A Fight to Remember

Zola, Bailey, and Ferryboat Scrubcaps Pt.2

Meredith

"Mom? Mom...don't cry. It's just a dream. It's okay. Wake up."

"Nnn-nn!" I struggled in the sheets, seeing flashes of blood on me. All over me. No. No... no... My heart skipped, laced with fear. So much blood.

"Mom... It's okay. I'm here, it's me, Zola."

My Mom? Where? She was... I felt sick and sat up despite my throbbing head, expelling my stomach contents. I have to get up... the blood... it's-

"Mom, stop. Mom, you're-" Voices called around me, but I couldn't focus. I had to get up, call an ambulance... she was dying. She was going to die.

My mommy tried to kill herself.

Dark hands caught my flailing wrists as I struggled for balance. I have to get up... but my legs-

"Whoa!"

I fell forward, but someone caught me. My leg... I can't- It won't move. "Mmm," I managed to croak, reaching for my thigh to try and move it.

"Mom, no... just-"

I teetered off balance. What was wrong with me? And where was my mother? The kitchen table... the blood?

"Here, I'm going to pull you up."

My body moved... up I went, until I was eye level with a young woman... a nurse? I stared into her warm brown gaze, my panic slowly ebbing. "It's okay..." she repeated. "You're okay mom, just hang on to me."

Okay? Where was I? This wasn't... I... she... I clutched her shoulders as best I could. Who was this woman? Why did she call me mom? I couldn't be her mom... could I?

"Why don't we get you changed?" She asked, shuffling me along. "Would you like that? You've been in a hospital gown for almost two days now... you probably want your own clothes huh?"

Clothes? I noticed the soggy bile-stained gown I was wearing. Clothes would be good. She seemed to read my mind and gently tugged me along to the bathroom.

Slowly, she lowered me to the toilet seat. "Is it okay if I just wash you quick? You'll feel better."

There was a certain familiarity with this woman, she seemed to know everything about me, and it was okay. She started to wash my hands and arms with a warm towel when I grabbed it from her. I could do it myself.

"Okay," she let go. "You go ahead."

While I made slow progress washing my chest and left side, she spoke. "You know what I found the other day? I was sorting through everything we scavenged from the old house... and I found those African masks. You know... the ones you got from Thatcher... Remember?"

I didn't, but she continued anyway, "Those masks. They were a gift from grampa before he passed. I remember you showing them to us when we were little. It was the first time I really thought about where I came from. I told you I wanted to go to Africa."

My arm was tired, so I switched and worked on washing my right side.

"You said that sounded like a fantastic idea," she finished. "I'm so glad you and dad found me. I'm so glad you adopted me..." she held open a sweater for me to slip my arms through.

Adopted? As she pulled the sweater over me, I grabbed her wrist. For a long time, I stared at her, and she at me. She held my hand, rubbing it gently. "It's me, mom. I'm your daughter, Zola."

Zola? Another piece.

She helped me into some clean underwear and loose sweatpants while I mulled over her existance. Zola? Adopted from Africa?