Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 45

When I woke up on the couch, following my horrible night, I was more than surprised to be hit with the late morning sun. My head still throbbed in the worst way, but my stomach had settled enough to prevent me from barfing again. I could also feel the heat in my cheeks and chills and aches all over my body.

            "What time is it?" I asked after seeing Coach Bentley's feet tiptoeing around the living room.

            "Ten thirty," he said.

            I tried to sit up, but failed miserably. "What about practice?"

            "Stacey's covering it," he said. "And you're getting at least the day off. I made the mistake of letting Ellen practice with the flu last week and look how that turned out. Had she taken the time to recover, she might have avoided getting pneumonia and being out for a week."

            Coach Bentley made me drink a cup of blue Gatorade. I avoided telling him that Stacey wouldn't approve and swallowed another three Advil before falling back to sleep.

            I didn't wake up again until around two thirty, when Jordan came home from school. My eyes were half open, but I watched him drag his feet slowly across the living room, coughing into his sleeve.

            "Uh oh," I muttered. "You're sick, aren't you?"

            "It appears that way." He stumbled toward me and next thing I knew, he was lifting me under my arms off the couch. "Shortest sick person takes the short side."

            I snatched the pillow and walked three agonizing steps before falling onto the cold side of the L-shaped couch. "Just don't stick your feet in my face."

He reached for the ear thermometer on the coffee table and held it in his ear for a few seconds before glancing at it. "One oh three point five. I'm dying, right? It feels like I'm dying."

            "Join the club." I closed my eyes again and barely listened in on Coach Bentley talking to Jordan, giving him Advil and Gatorade, probably.

February 16

Dad,

In the book Grandma gave me, the author says, "Death is but a transition from this life to another existence where there is no more pain or anguish." To me, that sounds like something a very selfish person would say to convince themselves that it's okay to be happy after you lose someone. Unless I have proof of this other existence, then I can't believe you and Mom have gone anywhere and the only thing I should be doing is pretending it never happened. Why are people so full of crap when it comes to death? Why can't anyone give me a straight answer?

Love, Karen

Jordan,

Hasn't anyone ever told you that when you wear tennis shoes without socks, your shoes get really stinky?

—Karen

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