My Sunflower

Ch9: Buffalo, NY - 5 Years Ago

I am being poked. I open my eyes to see who it is.

It is Clarkson. He is standing in front of me, holding a to-go cup in his left and a bag of what is probably pastries in the other. He shoves the cup at me, and then pulls a muffin from the bag, hands it to me, then slumps back into the chair next to me.

I am then aware that my mom is not next to me anymore.

I ask, "Where's my mom, Clarkson?"

"She went to the bathroom," he replies, then adds, "You were sleeping for a few hours."

The memory of the whole night then flashes through my head. My chest feels numb and my head pounds.

"Mrs. Anderson said we could see Georgiana in like 20 minutes."

I perk up, "So, she's okay?"

Clarkson's face scrunches, as if uncomfortable with the question.

"What" I ask. I shift in my seat, worried and awkward.

He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. He just starts walking away from me, towards the exit. He turns to look at me, nods for me to follow, and then walks out.

Confused, I follow. I catch up to him as he walks into the hospital gift shop.

"What are you doing?" I question him, pulling his shirt to stop him from walking away from me.

"I'm getting her a gift," he says, picking up different stuffed animals, shirts, and other typical hospital gifts. "Maybe jewelry? Do you think she'd like jewelry?"

"Georgiana doesn't wear jewelry," I tell him as if it's obvious.

He looks disappointed in himself for not knowing that, "Right." He walks off again. I follow closely behind him.

"What aren't you telling me?"

He stops in his tracks, turns to the rack closest to us. I move to try to make eye contact with him. He avoids it.

"Clarkson! Oh my god, stop," I yell. I grab him by the shoulders. I take a deep breath, not really prepared to hear it. "Please. Please just tell me."

He looks me in the eyes and whispers, "She's not great."

I nod, expecting him to say more, but he doesn't. I wait a few seconds for him to continue, but when he doesn't, I start asking questions.

"So, what's wrong with her?"

He takes a deep breath, which leads me to realize he's trying not to cry.

"She's really hurt. Like bad..."

I cut him off, "What's bad mean?"

"She experienced heavy trauma to the head. It's a traumatic brain injury and brain injuries aren't exactly the easiest to help."

I slowly start sinking to the floor and he follows, sinking to the floor, too.

"She can't be. She was the one who deserved everything she got. She must be cured. She needs to be. Why couldn't it have been me?" I feel a lump in my throat. I start holding my breath, hoping to prevent myself from crying. My eyes start to sting, a feeling I am starting to get used to from the past night. I take a deep breath and swallow the awful lump in my throat and pull myself back to my feet.