Agnes in JackieLand

Chapter 25

Time means nothing when you come out of a coma. But to everyone around you, they measured you in time. How much time did it take you to get better, how long did it take until you go home, and how much time did it take to wait to tell you things they want to get off their chest?

I had been watched over like a hawk since leaving the hospital. I felt claustrophobic. I wanted to scream to the world that it was time to leave me alone. I wasn't going to break, I wasn't sick, and there was no way I would ever go back to that beach.

Today, however, I had convinced my father to let me go out with Graham to the park. It was mid-July now, and summer was in full bloom. I loved summer; it was like a flower, and the possibilities and potentialism blossomed in summer. I had cross-dressed today; by that, I meant I met somewhere between the old me and the new emerging me.

I wore a new pair of high-waisted navy-blue shorts, a short-sleeve polka-dotted blouse, and cute flip-flops. I also wore a large white floppy hat to cover up my non-existent hair. I pulled the ensemble together with oversized white sunglasses.

The park was pretty empty. We walked silently beside each other, taking in the nice day. We sat on the stairs back against the post at the gazebo, like always. Graham looked like he had been stewing over something the whole walk.

"Just say it," I said.

Graham lifted his head. "What?"

"Say what's on your mind. Obviously, it's eating at you, so spit it out. You've never had a problem talking to me before. So, now I've been in a coma. There's nothing different about me other than my hair."

He smiled at me, picking at some chipped paint on the stairs. "It's complicated."

"Oh, come on," I said, slightly exasperated by him. "We've been friends too long for it to be complicated."

"That's just the problem," Graham said.

"What? That we've been friends for too long?" I laughed. "Usually, that makes it easier for friends to tell each other things."

"I know," he mumbled, not looking at me. He picked another flaking paint chip, crumbled it in his fingers, and scattered it on the step.

"Out with it, Graham, or I will call you a big fat chicken. Actually I'll post it on Facebook, Graham Evans is a big fat chicken," I teased him.

Graham took a deep breath and judging by the look on his face, I thought he might throw up, but he kept it together, let his breath out, and looked me straight in the eyes. "You scared the crap out of me."

"What, saying you're a chicken," I joked.

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, you know what I mean."

I bowed my head. I knew. "I know. It's not like it was my fault. Well, in part, I should have listened to you, but it's not like either of us knew that Jackie would push me into a hole, and I would end up in a coma."

"I should have insisted you leave earlier when we fought," Graham said with such fierceness in his voice that it made my stomach flutter.

"You couldn't have done anything. My mind was made up," I told him.

"I could have thrown you over my shoulder and carried you out," he insisted.

I snorted. "Yeah, I could have kicked you where it counted, and I probably would have. Don't beat yourself up over this, Graham.