“Where am I?”
The question wasn’t to anyone, as no one was in the room with me, but there I was, standing in front of hospital bed. A teenage girl laid silent.
In fact, everything was silent.
No machines beeping
No intercom calls
No whirring from the breathing apparatus that covered her face.
The room was dark and cold…which was normal for a lot of hospitals I had been in as a child but I was healthy and, ever if I was there for some reason, I would have been in a doctor’s office, not in a room of stranger.
I took another look at the girl and then to the hallway…but there was no hallway. Looking into the hall only look right back into that very same room.
“Hello?”
I asked with a whisper.
I snapped my fingers. Eureka, I knew what was happening: lucid dreaming. I was kind of in control and I could freely move about but sounds and people didn’t exist in my dream until I brought them in.
“Summon help, or force yourself to wake up.”
“You are awake,” a voice said.
I went towards the voice—which was in the hall, or, the other room—but in this room, the girl was standing next to the bed, just out of view until I walked closer.
“I am?”
“Yes, you just had a bad day.”
“And you?”
“Not really. I wanted it to happen but you didn’t have much of a choice, did you?”
“Choice?”
“It broke,” she said as she pointed to her chest. “Mine too.”
I tapped three fingers to my heart and then placed my palm down to feel a beat—and there was nothing.
“Our hearts beat as one.”
“I don’t feel anything,” I replied.
“You felt it all. The pain, the sorrow, to not want it to happen again but it continued again and again. Like lightning bolts to the soul.”
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t real. But it’s the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.”
“It’s a dream to me too. I feel…free.”
She levitated off of the floor—gracefully and in control—but this was usually when a dream would turn into a nightmare or I’d wake up.
“Do you want to wake up?” She asked.
“Yes.”
“Trade a heart for a heart?”
I felt a pain in my chest.
She glided over to me and put her arms on my shoulders. Her arms were covered in scars with large ones on her wrists.
“Your heart has died, Joseph. Mine still beats, but I don’t want it. Do you want it?”
“I-I-do-don’t understand. No, this is R.E.M. sleep.”
“You are going to die, Joseph. Do you want to live?”
“Yes,” I murmured as my body slumped agains the wall.
“I hope the best for you,” she replied as she looked behind us.
I turned back to the girl in the other room and she thrashed a bit.
“Wake up, Jo.”
I. Give Your Heart a Break
The woman’s voice was unfamiliar.
It wasn’t my mother or sister, aunt or grandmother…those were my remaining female relatives.
My eyes slowly opened to a soupy visual mess and I tried to move my arms but they were secure—which triggered a bit of thrashing on my part.
The bed was uncomfortable and there was a loud chirp and whine of a heart monitor.
“Where am I?” I thought I yelled and then breathed to scream, but, instead it was a disgusting gurgling feeling in my throat.
“Can you take that out of her, doctor?” A male voice panicked.
“Not yet, Mr. Johnson.”
My vision cleared up enough to see three nurses, two doctors, and a couple standing behind the medical team. I had no idea who they were.
“Joanna?” The woman asked.
I looked at her, apparently with an expression of shock and awe as she started crying…or maybe she had been crying for quite some time. Did my family have people come and stand vigil at my bedside?
My legs were either immobilized, paralyzed or they had been amputated because I couldn’t feel anything below the knee.
I wanted to cry due to the pain in my throat, arms and chest—there was something the Hell wrong with my body.
My eyes flashed open again and I looked at the woman.
“Joanna?” I yelled in my head.
The man next to her stood as stoic as a statue until he turned around and left the room.
“Tony!”
The nurses and one of the doctors moved around the bed and adjusted the tubes and wires that were connected all around me. At that moment, I realized there was a breathing tube down my throat. I shook my head and tried to move my arms again, but to no avail.
“She’s trying to talk to us. Can you remove the tube?” The woman pleaded as she looked back to the hallway.
“We can,Mrs. Johnson, if her vitals clear,” one of the doctors replied. The other just stood back, taking notes.
“I’ll be right back, Jo, okay?” Mrs. Johnson said as she held up a finger to me to ask me to ‘wait’…as if I was going to go anywhere.
My eyes darted around the room. I recognized it, but from another perspective. I had walked into that very same room to see that girl float away, but, I was laying in her place, at least I assumed as much. I tried to find a reflective surface, something that would allow me to see what in the Doctor Sam Beckett happened to me.
Mrs. Johnson walked back into the room grasping the hands of the man named Tony. Her eyes were red, and her face looked like a Dairy Queen ice cream cake melting in the heat. The pain in my throat was unbearable and I violently rocked against the restraints on my arms and legs. If I couldn’t talk, then I’d try to get their attention and some answers.
“I need you to calm down, Joanna,” a nurse calmly, but sternly stated.
The doctor poked and prodded at my arm and as I laid back and, well, kind of gave up. It wasn’t like I was going to miraculously break free.
“We can remove the intubation,” the doctor noted.
I heard the voices of several nurses coming in and my face was soon in shadows as they surrounded the bed.
“This is going to be uncomfortable, so please relax.”
I nodded, but I really wanted to say a few choice words—if I could. I clenched my body for a second and then tied to relax as they pulled the tubing out. The pain was excruciating with a feeling in my throat that I would never want to ever experience again. My mouth felt numb, and I could not stop coughing for almost a minute, like I was trying to break a world record for the worst form of a barking cough.
I simply laid in bed for the remainder of, I assumed it was night, as nurses came in our and Mr. and Mrs. Johnson would take turns sitting in an uncomfortable chair until Mr. Johnson left the room and didn’t come back after the time it took for the nurses to come in and check my vitals once again.
“Anthony came to see you.”
“Who?” I asked.
Mrs. Johnson’s eyes once again welled-up. “You don’t remember Anthony?”
“It’s…kind of fuzzy,” I lied.
“You’ve been dating for over three years.”
“Maybe if I saw him, it would help to jog my memory” I said and that made her feel a little better.
“Do you want me to call him and ask him to come back since you’re awake?”
I had only a few seconds to think about it. No amount of time would make me remember who, or what Anthony was. A part of me didn’t even care but the other part thought it would be a good idea to see him. I hated to see a woman cry, so if I had to play nice with some troll of a guy, then fine. I’d do it.
I nodded in reply and, mom, smiled. It was weak, but she looked happy.
Another day had passed of blood tests and IV’s. I had to listen intently to nurse chatter in order to confirm what had happened: Joanna had taken almost a bottle of ibuprofen, a lot of sleeping pills, and had cut her wrists. The cuts were not fatal but if the pills had taken affect there would be severe organ damage. There were several times I glanced at her, or my, reflection and wondered what the Hell had happened in this girl’s life. Were her parents a real-life variation of “unsubs” from “Criminal Minds”? Was she being bullied online? Or was it something incredibly stupid like a fight with whoever this “Anthony” guy was. If that was the case, was he some gigantic bully of brawn and bravado? Was he the guy who was usually the loudest ass at the bar or that one co-worker who just won’t shut-up about their new condo in Colorado Springs?
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I was alone in my room with Doctor Francisco, a psychologist. I wanted to ask if his name was “Sam” but decided to let him do all the taking. Tragically, hew had to ask one of the many questions I didn’t have the answer to.
“I don’t know, it’s kind of a blur…I could see myself, like, outside my body, and then, I’m here.” My reply had just enough truth mixed with a bit of meta-mind jabber to maybe satisfy his question.
“Are you having issues at school?
‘Who doesn’t?” I said with s shrug, which wasn’t the best answer to give.
“Did you feel there was no one who could help you?”
“Wasn’t thinking then.” I wanted to plead the fifth.
The doctor wrote several notes and then excused himself form the room. I wondered if he thought I was being flippant or ignorant of my situation.
I could have just explained that I really was a twenty-five year old guy who, less than a week ago, was dealing with heart failure a few walls away. I could watch the doctor’s expression change from dour to slightly irritated as I would continue to spin the yarn that I do not know who this body belonged to. Yes, I know her name was Joanna. Yes, she tried to commit suicide and, I guess, in some way succeeded and so, here I am.
Yes, I could have stated all that and more, but decided not to. I willed every brain cell in my body to try and recollect how a teenage girl was supposed to act. But that was almost a decade ago and everything had changed. Maybe Joanna was an emo who just accidentally cut herself and the doctors assumed something else.
The afternoon was spent with the parents, once again, swapping their time but on that night—on my insistence—they went home to sleep. They were hesitant but I assured them I would be fine and that was hard on them too and they should sleep comfortably for the night. I, on the other hand, was in agony with sleeping on a hospital bed that felt like sleeping on deflated balloons. I relished the times I could get up and use the bathroom. However, there were issues with that at first.
After yet another day of tests, one including drinking a bowl of activated charcoal that had the consistency of someone grinding down cat liter into a a chocolate mix that had been left out in the sun for only God knew how long. It stains everything from your teeth, face, and whatever clothes you’re wearing. I was allowed to go home with the strict guidelines to not take any medications: absolutely nothing, even if I had lost a limb. I also had to make another appointment wit Dr. Fransisco.
My bedroom was on the second floor of an almost palatial estate on the Northside of town. I may have driven past it several times wondering who lived in that gated castle. Of course, everything is a castle compared to a two-room shotgun house. This room, combining it with the bathroom and closet was half the size as my old house. Sad to say, I preferred my house with its sparse arrangement to the clashing of colors of this room. I would have to find a way to get to my house without anyone asking why.
It wasn’t like the bedroom of a “princess” with millions of shades of pink and red. There were shades of pink, but they slammed into black and blues. It was as if someone took a gallon of paint in each hand and spun around. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or if she just didn’t care. I looked at my arm and then at the wall.
“She was trying to say something,” I whispered.
“Are you happy to be back, Joanna?”
“Yes, mon, thank you.” I replied as I turned to her.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I said with a slight nod as it still felt like I was a stranger, or a guest in their house and not their daughter.
“I’ll have something prepared.”
She left the room, and I laid my backpack on the floor to pick up a picture of Joanna standing next to a giant of a boy—Anthony. The picture looked like a prom photo with her wearing something looking incredibly expense—along with her hair. The guy, Anthony, looked like he wore a rented tuxedo and seemingly tried to make parts of it match her dress. He looked too happy and her smile looked forced. The corsage covered her wrist so I couldn’t tell if there were any cuts. I hated proms and hoped it was too late in the school year for another one.
Maybe I could convince everyone that school was not necessary. Perhaps I could take a test or two and be done with it, or, better yet, this dream would end, and I’d find myself back in a hospital bed instead of this The Matrix meets The Sims existence. I put the picture down and walked over to the meticulously clean desk.
Nothing was on top of it; not a pen, pencil, or paper. Nothing. I sat down in an overly comfortable chair and opened the bottom left drawer. There were stacks of notebooks and a locked box in the back corner.
“If I was…I mean I am…now…. a teenage girl. Where would I place the key?”
I decided it was better to just break the flimsy lock, so I did.
There was a bottle of pills and a scrawled-out suicide note.
It was like reading someone’s private journal…and as much as I was creeped out at myself for wanting to know more; I had to face the fact that I knew next to nothing about myself.
