catch 22 :: m.clifford

one

"How is she?" The boy with bleached hair stood up so fast from the waiting room chair that it almost knocked over backwards. He had to pick up the ice pack which had fallen out of his hand, revealing the bruised spot on his cheek. He wasn't exactly sure what had happen--he wasn't an idiot, of course he knew that he'd driven the car into a tree, but he just didn't know how.

How the moving vehicle spun out of control.

How he saw a blur of headlights.

Or how his beautiful best friend managed to come out of the accident barely breathing while he only had several bruises and a busted lip.

It's funny how in the blink of an eye, a breath, or the movement of two hands on a steering wheel, or even a slick highway road can change a life.

"In short Mr. Clifford," the doctor paused, flicking through several pages on his clipboard, "Ms. Rivera is unstable, and in critical condition."

"Meaning?" Michael's heart sank to his stomach, and his head swam as spots clouded his vision.

Ironic how his father was a surgeon, yet in his nineteen years of life he hadn't picked up an ounce of terms or even learned one thing besides the words 'scalpel' or 'incision,' (but those he most likely learned from all those horror films he watched).

"Meaning two broken ribs, head trauma, a compound fracture to the ankle, and a fractured skull---results from the collision of her head with the car door." Doctor Irwin cleared his throat, "September will be going into surgery immediately."

"But," Michael ran a hand through his hair, "can I see her before.... She'll be okay, right?"

Neither the doctor nor Michael had to define what 'be okay' was supposed to mean. It was an unspoken definition of whether September would make it through the surgery, or if her body wouldn't be able to take it.

"The surgery time frame is not completely set I'm afraid. They took her into surgery about fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh... Okay, Doc. But how soon will she accept visitors?" Michael stood on the balls of his feet, mind racing and eyes wide with concern and worry.

"Unless you're immediate family, not for several days."

Michael's heart dropped even lower, and he sighed, exceptionally frustrated with the restrictions that the doctor had given him. Running a hand through his messy hair, he placed the forgotten ice pack on his forehead, trying to ease the headache from the accident, as well as the migraine he would eventually be getting from the stress of September's current state. He eventually dozed off, unable to keep his green eyes open any longer. The little hand on the clock that hung above the check-in desk continued to spin around and around, time passing but at an agonizingly slow pace.

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dedicated to my lil sunflower kodi... because she knows why xx :)