Story Cube Images: flower, tower or high rise
building/skyscraper, die or dice, phone, key, house, pyramid, sheep, bee
As my keys
jingled in the doorknob to my crappy house I sighed. Another day done at my
crappy job, I finally made it home. My job had really gotten me down lately. I
was a teller at the bank on the corner. All smiles and bubbly greetings to the
customers were my mask. I really had a hatred of my co-workers sneering behind
my back and the boring nature of my job. This wasn’t my first choice. I had
wanted to be a singer my whole life but had just never been able to make it so
I had gotten a 9 to 5 job to pay the bills.
I had
moved out on my own when I was 18, as home life wasn’t the best. I had bounced
from apartment to apartment in various cities, gigging at night, singing on the
streets during the day, but I had wanted something more stable. When I bought
my house, I thought, well this is it. I made it. A life of mediocrity and I’m
ok with it. But lately, I was just not ok with it anymore. Six long boring
years by myself day in and day out was enough.
I set
my keys down and headed into the kitchen. I opened up the fridge and grabbed a
bottle of water. On second thought, I put the water back and grabbed a beer. It
seemed more fitting for the day that I had. I walked into the living room and
plopped down in my comfy chair and turned on my smart tv, switching on Netflix.
I put on the series I was currently binging about a pyramid scheme gone
terribly wrong. I kicked my feet up and leaned back in the recliner closing my
eyes for just a second.
Rrrriiiiiiing!
Rrrriiiiiiing! I shot straight up and looked at the direction of my cell phone.
Ugh, I thought, can’t I even close my eyes for a second? But then I looked at
the clock and 2 ½ hours had gone by! Sheesh. Rrrriiiiiiing! I picked up my cell
phone and swiped the answer call button. “Hello?”
“Is
this Ms. Watson?
“This
is” I answered.
“I’m
afraid there’s been an accident” the voice boomed. I gasped. “It’s your father.
You need to come to Grace Hospital right away.”
“I’ll
be there as soon as I can. I’m a half hour out. Can you tell me if he’s ok?
What kind of accident was he in?”
“That’s
all I know ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“That’s
ok. I’ll be right there.”
I
threw my shoes on hastily and grabbed my keys, taking a chug of my warm beer –
one for the road. He better not die, I thought. I dashed down to my car. I
shooed a bee away from the door handle and hopped in. My old car sputtered to
life and I took off towards Grace. It was still light out and very cheery – sun
shining, bees buzzing, flowers begging to be admired. It was such the opposite
of what was going on in my head. My head was filled with darkness, not light. I
was just plain scared. My dad was 68 and healthy as an ox. I had never dreamed
I would get a phone call like this. Of course my mother hadn’t been informed. They
had been divorced since I was 9 when she had taken off with her new man,
leaving my dad and I to fend for ourselves. He was all I had.
I got
to the hospital in 24 minutes, record time. I was lucky I hadn’t gotten pulled
over. I dashed through the parking lot to the information desk and gave them my
dad’s name. “Room 216” the woman said. I quickly walked to his room and took a
deep breath before stepping in.
His
face was… purple. That’s the best way I could describe it. Purple, and black,
and brown. The bruises were covering his whole face and his cheek was cut and
swollen. The rest of him was covered with a stark white sheet. There were 2
doctors hovering over him and a police officer standing near the door of his
room. “Melissa Watson?” the police officer asked.
“Yes,
tha’ts me. Oh my God, is he ok?”
“Your
father has been in an accident. He was driving while under the influence we are
assuming. We found an open fifth of vodka in the floor of the car. He hit
another lady’s car at an intersection. She is in the ICU.”
My
heart sank. It just dropped through my chest into my stomach and I struggled to
even find words. I went through a range of emotions…shocked, angry, scared,
worried, confused.
I
ignored the police officer for a moment and looked at the doctors. “Is he ok?”
I was fighting back tears.
“We
placed your father in a coma to protect his brain. He had some swelling and
severe trauma to his head. We have no idea if he has brain damage or not yet.
We are going to wait until the swelling goes down before we wake him up and
see.”
“How
long will he be in a coma?”
“We
don’t know. My best guess is a week, maybe longer.”
I lost
it. I just started crying and couldn’t stop for a long while. The policeman
waited patiently for my sobbing to subside. The doctors finally left the room
as I slumped down in a chair, turning to face the officer. “What do you need from
me?” I asked, sort of bitterly.
“Do
you know if your dad had a drinking problem?” he asked.
“My
dad has been an alcoholic since I was 9. Ever since my mom left” I spat out.
“OK, I
understand this is very difficult right now, but there is a woman in ICU and
your father is to blame. I hope that he makes it through this, I really do, but
there will be some serious consequences when he does, especially if the woman
he hit does not make it. I will leave you for now and check back in.”
“Oh
please do,” I said sarcastically.
What
in the hell was he thinking?? I thought. Damn him! He better wake up. I sat by
his side just staring at him for a long while. The emotions continued to flood
my brain. I am never drinking again, the thought kept running through my head.
I am dumping out every drop of alcohol I own as soon as I get home.
I sat
there until I couldn’t sit anymore. It was 3:30 AM and I had to get out of that
room. I went to get something out of the vending machines. A cupcake and candy
bar later, I ended up in the waiting room where people stay overnight. I sat
down in a chair feeling numb. Pretty soon I drifted off to sleep. I awoke when
my phone rang. This time it was work. Miss perky Mindy was calling to ask where
the hell I was. I told her and said I wouldn’t be in that day or likely the
next either. Mindy wasn’t sympathetic at all. Instead she said “Thanks for not
calling to let us know” and hung up. I chose to let it go. I had more important
things to worry about.
I made
my way back to my dad’s room and sat back down by his side. Nothing had
changed, the nurse said. She was very kind. She told me that people in a coma
have been known to hear things that went on while they were out so to go ahead
and talk to him if I wanted. I had plenty to say so I told her thank you and
waited until she left before babbling on to my dad. I told him how much I loved
him, how stupid he was for drinking and driving, how he better pull through or
else I didn’t know what I was going to do, etc.
Days
blurred into each other. I had called work at one point and told my manager
that I wouldn’t be in for the next week. His prognosis was not good. I believe
it was day 3 when a thought came to me, the thought that my dad loved to hear
me sing. I started singing his favorite song, an old country classic by the
Judds. When that song was done, I sang another, and another, until I thought he
had maybe heard enough.
“You
have a beautiful voice,” the nurse said. “The kind of voice that makes miracles
happen.”
I
smiled and told her thanks. I wondered if a miracle would really happen this
time. I needed him to wake up. The doctor had came and went each day saying
that today was not the day to try to wake him up. His brain was still swollen.
The
day finally came. Day 9 and the doctor said it was time to lift the coma. I was
overjoyed and so anxious. I had sang to him every day his favorite songs and
mine as well. I had written a few songs too and practiced singing them to him.
His face never changed, no reaction, except to turn from purple to brown to yellow
as the bruises attempted to heal. The doctor stopped the IV drip of the
medicine keeping him under and said he should come out of the coma sometime
during the next few hours if he was going to wake up. That was a big if and it
scared the crap out of me.
A few
hours went by…and then more hours…and more…and then the days started to roll
by. I continued to sing to him, hoping for a miracle. He was moved out of ICU
into a regular hospital room where he would remain until he woke up. Days went
by and turned into weeks. I visited every day and went home at night. I quit my
crappy job. I dipped into savings to pay the bills. Life seemed rather
pointless.
One
day, 48 days after his accident to be exact, he opened an eye and then
another…I gasped and called the nurse. The nurse came running and then did all
sorts of questions and prodding with my dad. He was silent at first and then he
croaked… “Beautiful, just beautiful. Your songs.” He then was told where he was
and what had happened and was asked a series of questions such as can he follow
this light with his eyes and can he wiggle his toes and suck. I was overjoyed!
Later
that day I was finally able to talk to him. He told me of his otherworldly
experience, how everything was black but he could hear my voice singing to him.
He said he knew he had to find the strength and follow the sound of my voice. I
had saved my dad! I knew right then what I was meant to do. To heck with a 9 to
5. I was born and meant to be a singer and I was determined to make that happen!
Afterword: I never touched booze again, nor
did my dad. The lady that my dad had hit had pulled through luckily and the
charges were dropped against him. I guess they had figured he had suffered
enough. My dad moved in with me so I could care for him and it also helped me
pay the bills. I went back to gigging at night and singing on the streets
during the day until one day a talent scout heard me singing and invited me in
for a meeting. A producer offered me a paying contract to produce an album and
I was so happy. Everything was right in the world.
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