Gone (Scomiche)

Remember?

From what I was told, Scott died on impact. I don't believe them. How can they know if somebody died on impact? Answer: they can't. I mean, sure, it's likely, as the truck hit the driver's door.

When I opened my eyes, the room was blurry and I had an awful headache. The first sound I heard was a female crying, but suddenly it stopped.

"Mitch! Oh my god, you're awake!"

I turned my head to the side, but I cringed because I was so sore. My mouth tasted like dried blood. It was disgusting.

"What...I.. Kate?" I asked.

"Kirstie," she corrected. She took my hand in hers.

I nodded and repeated, "Kirstie."

Tears kept running down her cheeks. "Oh Mitch..." and then she was sobbing again.

"What... happened... I don't... remember..." It hurt to think of the appropriate words to use.

"You and Scott were in an accident..." Kirstie started to say, but I interrupted her.

"Who's Scott?" I inquired.

Her eyes widened. Apparently it had never occurred to her that after an accident my head might be a little messed up.

She stroked my hand. "Some other time, Mitch."

"How long has it been? Since the accident."

"It happened two days ago. You were on heavy anaesthesia from the surgery, plus you slept a lot."

I nodded and put my head back, still in immense pain.

"I'll be right back," she told me, standing up and laying my hand gently on the bed. I heard her footsteps leaving. I closed my eyes, but I could hear Kirstie talking right outside my open door. She was very insistent.

"He. Doesn't. Remember. Scott!" She was practically yelling.

"In time," the doctor said calmly. "In time, everything will come back to him. He just has a bad concussion among other things..."

"Yeah, many other things!" Kirstie exclaimed.

My chest felt heavy, like I could barely breathe. I searched my memory trying to remember a Scott.

"Sometimes patients have a hard time remembering an important person in their life because it will cause pain. Their brain blocks it."

Kirstie sighed. "Okay, thank you Doctor."

She entered the room again and sat in the chair.

"Kirstie?" I asked, my voice dry and cracked. "May I have some water?"

I opened my eyes as she got up and grabbed a glass of water. "Of course." She handed it to me and I sat up a little. I sipped it slowly. I was hooked up to machines keeping track of my heartbeat. Telling me I was alive, and apparently, lucky to be alive.

"What happened?" I asked after my throat felt a bit better.

Kirstie looked at me sympathetically and then looked down at her hands. "You were a passenger in a car when a truck went over the median in the road and hit the driver's side. You..."

She had to stop because she started to get too choked up.

"And the driver was a man named Scott?" I questioned with no emotion.

"Not just any man," she mumbled. "But yes."

"And he's dead?" My voice stayed monotone.

She nodded, the tears falling more rapidly.

"That's too bad," I said.

Yup. That was my response to a death. 'That's too bad.' But then again, wasn't that everybody's responses when they saw a tragic death on the news? I'm sure when the story aired of Scott and I's accident, anybody who watched it just thought 'that's too bad'. I can bet you nobody cried. Except maybe a few select Pentatonix fans. And for some of them, it was just because our music group was missing a member. For some I'm sure they loved Scott and that's why they cried. For the regular people who didn't know who we were, I can guarantee no tears.

"Was he in Pentatonix with us?"

Kirstie looked hopeful. "Yes!"

"Oh," I paused. "I dont remember."

Her face fell. Kirstie had always been our biggest supporter of what fans had taken to calling Scomiche.

"What about the other driver?" I asked.

"Coma," she replied. "They don't think he's gonna make it."

"That's too bad."

The same response to a man who killed the love of my life.

Kirstie didn't know what to say so I kept talking.

"So what's wrong with me? Besides this splitting headache."

It hurt to talk, but I wanted answers. I'd probably forget by the morning anyway, I figured.

Kirstie sighed. "Broken arm, two broken ribs, sprained ankle all on your right side. Then obviously cuts and bruises."

I hadn't even noticed my broken arm. I drank out of the glass with my left hand without thinking. I had noticed the pain of my ribs, though.

"How long do I have to be here?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

I sighed. "What time is it?"

Kirstie craned her neck to look at the clock. "6:55."

I groaned. I turned to one side, but it hurt, then I turned to the other and it hurt. I groaned louder.

"Mitch.... they're only letting me stay because you woke up, but... I have to go soon."

"Okay."

"Nurses and doctors are around if you need them."

"Okay."

She stood and kissed my forehead. "Bye. I'll be here tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

She began to leave, but she turned around right before she went out the door. "Mitch?"

"Hm?" I tilted my head just slightly towards her.

She smiled sadly. Tears refilled in her eyes, making them shimmer. "I'm so glad you're alive."