Us In Red | Gini

Three

I've only ever had one loved one die before. My Uncle was a big guy with a scruffy beard and an impressive ability to hush all his nieces and nephews by performing basic magic tricks that I now can look back on and figure out exactly how he did them. I was only four when he was diagnosed with colon cancer. I never really understood what was going on. I just knew that the hospital became a weekly playground where I'd go after school on Thursdays to play hide and seek with my cousins. To me, death was just a word that meant no more hospital trips, no more magic tricks, and no more seeing Uncle Cory except in photos. It was asking Momma D why Momma C was crying all the time lately. It was wondering why I couldn't wear my favorite purple dress to a party, and being forced to go change into a plain, black one. It was nothing more than a topic that seemed to make everyone go silent in an instant.

I know Kourtney's not dead. She's just not really here. Sometimes, I wake up in the chair next to her hospital bed after falling asleep and I think for a moment that she's only sleeping. If I wanted to kid myself, I could probably believe that, too. I wonder if she knows what's happened to her or if she just thinks she's asleep. She looks far too peaceful to be feeling the fear I'm feeling. Maybe she likes it better there, wherever she is. Maybe she just doesn't want to wake up. Or maybe it's more like she's trapped in a pitch black box, banging on the walls to get out, but she can't get out. Maybe she's stuck.

"I've heard that people in comas can hear what's happening around them."

The voice makes me jump in my seat, and I whip my head over to see Momma D entering in and taking the seat next to me. She puts her hand on my knee and rubs circles with her thumb, doing her best to soothe me the way she did when I was five years old and lost my favorite Barbie on the playground. I let my head fall onto her shoulder, and she wraps an arm around me, giving me a sense of protection, even though I know she can't hug away the worry that's eating me alive.

"Where are Sherry and Gina?" Momma D asks.

"They went down to the cafeteria to get some food," I reply.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because what if Kourtney wakes up?"

"Well, then she'll be waiting right here when you get back." Momma D's hand strokes my hair gently as she holds me. "It's okay to take care of yourself too. That doesn't make you a bad friend."

Although I know she's right, the thought of leaving Kourtney just doesn't sit right with me. What if she wakes up and doesn't know anybody? Won't that be scary? Wouldn't it be better if she has me to explain what happened?

Movement at the door brings my eyes over to where Sherry's holding two grilled cheese sandwiches. Gina isn't with her, but that doesn't surprise me very much. She's been pretty distant this whole time, staying out of Kourtney's room most of the time, and keeping her eyes glued to her phone when she is here. It must be her way of coping. Some people fall head first into their sadness, like me, and others do everything they can to hold on to whatever stones or tree roots they can find poking out of the side of the cliff, fearing that if they let go, they'll never be able to climb back up.

"Hi," Sherry says softly. "I thought you two could use some food in your stomachs."

She comes over and passes us each a sandwich, for which we thank her. My mom bites into the snack right away. I'm not really that hungry right now, but I know when the anxiety fades, I'll be starving, so I force myself to break off a small piece of the sandwich and put it in my mouth. It takes me a while to chew it and get it down, but I do it, feeling full after just the one bite.

"Visiting hours are almost over, so Gina and I are going to be heading out soon," Sherry tells us.

"It's about time you got to bed, too," Momma D agrees, looking at me. "You have school tomorrow."