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The repitious beeping of the machine tracking her steady heart rate sounded from Ginger's bedside. Her once energetic body now still, her arms injected with numerous tubes and medical needles, making the entire scene look even more depressing: like a horrific scene from a movie. If only this was was a movie. If only it was one big dramatization.
But it wasn't.
I sat, alone, in the dimly lit hospital room. The faint ringing of telephones sounded outside the room, and I could hear occassional footsteps treading down the hallway. But, other than that, everything was so gloomy and silent. And the design of the room certainly didn't help: Murky green paint colored the walls, and the floor was made of freshly cleaned, white title.
Saddeness mercilessly engulfed me as I felt the familiar aching behind my eyes. Tears.
If someone, right then and there, would've offered me a time machine, the one thing I would prevent or do-over, would be our argument. Or, at least, be given the chance to apologize, but there seemed no hope for that now. However, all I could do was hope. Hope and pray that, by some miracle Ginger would recover.
So many emotions swirled within me: sadness, fury, hope, fear, and what seemed like one thousands others.
I felt so incredibly helpless. There was nothing I could do; nothing I could say. There was no guarantee that Ginger would awaken from her unconscious state. And if she did, according to the doctor's vauge report, she might not fully recover from her injury.
Apparently Ginger had been in a terrible automobile collision. The airbag in her steering wheel failed to activate, resulting in a possibly life-threatening chest wound.
The exact details weren't offered, and I didn't dare ask him. Partly because I was frightened to know, and partly because my mind was too preoccupied.
Just then the phone in my pocket buzzed. Extracting it, my tear-glazed eyes glanced at the screen.
1 Text Message(s) from Joshua Burrage.
I hesitated upon answering it, feeling terribly conflicted. I wanted more than anything to pour all of my feelings out to someone - tell them that I was sorry and that all I could feel was regret and anguish. But, at the exact same moment, I wanted to be isolated: away from Ginger, from Boston, from the world.
Besides, Josh was barely an acquaintance. He wouldn't want to be bothered by my troubles. However, I desperately needed to, if not vent, at least speak with someone. Preferably a somebody who resided outside of the hospital.
I unlocked my screen and wiped a falling tear off my shoulder.
Josh: hey how are you? 😊 just wanted to say that I had a great time at breakfast
