sweet summery scent. The scent that says lazy summer days spent laughing and playing with friends.

Contentment like a warm blanket on a chilly night cocoons me.

"Charlotte," a high, whispery voice interrupts my monotonous blank space. "Please, Charlotte, please come back." I can hear the ache of loss in her voice. She sounds sad and broken. Did I do that? Did I make her sad? I feel more of myself come back to me. I feel the soft cloth covering me. I can feel my toes; they feel cramped like I've been wearing my younger sister's shoes. I feel soft skin against my face.

My mind is a canvas, blank but slowly filling with memories, sounds, colors, and FEELINGS. Anger, loss, betrayal come barreling in. Then pain, white lancing pain. I moan as I try to fight the pain. Is it real?

I force my eyes open. At first, all I see are blurs of white and dark. The pain fades like roses wilting without water. Slowly, then suddenly, it is gone, and I breathe. I blink, and with each breath, the face in front comes into focus. Lines bracket a weary mouth, plain and unadorned. Eyes the color of cinnamon stare into mine, sable wavy hair surrounds her heart-shaped face. She is beautiful despite her weariness.

"Charlotte! There you are!" The whispery voice is gone and replaced with excitement and laughter. I struggle to focus and finally, I find her. She looks older, wait, how do I know that?

"What happened?" My voice is weak and raspy. I sound like sandpaper on dry wood. The sad lady puts a straw to my lips and I automatically begin sipping. Cool water coats my dry tongue. I savor the crisp flavor. As I sip, my mind flashes me a slide show of the sad lady. She and I are related and are very close. I see us together doing mundane things like cooking and cleaning. I also see us riding in a car with trees dancing past the windows. My skin grows clammy, and I stop drinking. Something about that last scene terrifies me. Her name pops into my head. Charity, my sister, we were going to--I can't remember.

Charity puts the cup aside and takes my shaking hands in hers. "You've been in a coma for three months. Do you remember what happened?" She sucks in a deep breath. "Of course you don't remember! What do you remember?" She probes me, staring into my eyes.

" I remember we were driving, " I say slowly. My mind replays the trees flashing by and the feel of the car racing along the highway. "You were driving, and we were going somewhere, and then something bad happened." I stopped speaking as the fear fed my pulse and my heartbeat raced ahead. The monitor began screaming a warning. I couldn't breathe.

The nurse came rushing in and silenced the alarm. She quickly checked on me, noticing my shaking as I gasped for air. I read her name tag--Nancy Sheridan-- as she leaned over me and expertly fitted the oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. She injected something into the IV line running from a bag into my wrist. The effect of the magic elixir was immediate.

" Ms. Wharton, you need to stay calm. If your sister is getting you excited, she needs to leave." Nurse Nancy scolded. "I'll call Dr. Ethan and have him come in to talk to you. It's nice to see you with your eyes open."