This Is More Than Pain.
--
"Can you tell me why exactly we're here?" Carly Shay asked her best friend, following her closely through the crowd.
"Because, Carls," Sam Puckett replied, "we needed to have a good time, and what's more fun than a fair?"
Carly shrugged to herself.
"Now let's get something fried!" Sam exclaimed, pulling Carly toward a food stand.
There was a long line, and neither of them really felt like waiting. "You can't have the proper summer fair experience without something cooked in grease," Sam said as she looked over the line, slightly disappointed. "But I guess we won't have the proper summer fair experience this year, huh?"
Carly pretended to look devastated. "Nope, I guess not."
"Aw man. Do you think I should punch everyone to get to the front?"
"Sam, what have I told you about randomly hurting innocent bystanders?"
"Hrumph. It's not nice."
"Right."
JOY.
"Hey, let's go on this thing," Carly said, pointing to some kind of swirly thrill ride.
Sam shrugged. "Alrighty-o, Carly girl."
They boarded the ride, standing next to each other and strapping in. A man walked by, checking to make sure everyone was buckled and safe, and once he left, the ride started. It swirled slowly at first, then faster and faster, rising to reach the sky. Sam laughed and Carly screamed. Neither one took their hands of the bars they were strapped into, for fear of flying away, although that wouldn't happen. The ride spun and spun, each time around adding a memory to each of the girls.
"I think I'm gonna puke!" Carly yelled.
"I know, isn't it awesome?" Sam hollered in reply. "Hey, try to move your neck!"
Carly tried. "I can't! It feels like my head will fall off!"
Sam laughed. "This is awesome!" she repeated.
LOVE.
They spent the whole day at the fair, going on all the rides, eating wherever there wasn't a massive line, and visiting all the attractions. They caught a few random indie bands playing on the stage in the middle of the fairgrounds and bought a few knick knacks at the craft tables.
By nine o' clock, the girls were exhausted from their day and ready to go home. "Where did we park?" Sam asked, clicking the alarm on her keychain. The beeping came closer and closer to the girls, as they made their way to Sam's dirty fifteen-year-old Prius. Sam laughed. "That was easy. It takes me longer to find my car at Mall Mart," she said, opening the driver's side door. She leaned over and unlocked the passenger side for Carly. "Come on in."
Carly slid into the seat, buckling herself in. Their bags of stuff sat before her under the dashboard. "I'm so tired," Carly said, emphasizing her point with a yawn.
"Take a nap, then," Sam told her, turning on the engine. "It'll take, like, half an hour to get back to your place, so I guess you'll be okay."
Carly nodded. "That swirly thing was so fun," she said, eyes closed. Sam drove out of the parking lot.
"Oh, I know! How many times did we go on it?"
"Um...three, I think. And then you got hungry."
Sam sighed. "That was a good corn dog, too."
"I wouldn't know. You ate mine." Carly was almost asleep, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you care if I turn on the radio?" Sam asked her sleeping friend. "I won't put it on metal or anything."
Carly nodded, and Sam turned the knob on the radio. The car was filled with top 40 softly playing. Sam played the beat on the steering wheel at a stoplight. "Do do doo..." she hummed. The light turned green.
The next thing that happened would be haunting Sam in her nightmares for years to come. The skidding. That was what became the most prominent sound. The skidding of a car trying to stop but failing, hitting Sam's car. She looked to her right just in time to see the sleeping form of Carly illuminated by head lights, and a scream emitted from her lips at the exact moment the car slammed into hers.
GONE.
She awoke, feeling something wet underneath her left side and a sharp pain in her entire right side. There were people, voices. "Someone call 9-1-1!" a passerby screamed. "Are they alive?" somebody else asked. Everything went black again.
LOST.
Sam's eyes fluttered open in the ambulance she didn't remember getting into. "She's awake!" the paramedic called out.
"What happened?" Sam groaned.
"You were in a car crash. It's amazing you're still alive."
"Where's Carly?"
"Who?"
"Carly. She was in the car with me."
The paramedic's eyes darkened. "She's not as good as you, dear."
Tears filled Sam's bloodshot and unfocused eyes.
"Where is she?"
"The other ambulance."
"Is she dead? Is she going to die?" Sam was sputtering and her head was swirling and her legs hurt and nothing was making sense anymore.
"We're not sure."
The machine beside Sam's head beeped loudly. It sounded so far away. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over Sam's mouth and nose. "Don't leave us," the woman whispered to Sam.
HELP.
The paramedics pushed Sam through the emergency room, rushing quickly to the tables where many a life had been saved. They all yelled things to one another, but Sam didn't pay any attention. She was hooked up to machines and tubes, but she didn't feel anything. All she could think about was Carly.
They cut her shirt, the shirt she borrowed from Carly, the purple one with the winged skeleton on it. Sam was only hoping that Carly was alive and wouldn't be upset about having her shirt returned cut in half and covered with blood. Cold air hit her raw skin, and she cringed. Pain shot through every limb in her body. Nothing felt right. This wasn't how the "proper summer fair experience" was supposed to end. Sam's mind wandered as the doctors and nurses tried desperately to help her, to fix her. She thought about Carly, Spencer, Freddie, her mom; everyone that had ever impacted her life and made a difference.
So this is how I'm going to die? On an operating table in the emergency room? Sam closed her eyes and tried to focus on something. She wanted to find another world where she felt healthy and alive.
Her mind drifted to their senior prom. Had that really only been a month before?
Do you remember how you fretted so much, Carly? How you wanted to know if your eyeshadow "complimented" your corsage? You wanted me to help you with your hair, but I only made it worse. Remember? I do.
You were so pretty in your bright pink dress, your shiny dark hair swept up and held in place with the sparkly barrette Spencer made for you. I remember the way light bounced throughout the room when the you moved your head. I told you, "If I were a lesbian..." and you laughed.
I felt so boring while I was getting dressed in your bathroom. You made me feel better when I got out, telling me, "You look gorgeous." You said I had picked "the perfect classic: the little black dress." You helped me straighten my hair, and we talked, all excited, about what was awaiting us in just a few hours. I took your big red flower clip and stuck on the side of my head as a joke, but I remember how you tilted your head to the side thoughtfully and said, "I like it."
And then when we went downstairs to be bombarded by Spencer taking all those pictures, we posed like models. I almost tripped in my heels, too, remember? You said, "Don't break your ankle. I'll leave you in the emergency room and go dance with your date." I knew you were joking. I knew you would stay by my side the whole night if I did, then nurse me back to health with an ice pack and plenty of chicken noodle soup.
Then when our dates came, I saw the look Jacob gave you when he came into your apartment, and I know what he was thinking. One word: breathtaking. I hoped Freddie would give me that look, too, and he did.
I felt like a teenager and not like the daughter of a drug addict that night. I had such a great time. Remember when Taureen talked the ear off the DJ and got kicked out? That was hilarious. And of course Gibby dancing shirtless on the table after drinking seven cups of punch. I told you to stay away from the punch, that it might be spiked. You laughed, but I was serious. I didn't want you to get drunk and throw up all over your floor-length dress.
Sam started feeling something warm flowing through her veins, and she started getting sleepy. The distant beeping of the heart machine lulled her to sleep.
Carly, you are my home, my best friend, my sister. We're supposed to grow old together. We promised to be the bridesmaids in each other's weddings and the godmothers to each other's children. You can't let this all slip through our fingers. Pull through; for me.
RELIEF.
Sam awoke hours later. She turned her head, painfully, to see Spencer Shay beside her. His eyes were puffy and red. He perked up when he saw her looking at him. "Sam," he said, standing.
It hurt to cry, but she did anyway. The tears penetrated some of the bandages that were placed on her face. "Hi Spencer," she said, though she couldn't move her jaw very well.
"Oh my God, Sam. I can't believe you're alive," Spencer sobbed. He wanted nothing more than to rock her in his arms, but he knew that would not be the best of ideas.
Sam's mind instantly went to Carly. "How is she?"
He just shook his head tearfully.
Sam blinked. "Tell her I love her, Spencer," she managed painfully. "Please."
"Of course," Spencer said softly. "Anything for you." He kissed her forehead gently, the area where there was no bandage.
He was in the doorway, about to leave Sam's room, when she tried to get his attention. "Spencer, where's my mom?"
He turned around to face her. "She's on her way."
What Sam didn't know was that her mom's car was the one that crashed into hers. Her head had slammed into the dashboard, cracking her skull; she had died on impact.
ALONE.
Spencer walked over to his sister's room. The monitors beeped beside her. "Carly," he whispered. "You have to get better. You'll be leaving too much behind if you don't. Sam loves you. I love you. Granddad loves you. Dad loves you. Freddie loves you. I bet even Mrs. Benson loves you. Hell, your fans love you," he smiled. "Please, Carly. You're the reason I wake up in the morning. Please don't leave us like Mom did. I'll--I'll--"
Suddenly the machines beside Carly started beeping louder. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't be in here," a nurse said, pushing Spencer away fiercely.
"But, but--that's my little sister!" Spencer protested through his tears.
"I'm sorry sir, but we might be losing her," the man said simply. He pushed Spencer out of the room and left him standing in front of the window, sobbing.
He watched as they hooked up a machine and rubbed paddles together, placing them on her chest in an attempt to start her heart.
"Please don't let her die," he prayed. "Please don't let her go."
They repeated the paddle process for thirty minutes, but Carly was gone. The doctor looked over at the clock. "5:17 am. Thursday the 14th."
"No!" Spencer screamed. "No! She can't be gone! She just can't be!" He pounded on the door to the room, screaming. "No! She's sleeping! Please, no! She's alive! She's a deep sleeper! God, no!"
He rushed into the room once the door opened. The nurses were removing the tubes and needles that were attached to her lifeless, unrecognizable body. Her normally smooth, milky complexion was interrupted by purple bruises and red cuts everywhere. Both arms and her left leg were broken; her right shoulder bone was completely exposed. Her face was twisted, and her hair was jagged and messy, cut buy the shards of metal and glass from the car. A giant gash on her right cheek left most of her cheekbone visible. Chunks of her skin were missing underneath the bandages.
He couldn't stand seeing her like this; his normally beautiful, bubbly baby sister was now dead. She would never open her eyes again, he would never hear her laugh again or see her smile. Spencer sobbed, leaning over her body. He held her in his arms, her limp body like a rag doll's.
"Come on, kiddo! Sam and Freddie are here to do iCarly!" he told her in desperation. How he wished this was a nightmare. How he wished that all he had to do was will himself to wake up and get out of this.
"Carly, I made you spaghetti tacos! Hurry and get some before Sam eats them!" He was saying anything that would wake her up, but he knew it was no use.
The nurses worked around him. To them, she was just another dead girl. To them, she was just a number. Sad as it was, they could not dwell on the fact that such a young girl could die so soon. To them, she was another statistic in the "number of people who die in drunk driving accidents annually."
One nurse touched his arm. "We did all we could."
It felt like he stood there for hours, holding and talking to his little sister. She wasn't dead. She just wasn't. This horror couldn't be reality. Spencer told her everything: the time when he accidentally broke her My Little Horsie doll when she was three and blamed it on the mean neighbor kid, when he used up the last bit of the toothpaste, when he lied about not having enough gas in the car so he didn't have to take her to Sam's house. He apologized and cried, and when he said everything he could, he put her down. He wiped his eyes, though it was useless, as he began crying again. "I love you Carly," he whispered, kissing her cold face. He pulled the sheet over her head, and left with a heavy heart.
NO.
