“I’m sorry…but your daughter, she’s…in a coma.”
Carson’s mom burst into tears, and her dad seemed to sway where he stood. I could only stand there in shock- that was my best friend. I wouldn’t get to hear her voice or walk with her in the hallway anymore, she was incoherent. This was bad, so bad…
I would give anything just to start this day all over again, and prevent the accident from happening.
A few days went by, and she still hadn’t woken up. Her parents were there all the time, and I was there every day after school. Sometimes a few of the others joined me, and sometimes it was just me and Carson. I talked to her as if she could hear me, telling her about my day, about the classes she had missed, about something stupid one of the guys had done…but it just wasn’t the same. I couldn’t focus anymore, my mind just drifted back to her, lying in that hospital bed. My grades started to drop, and so did my mental health. I was worried and sad all the time, and Carson wasn’t here to comfort me.
I was struggling, I really was. And after the first week, things didn’t get easier, they got harder. It was tougher to remember the way her laugh sounded, or the exact color of her eyes. The way her lips felt….the way she took a long drag off a cigarette and passed it off to Jack or someone, like she hadn’t a care in the world. That first week without her turned into two, and two into three. Before I knew it, it was a month since I had spoken to her, walked her to class, listened to music with her…
People were starting to notice my lack of enthusiasm for things, especially my bandmates. I no longer put everything into my performance, I just couldn’t bring myself to smile without her. I just kept picturing the first time she’d heard us play, and I would get distracted in the middle of a song and just stop. I didn’t write anymore, and I didn’t practice except when the whole band played together. Mike was getting pretty pissed “Bro, I know you’re upset, but get it together. Life goes on, it doesn’t wait for anybody….” I stormed out that day, heading to the park. That only served to make me more upset as I thought of all the time I’d spent there with Carson.
One month turned into two, then two and a half. Apparently the way her helmet had split when she fell had led her to hit her head in just the right spot. Every day now, I went to see her and prayed at the end of her bed. I begged God to bring her back to me, bargained with him, swore at him, everything. But Carson still remained in a coma. It was horrible to watch her parents breaking down little by little, watching the hope in their eyes fading. Even the doctors didn’t sound so sure anymore. It was taking a toll on all of us; her teachers asking every day for an update, our friends eagerly visiting, hoping to get some kind of reaction, distant relatives coming from seemingly nowhere. And the whole time, not the bat of an eyelash, not the twitch of a hand from her.
I closed the hospital door behind me. “Carson.” A tear fell from my eye. “Carson ! CARSON !” No matter how loud I got, she didn’t move. I started sobbing at the end of her bed, “Please. Please Carson, I need you.” She would never know how much I regretted not telling her that I loved her.
“Don’t wonder why people go crazy, wonder why they don’t. In the face of what we can lose in a day, in an instant, wonder what the hell it is that makes us hold it all together.”
