I didn’t mean to break the remote. Or the window. I guess you could call it a reflex action. A reflex action to realising you have been in a coma. For three years. Needless to say, with all the remote tossing and window cracking and my parents having shot awake and nearly collapsing of shock, haven’t fallen asleep simultaneously again. While one is awake the other takes their “nap time”. This had made it extremely difficult to sneak out and find a mirror to check if I had gained any wrinkles in the last three years. I really hadn’t notice any changes until I found out how long I had been asleep. Then I began to notice the little things. My hair was longer and scraggly-looking, my nail paint chipped but the nail filed to perfection. I’d have to thank mom for that later. I’d suddenly began to calculate all I’d missed. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let anything slip no matter how hard I pleaded and fussed. I’d missed Prom, that much was pretty obvious. I’d also missed my 18th birthday. And my scheduled driving lessons. And my guitar lessons. I’d missed so much. It was a quite Thursday afternoon, exactly one week and three days after I’d been admitted to Miami General. I was curled up under the scratchy blue blankets listing to my outdated music. Since I’d been permitted to listen to the radio there were so many new songs new stations, and allot of news. As a little present, Dad presented me with a signed copy of Lauren Conrad’s Novel L.A Candy. He knew one day if I woke up, I would kill someone if I hadn’t owned a copy. I was so insanely excited to have it signed, until I opened it. And I couldn’t read any of the words. It was like a jumbled mess on the page, just a collision of white and black. I laughed it off thinking the medication had affected my eye sight or something else, just a tripped up wire or a disconnected circuit thingy. But the next morning when I attempted to read it again the same thing. This time I tried everything squinting, obsessively blinking and even holding the book about 4 inches away from my face but nothing worked! I got so frustrated I hurled the book towards the wall, denting the spine and promptly bursting out into tears. My father, at the sound of crashing objects, raced back into the room, a look of worry on his worn face. I raised my hands into the air, like a little child, just wanting reassurance that everything would be ok. He swooped me up and sat me gently onto his bony knees and rocked me until the room became fuzzy and dark, and when I awoke the next morning there was an unbelievably handsome boy holding a dozen white daisies, standing at the side of my bed, with a wide grin across his familiar face....


The End

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