When the world and I were young, just yesterday. Life was such a simple game a child could play. It was easy then to tell right from wrong. Easy then to tell weak from strong. When a man should stand and fight, or just go along. But today there is no day or night. Today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white. Only shades of gray…

A pale face twisted with pain. Dark hair slick with perspiration. The steady beeping of the machines providing him with the only connection to life. Shadows of a person once full of life.

Three men sat faithfully by the bed, sometimes touching their fallen comrade's hand or smoothing his hair in an attempt to let their presence known. To let him know they were there for him and would be until the end, if came to that. But no one wanted to think about the end; it was too painful, and they were hurting enough as it was.

The only noises they made were nervous coughs or an occasion sniffle. No one dared to cry, thinking he would seem weak to his friends. But they were all crying inside.

Each man found his own way to pass the time. One flipped listlessly through magazines, not actually reading. One kept his eyes roaming, never focusing on one spot for a long time, to keep his thoughts from drifting. The other paced or fidgeted, constantly moving. They did not speak to one another, afraid to upset the delicate balance of their anxious routines.

But nothing could keep their minds off their friend for long. No matter how hard they tried, they knew they could not ignore the situation completely. It wouldn't disappear; it would always be present.

I remember when the answers seemed so clear. We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear. It was easy then to tell truth from lies. Selling out from compromise. Who to love and who to hate. The foolish from the wise. But today there is no day or night. Today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white. Only shades of gray…

It hurt to see their strong leader so helpless and weak. Without him, they were hopelessly lost. In fact, it was as if part of each of them was lying there in that bed, dying along beside him.

In a way, it was.

For Mike had brought out hidden qualities in all of them. In Davy, he brought out his determination. In Micky, his bravery. And in Peter, his confidence. As they sat by his bed, the qualities he gave them drained out of them…

Davy: How will we go on without him if he… How will the group make it as a threesome without someone to guide us? It's not like I could lead, even though he claimed I could. I'm no leader. I have no passion, no drive, not like him. I'm nothing; we're all nothing. We're nothing without Mike…

Micky: I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared. Oh, God, I'm so scared. I have never been so afraid. Afraid for Mike, afraid for the group, afraid for myself. I can't sleep because I'm afraid of what I might see in my dreams. I can't stay awake because I'm afraid to face the truth. I'm so, so scared without Mike to protect me…

Peter: Oh, no, no, no. This isn't happening. It can't. Michael is so strong, so powerful. This can't be him; this must be a dummy. Ha, dummy. I'm the dummy. But Mike tells me I'm not, shows me that I am more than just a "dummy." He helped me build my self-esteem; without him, it'll all come crashing down around me…

Mike: I'm floating, soaring through a cloudy gray sky. I sense movement, ever so slight, from just beyond my reach. I try to move toward the motion, but my body is weighed down by an invisible force. How can I float if I weigh so much?

All I see is gray upon gray. Is this right? Shouldn't there be colors? Shouldn't I be able to see something, hear something, feel something?

Am I dead?

Surely not. Heaven is white, not gray. And Hell is red. So where am I? What's happening?

I feel sudden surges of emotion course through my veins. Determination, bravery, confidence. Whatever is going on, I will fight it without fear, and I will win. This I know. I must win.

I just wish I knew why I feel this way… So unaware, so out of touch with reality. Like an acid trip gone horribly wrong.

Trip. It's coming back to me now. There was an accident. I was walking, my guitar strapped across my back, on the way home from another failed audition. I was with someone, no three people. My friends. Who are they again?

Oh. I remember. Little Davy, never having the determination to get through difficult times on his own. Crazy Micky, whose outgoing personality hides his cowardice. And sweet, innocent Peter, never confident in his abilities. Yes, I was with them, feeling defeated after our latest failure. I joined this group to get away from failure, but it seems like I face more now than ever.

We were walking, and I was lecturing them about what went wrong. I often did this, hoping my advice would sink in. It never did. I wasn't paying any attention to them, as I tend to do when I'm preoccupied. They shouted at me, told me to stop, but I kept going, criticizing as I walked.

Straight into the path of the car that hit me.

It was black… no, white… no, gray. Yes, a gray car that seemed to come out of nowhere to me but in actuality was always there. Maybe if I wasn't so damn intense, if I could loosen up and relax a little, I wouldn't have been so absorbed in my thoughts and would have taken note of my surroundings.

But I didn't.

The pain was a sharp burst of blinding light, and some piercing screams cut through the light like jagged stripes. Screams. Mine maybe, maybe my friends'. Maybe both. Then the light dulled to a gray haze that swallowed me up and cushioned me while I fell.

So that's what happened. That's right. The accident that was my own damn fault. How could I have been so damn stupid, so damn passive, so damn inattentive?

It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. I'm stuck here. But where is here, and how did I get here? I know I'm not dead; I determined this already.

Comatose. The whispered word slithers out of some dark recess of my brain like a swamp monster emerging from its bog. A memory of a vague conversation I had heard but not registered.

Comatose.

I'm not dead, but I'm not alive either. I'm suspended in between death and life, dark and light, black and white.

Shades of gray.

It was easy then to tell what was fair. When to keep and when to share. How much to protect your heart. And how much to care. But today there is no day or night. Toda, there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white…

I cannot stay like this forever, here in this peaceful, blissful unreality. From what I know of comas, they don't last eternity. I have two choices: let go or hold on.

There are advantages to both. If I let go, I never have to worry about failure again. Won't have to struggle to make a name for myself, won't have to feel the pressures of everyday life, won't have to be the strong leader all the time. But if I do, what will happen to the group? We've grown so close; I fear if I chose to leave them, they'll fall apart. What if they choose to join me, too soon, before their time? I couldn't let their demise be my fault.

What do I do?

The waves of determination, bravery, and confidence rush back over me. That's right. I'm a fighter. I'm determined. I'm brave. I'm confident. I must go back to them…

The nearly lifeless body shuddered slightly. The three men stopped what they were doing and gathered around the bed, willing him to come back.

"Come on, Mike," one whispered. "Please."

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing pupils clouded with gray. He blinked several times, lifting a hand from the bed. It was immediately enveloped by three others. His vision cleared to reveal his friends, salty tears dripping from their eyes. Like raindrops from gray clouds.

"You came back to us," wept Peter.

Mike formed a small smile. "Course I did, shotgun. How could I leave you guys?"

"We were so worried, Mike," Micky said, hurriedly brushing away his tears.

"We didn't think you'd make it," said Davy, unable to look his friend in the eye.

Mike set his other hand on top of the stack of hands covering his. "I did, though. I realized that I couldn't let you guys suffer that pain. We're a group; we always stick together, no matter what. I couldn't break us apart."

"What was it like?" Peter asked. "When you were…"

"It's hard to say. All I saw was gray upon gray. It was peaceful, yet ominous. I knew I couldn't stay there, and I knew I wasn't ready to let go just yet. So I came back."

Mike looked at each man, slowly, studying them. "I didn't want to leave you, so I hope none of you ever leave me. We've given each other so much that made us each stronger in turn. We must never lose each other."

The three men stared at their friend and felt emotions flow into them, filling gaps that his near-death experience had left. Determination, bravery, confidence. They all nodded, unable to speak because words were just not enough.

Mike was back, and with him, the rest of the group had followed and were reunited once again.

Only shades of gray… Only shades of gray…