Miss, Do I Know You?

26 - Saturday, January 23

My weekend, usually so vibrant with jam sessions of the band and my friends, was today filled with anxiety. Not just my own.

Though my stay in Darby had been but a mere five months, it had carved a permanent niche in my heart, while Toronto had receded into dimmer corners of memory. Those buildings greeted me with a rather strange sense of familiarity, indirectly decorated with memories that fluctuated between the fond and bittersweet to the painful. It was where I had taken my first steps into adulthood, built my first friendships, had my first kiss, and could enjoy the comfort of my mom's food that had always tasted of home. But there was another family member on my mind then. Frankly, it was a peculiar day already, and it was only lunchtime.

When I brought the car to a halt, my gaze found Alex, absorbed the anxious way her teeth bit into her lower lip, almost to the point of drawing blood, and the unsteady beat of her fingers against her thigh. It was a motion that usually matched our driving music but was now a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm that spoke clearly of her nerves and added extra weight to my heart.

My hand instinctively found her upper thigh. "Try not to think of the worst, okay?"

"How can I not?"

"It might turn out better than you expect," I told her, and she looked at me as if I was spouting rainbows and unicorns and fairies. She was beyond believing in miracles, perhaps a little beyond herself, and we could've used some childhood magic right about then. "Just remember you don't have to stay a minute longer than you want to, okay?"

Exhaling in the same way that one might do when the final breath rattles out of a pressed lung in relief or defeat, Alex pushed the door open and, one leg out of the car and fingers glued with indecision on the handle, stared at the hospital. This person in the passenger's seat was not the confident woman I knew but the same teenager who'd been forced to pack her bags, eyes screwed up in the same fear that had lingered on the surface these past days and deeper a lot longer, wracked with the same kind of cruel anxiety, the same trepidation and bitterness pulsing beneath her skin that forced her to whip back around and shut the door. "I can't," she repeated, and I felt the same helplessness claw at my throat.

I did the only thing I could think of and asked if she wanted me to come with, and her eyes flew to mine. "Can you?" her voice tumbled out. "I know I said I wouldn't ask that of you, but at least come with me to the door. I think Gabi should be waiting in the lobby. I swear I'm so anxious I think I'm gonna throw up if—"

"Alex," I interrupted what had long started clawing at my empathy. Years she'd spent avoiding this moment, convincing herself she would never have to do it. She looked terrified, and I would've done just about anything if it meant I could lighten her heart. She had done so much for me, and now the time had arrived for me to muster bravery, to set aside my dread for hospitals and be there for her. "Of course I'll go with you, don't worry."

At least the fresh air helped a little as we left the car. Familiarity engulfed me instantly, countless days and nights that I had invested in the city coming back to me. But this place was different. Almost like a foreboding feeling. Something only my bones seemed to comprehend.

In the lobby, we were immediately accosted by that air, thickened with a putrid stench, that sickening smell of antiseptic that reeked of memories best left untouched. A pall of death draped the atmosphere, everything jarringly stilled. The strange sensation only mutated, growing ever more peculiar. Suddenly, I also wanted to throw up.

"You actually came." Gabi materialized before us. "You okay? Where's Benj?"

Alex shook her head, her voice quiet. "Owen's. And it's the smell."

Gabi's features clouded with concern. "Right," she exhaled. "Kayla? Why are you so pale? Everything okay?"

Nothing was okay. I'd really tried to hold it back, truly, but in the matter of a second that it took for my brain to flash through every memory this building held, my heart had already lurched into my throat. It blurred the present into nothingness, and the past clawed its way into dominance. I'd tried not to let it, but all that stench reminded me of was what this accursed place had stolen from me, so tangible it seemed born from the very bricks. The mere thought of crossing those cursed doors once more twisted my insides with force so powerful as though invisible hands had seized my guts and kept wringing them out.