A couple of quick notes before the story- this story takes place two years in the future, making Paige and all her friends seventeen (Grade Twelve). I don't own Degrassi or any of their characters. I also don't own the Gap or any other pop culture references in the story. And, (Sigh), I don't own John Mayer, who I stole the title of this story from. Enjoy! And if you don't want me to continue this story, please let me know.
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"I hate Christmas," I told Hazel as we pushed our way through the crowded shopping mall, trying to get to the Gap to pick up Dylan's present. Both of our hands were full of bags, and I was nearly dying under the weight of my coat. I was ready to murder whoever was in charge of the music in the next store we heard "Santa Baby" in.
"How can you hate Christmas? Even I love Christmas."
"You don't celebrate Christmas, do you?"
"Doesn't stop me from loving it. So why do you hate it?"
"The music, the malls, the stores."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Did you actually just ask me what's wrong with Christmas music?"
She rolled her eyes. "Come on, get into the spirit." We walked into the Gap- or rather pushed our way in- and Hazel pulled a Santa hat off the shelf. She put it on my head. I made a face.
"Bah humbug."
"Come on, at least pretend to be excited."
I shrugged, and we started looking. We had thought we were smart to come after dinner two Tuesdays before Christmas. So had the rest of the world, or so it seemed. The unfortunate part was that it was probably a lot busier on the weekends.
"When's our project due for anthropology?" I asked her.
"The one on grief?"
"Yeah."
"Um. . . oh crap, that's due on Thursday."
"All-nighter tomorrow night?"
"Sounds like it."
Suddenly, the beginning notes of John Mayer's 'No Such Thing' overpowered the annoying gap-version of Christmas carols.
"Is that mine or yours?" Hazel asked.
"Don't you have Love Soon as your ring?"
"Oh, right." I struggled to get my cell phone out of my pocket without dropping my bags. It didn't work. I pushed my way through the crowd, got out of the store and dropped my bags in a heap, and pulled out my phone.
"Hello?" I plugged my other ear with my hand that was still holding a couple of the bags.
"Is this Paige Michalchuk?" The man's voice on the other end was unfamiliar. I couldn't figure out what the strange noises from his end were.
"Yeah, who's this?"
"I'm Eric Bennett, I'm a doctor at St. Vincent's hospital. Are you related to Anna Michalchuk?"
My heart stopped beating, and the noise in the background just faded away. "Ye- yes. She's my mom."
"Your mom has been in a car accident. She's in pretty good shape, but she got hit in the head pretty hard. Her car was totalled. She's going to need someone to drive her home."
"But she's okay?"
"Seems like. We have a couple more tests to run, but she should be out by tonight."
"Okay. Um, I'm going to head over there now. Where can I find her?"
"Come into the ER, and a nurse will tell you where to go."
"She's really okay?"
"It's amazing that she's done so well."
"Okay. Thank you." I hung up, my hands shaking violently. Hazel was standing beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder.
"Are you okay, hun?"
"Um, yeah, I guess," I looked down and busied myself with picking up my bags. Though I tried to cover it up, Hazel saw that I was crying.
"What is it?" she asked gently.
I picked up my bags, wiped my eyes, and pretended to be unaffected by what had just happened. "Uh, my mom's been in an accident. She needs someone to drive her home."
"Oh my God. Is she okay?"
"I didn't talk to her. The doctor who I talked to said she was doing really well."
"Do you want me to drive?"
"No, I've got the other car."
"But are you okay to drive?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I plastered a fake smile on my face. "Are you okay with taking the bus?"
"Yeah, don't worry about me."
"Thanks, Haze," I said softly, then before I could stop myself, gave her a quick hug.
The walk to the car consisted of me pushing people out of my way, and trying to slip on the icy ground. I almost got hit by two cars backing out, who refused to stop. The traffic was heavy getting to the hospital. I kept my hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. It was dark and snowing. On the way, I passed an accident site. The two cars, thank God, weren't the same colour as the one my mom had been driving. I was blinded, almost hypnotized by the flashing lights as I drove by. The radio was on in the background, but did nothing but annoy me. It was just constant droning, but I did nothing to turn it off. When I got to the hospital, I was a mess.
"I'm looking for my mom," I told the receptionist frantically.
"What's her name?" she asked.
"Anna Michalchuk."
Her face softened. "Are you her daughter?"
"Yeah."
"Come with me," she said, leading me behind the sliding doors that separated the patients who were waiting from those who were supposedly seeing a doctor. I saw very few doctors, but people who looked sick, who looked like they were in pain, some with ice packs against their heads, some visibly bleeding. What had they done to my mom?
"It's been crazy tonight," the receptionist explained, seeing my wide-eyed look. "We've had a couple of big car accidents." She kept walking, past the sick and the injured people. She led me into a small waiting room. There was a large TV with some kind of kids show on, and a small pile of toys in front of it. Two touching walls had chairs against them, about ten or twelve in total, and a small table in the corner with various magazines. There was only one other person in the room. The nurse started to leave.
"Wait, where's my mom?!"
She didn't hear me. I considered running after her, then decided against it. Maybe they were just going to have her come out here.
"As soon as they get you here, they like to pretend they can't hear you," a voice behind me said. I turned. The person who I'd seen with their head in their hands, was now looking at me. It was a him. Probably a university student. He had a leather jacket sitting on the chair beside him, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. There were traces of dried blood on his hands, and parts of his shirt were crimson. His eyes were slightly red, his dark hair a mess, and looked exhausted.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Their job is to get you here. They don't want to deal with you afterwards."
"Why not?"
"Critical care waiting room isn't the most pleasant place to be."
I felt my heart skip a beat. "Critical care? They wanted me here to drive my mom home."
"What happened to her?"
"Car accident. The doctor who called said she was okay. He said that she had just hit her head, but was okay. Why- did they tell you why you're here?"
His drawn face seemed to darken. "I came in with my sister."
"Is she okay?"
"I haven't heard anything. They don't like telling you what's going on until they know for sure that they've saved them. . ."
"Or they die," I finally said.
"Yeah."
The thought hit me hard. My mom could be dead. I sat down in the chair next to him. "How do you know so much about what happens here?"
"I've been here once or twice before," he said simply.
Suddenly, it hit me. I hadn't called Dylan. My stomach roiled at the realization that I had completely forgotten about him. I pulled out my cell phone, but I didn't get a signal.
"Damn it," I shouted, my voice echoing in the small room. I threw my phone against the wall. It probably broke, but I didn't move to pick it up. I drew my legs up against my chest, put my head down, and started to cry. From beside my, the stranger slowly offered his hand. I took it, and he closed it over mine. He squeezed my hand gently. I swallowed hard, and managed to stop crying. We didn't say anything, but just waited, two complete strangers, but depending solely on each other. There was no one else there to support either of us.
Sometime later, ten, fifteen, maybe thirty minutes, the door leading into the room finally opened, and a balding doctor came in. He wore green scrubs that had been turned red.
"Are you Paige?" he asked. I nodded and stood up. The stranger let go of my hand.
"I'm doctor Bennett, we spoke on the phone."
"Where's my mom?"
"Your mom-"
"You said my mom was okay!" I shouted.
He nodded. "She came in with minor injuries. We had other cases, and hadn't had a chance to do a through examination."
"What happened to her!?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "We did all we could."
He kept talking, but I didn't hear a word he said. His speech slowed down to an inaudible drone, and his head seemed to bob. The walls fell away, the world fell away, and I quickly felt myself falling away. The last thing I felt was someone's arms catching me before I fell. Then nothing.
Only later did I find out just who the arms belonged to.
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"I hate Christmas," I told Hazel as we pushed our way through the crowded shopping mall, trying to get to the Gap to pick up Dylan's present. Both of our hands were full of bags, and I was nearly dying under the weight of my coat. I was ready to murder whoever was in charge of the music in the next store we heard "Santa Baby" in.
"How can you hate Christmas? Even I love Christmas."
"You don't celebrate Christmas, do you?"
"Doesn't stop me from loving it. So why do you hate it?"
"The music, the malls, the stores."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Did you actually just ask me what's wrong with Christmas music?"
She rolled her eyes. "Come on, get into the spirit." We walked into the Gap- or rather pushed our way in- and Hazel pulled a Santa hat off the shelf. She put it on my head. I made a face.
"Bah humbug."
"Come on, at least pretend to be excited."
I shrugged, and we started looking. We had thought we were smart to come after dinner two Tuesdays before Christmas. So had the rest of the world, or so it seemed. The unfortunate part was that it was probably a lot busier on the weekends.
"When's our project due for anthropology?" I asked her.
"The one on grief?"
"Yeah."
"Um. . . oh crap, that's due on Thursday."
"All-nighter tomorrow night?"
"Sounds like it."
Suddenly, the beginning notes of John Mayer's 'No Such Thing' overpowered the annoying gap-version of Christmas carols.
"Is that mine or yours?" Hazel asked.
"Don't you have Love Soon as your ring?"
"Oh, right." I struggled to get my cell phone out of my pocket without dropping my bags. It didn't work. I pushed my way through the crowd, got out of the store and dropped my bags in a heap, and pulled out my phone.
"Hello?" I plugged my other ear with my hand that was still holding a couple of the bags.
"Is this Paige Michalchuk?" The man's voice on the other end was unfamiliar. I couldn't figure out what the strange noises from his end were.
"Yeah, who's this?"
"I'm Eric Bennett, I'm a doctor at St. Vincent's hospital. Are you related to Anna Michalchuk?"
My heart stopped beating, and the noise in the background just faded away. "Ye- yes. She's my mom."
"Your mom has been in a car accident. She's in pretty good shape, but she got hit in the head pretty hard. Her car was totalled. She's going to need someone to drive her home."
"But she's okay?"
"Seems like. We have a couple more tests to run, but she should be out by tonight."
"Okay. Um, I'm going to head over there now. Where can I find her?"
"Come into the ER, and a nurse will tell you where to go."
"She's really okay?"
"It's amazing that she's done so well."
"Okay. Thank you." I hung up, my hands shaking violently. Hazel was standing beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder.
"Are you okay, hun?"
"Um, yeah, I guess," I looked down and busied myself with picking up my bags. Though I tried to cover it up, Hazel saw that I was crying.
"What is it?" she asked gently.
I picked up my bags, wiped my eyes, and pretended to be unaffected by what had just happened. "Uh, my mom's been in an accident. She needs someone to drive her home."
"Oh my God. Is she okay?"
"I didn't talk to her. The doctor who I talked to said she was doing really well."
"Do you want me to drive?"
"No, I've got the other car."
"But are you okay to drive?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I plastered a fake smile on my face. "Are you okay with taking the bus?"
"Yeah, don't worry about me."
"Thanks, Haze," I said softly, then before I could stop myself, gave her a quick hug.
The walk to the car consisted of me pushing people out of my way, and trying to slip on the icy ground. I almost got hit by two cars backing out, who refused to stop. The traffic was heavy getting to the hospital. I kept my hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. It was dark and snowing. On the way, I passed an accident site. The two cars, thank God, weren't the same colour as the one my mom had been driving. I was blinded, almost hypnotized by the flashing lights as I drove by. The radio was on in the background, but did nothing but annoy me. It was just constant droning, but I did nothing to turn it off. When I got to the hospital, I was a mess.
"I'm looking for my mom," I told the receptionist frantically.
"What's her name?" she asked.
"Anna Michalchuk."
Her face softened. "Are you her daughter?"
"Yeah."
"Come with me," she said, leading me behind the sliding doors that separated the patients who were waiting from those who were supposedly seeing a doctor. I saw very few doctors, but people who looked sick, who looked like they were in pain, some with ice packs against their heads, some visibly bleeding. What had they done to my mom?
"It's been crazy tonight," the receptionist explained, seeing my wide-eyed look. "We've had a couple of big car accidents." She kept walking, past the sick and the injured people. She led me into a small waiting room. There was a large TV with some kind of kids show on, and a small pile of toys in front of it. Two touching walls had chairs against them, about ten or twelve in total, and a small table in the corner with various magazines. There was only one other person in the room. The nurse started to leave.
"Wait, where's my mom?!"
She didn't hear me. I considered running after her, then decided against it. Maybe they were just going to have her come out here.
"As soon as they get you here, they like to pretend they can't hear you," a voice behind me said. I turned. The person who I'd seen with their head in their hands, was now looking at me. It was a him. Probably a university student. He had a leather jacket sitting on the chair beside him, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. There were traces of dried blood on his hands, and parts of his shirt were crimson. His eyes were slightly red, his dark hair a mess, and looked exhausted.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Their job is to get you here. They don't want to deal with you afterwards."
"Why not?"
"Critical care waiting room isn't the most pleasant place to be."
I felt my heart skip a beat. "Critical care? They wanted me here to drive my mom home."
"What happened to her?"
"Car accident. The doctor who called said she was okay. He said that she had just hit her head, but was okay. Why- did they tell you why you're here?"
His drawn face seemed to darken. "I came in with my sister."
"Is she okay?"
"I haven't heard anything. They don't like telling you what's going on until they know for sure that they've saved them. . ."
"Or they die," I finally said.
"Yeah."
The thought hit me hard. My mom could be dead. I sat down in the chair next to him. "How do you know so much about what happens here?"
"I've been here once or twice before," he said simply.
Suddenly, it hit me. I hadn't called Dylan. My stomach roiled at the realization that I had completely forgotten about him. I pulled out my cell phone, but I didn't get a signal.
"Damn it," I shouted, my voice echoing in the small room. I threw my phone against the wall. It probably broke, but I didn't move to pick it up. I drew my legs up against my chest, put my head down, and started to cry. From beside my, the stranger slowly offered his hand. I took it, and he closed it over mine. He squeezed my hand gently. I swallowed hard, and managed to stop crying. We didn't say anything, but just waited, two complete strangers, but depending solely on each other. There was no one else there to support either of us.
Sometime later, ten, fifteen, maybe thirty minutes, the door leading into the room finally opened, and a balding doctor came in. He wore green scrubs that had been turned red.
"Are you Paige?" he asked. I nodded and stood up. The stranger let go of my hand.
"I'm doctor Bennett, we spoke on the phone."
"Where's my mom?"
"Your mom-"
"You said my mom was okay!" I shouted.
He nodded. "She came in with minor injuries. We had other cases, and hadn't had a chance to do a through examination."
"What happened to her!?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "We did all we could."
He kept talking, but I didn't hear a word he said. His speech slowed down to an inaudible drone, and his head seemed to bob. The walls fell away, the world fell away, and I quickly felt myself falling away. The last thing I felt was someone's arms catching me before I fell. Then nothing.
Only later did I find out just who the arms belonged to.