oI. Awakening
In my first minutes of consciousness, time seemed discontinuous - distorted.
The nurse adjusting the flowers on the table beside my bed noticed me moving about, and said something unintelligible - coming in close as if to confirm that I was awake before running off.
The next that I was aware, a balding man dressed like a doctor was standing at the right of my bed. The nurse from earlier looked on from a polite distance.
"Can you hear me?" he asked, speaking in an unplaceable accent - possibly Indian, or Middle Eastern.
I tried to respond, but my throat was dry and uncooperative. More noticeably, it felt as if there was something wrong with my right eye. I could open and close my eyelid, but I wasn't seeing anything through it. Had I gone blind?
"Are you having trouble speaking?" he asked, louder than necessary.
I opened my mouth, but when I failed to properly respond, he asked, "Can you move your head?"
I moved about, but it apparently wasn't enough to convince him that I was aware.
"Just nod if you can hear me," he said.
With colossal effort, I complied, bending my neck. It felt as if everything was far heavier than it should've been.
"Look up, please," said the doctor, making a hand gesture.
As I again attempted to comply, he put his hand to his chin in contemplation. I wasn't successful. After a few seconds of tilting my head, the muscular strain grew to be too much to bear, and I gave up - collapsing back to the mattress and panting.
"Very good," said the doctor, nodding with approval. "How do you feel now? Can you speak?"
I grunted in reply.
"What is your name?" he asked. "When were you born? Can you recall?"
"T- Taylor ... Hebert," I said. "Nine ... nineteenth of June ... 1995."
That much I could remember - but how had I arrived here? I assumed I was in a hospital of some sort. Brockton General? Why was I in a hospital?
"Good," said the doctor. "Now, then - please try to relax. There is plenty of time."
Plenty of time for what?
"I need to tell you something," he said. "Please listen, and try not to panic." He turned, pacing to the foot of my bed. "You've been in a coma for some time now."
A coma? I'd been in a coma? For how long?
The doctor noticed me straining to speak; maybe he saw the panic in my eye.
"Yes, yes, I know," he said, gesturing reassuringly - somehow, in a well-rehearsed manner. "You'd like to know the details." He paced to my left. "Not to worry. It hasn't been that long. You've been in my care for a bit over three months. It is now the twelfth of April, 2011."
April?
Over three months?
That meant I'd gone into a coma in January...
... the locker. The goddamn locker.
The memories flooded back - of Madison, giggling across the hallway; of Emma, smiling quietly.
Of Sophia.
The pounding of my heart grew loud, and I struggled to get up; to get away, by any means possible. Dimly, I was aware that the doctor was shouting something at the nurse, but I couldn't make it out. I couldn't focus on the present.
"Calm down," somebody said, as I faded out. "Please, calm down!"
Rushing to my side, the nurse injected a syringe into the IV hanging above me.
"Don't panic," said the doctor. "Just keep calm. We're here for you."
An unnatural lethargy began to settle over me. It was a bluntness - like blanket of stillness that spread through my limbs. Unable to keep my eyes open, I succumbed.
Then, I was lost again in the month of January.
