New Year's Day

Part I

          It's been one week since the start of the new year. It's been one week since Beth's car spun off the road and into a telephone pole. It's been one week since Beth was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital and surrounded by strangers in scrubs and masks. It's been one week since I've been sitting by her bedside crying for her to wake up. It's the beginning of a new year and the end of happy days. 

          Hospital food is disgusting. I grimace as I chew on a slice of cold, waxy pizza. My dad sits across from me, scarfing up his salad. His eyes watch the book in his hand, but I can tell his mind isn't there. His mind is three floors above us at Beth's bedside. 

          My hands shake as I pick up my milk carton. Even away from the room, I cannot get the image of Beth's scarred face from my mind. Sploosh! The sound of me dropping my milk echoes in the empty cafeteria. My dad silently hands me a napkin and begins to help me wipe up the mess. I can't find the strength to say sorry. 

          When the mess is all cleaned up, Dad says, "Let's go back upstairs," in his monotone voice. 

          We take the elevator. My stomach lurches on each level. We wind through the white-washed halls until we arrive at Beth's room. My mom is standing at the doorway. 

          "Aunt Sally's here. She'll take you home and stay with you tonight, Maria. Okay?" 

          I nod and enter the room. Sure enough, Aunt Sally is there. She is brushing her hand through Beth's hair. Her eyes are glazed over with tears. 

          Beth was beautiful. She still is, of course, but her clear, tan, face is scarred with scratches and bruises. Her hair, which was once long, beautiful, curly, is now matted in knots. Mom tried to brush it with a comb, but gave up after it got stuck for the third time. 

          Aunt Sally notices me in the room. "Alright," she wipes a tear from her eye, "Let's get home, shall we?" 

          She tries to make small talk on the ride home. "A new year, huh? Excited for 2017?" 

          "Yeah, but it hasn't been great so far." 

          Aunt Sally chooses not to respond to that and continues driving. We soon arrive home. I try to get ready for bed quickly. I try not to look at Beth's door as I pass it on my way to the bathroom. Somehow though, I found myself stopped in front of the closed door, staring. Almost the entire door is covered in drawings. She is an amazing artist. All she did was draw. My hand lingers on the knob. I finally push the door open and step inside. Sketches and paintings fill the walls. I walk to her desk, piled with papers. On the very top, it looks like an English worksheet from last semester of school. The border of the paper contains what she considers doodles, but are really masterpieces. Roses and sunsets and shoes and patterned hearts. Before I can even stop it, a tear rolls down my cheek. 

          When will she wake up? It's been a whole week! Is she dead? Or is there still hope? I just want my sister back! Wake up, Beth. Please! I'm laying on the floor, hot tears sliding down my face. Why did she have to hit that icy spot on the road? Why is the world so mean? Why? Why? 

          "Maria?" I hear Aunt Sally call urgently. I bolt up and wipe my face with my sleeve. 

          "Maria?" She calls again. 

           I quickly leave Beth's room to find Aunt Beth with car keys in hand. "Beth woke up."