An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

“Hey,” I said quietly, sliding into the dark hospital room, a photo album tucked firmly under my arm. I closed the door slowly behind me, and it shut with a soft click that was immediately swallowed by the noises of the machines that were busy keeping my best friend alive.

As usual, Dallas didn't reply. I hadn't heard his voice since the car accident that had sent him into a coma over six months ago.

We were still waiting for him to wake up.

The only light in the room came from a large window in the corner, that some nurse had left open a crack. Snow was blowing in through it, coating the dead flowers that rested on the window sill, as well as the foot of his bed. I sighed and slammed it shut, dusting some of the powder off of his blankets before taking my usual seat at his bedside.

The last time I had seen Dallas healthy and conscious, had been at my friend Sammy's funeral in the summer. It was December now, and it was almost impossible accept the fact that the Dallas who used to wake me up at 4 in the morning on the first day of every December to go buy egg nog, was the same Dallas who's broken, fragile body was laying on the bed in front of me now, tubes erupting out of his body like weeds. It looked like this was going to be the first year since preschool that my friends and I weren't going to be together for the holidays.

Lacey and Quinn, my best friend and her older brother, were currently somewhere in Florida, touring with their new band. Quinn had graduated at the end of this year, but Lacey had dropped out as soon as the year had ended. She said she did it to “pursue her dreams”, but we all had strong suspicions that she had done it just to be as far away from her comatose boyfriend as possible. Lacey had trouble coping, I guess you could say. But then again, how're you supposed to cope with something like that?

Tristan, on the other hand, was completely AWOL. No one had heard from him since he'd left the airport to go to university in Arizona, and that had every single one of us worried. No text, no card, nothing. That one had surprised me, because up until he left, and even after he did, Tristan and I had loved each other very much. Or at least, that's what I'd thought. The more days that went by without a message from him, the more I started to think that I maybe I was wrong.

Aubrey, the only person I had had left when the other three had gone, had packed up and moved to New York with her family right before school started, so that she could attend some fancy private acting school. She had tried to keep in touch for the first month or so, but after that, it was obvious that we both just had to go our separate ways.

And then there was Sammy. Sammy was pretty much the only one I had left, but of course, there was a slight complication. That slight complication being that he was currently a resident of Montrose Cemetery, which was conveniently right beside the hospital. This meant that I could first visit my dead friend, and then visit my dying friend in half the time. Wow, I was probably the luckiest girl alive!

“Sooo,” I started, resting my elbows on the edge of his bed and lacing my fingers together. “Whats new and exciting in your life?”

Dallas was silent, and I hoped what they said about people in comas being able to hear you wasn't true, because it occurred to me that that was probably a really insensitive thing to say to a guy who'd been in a coma for the last six months. Then again, I knew that if our roles had been reversed, Dallas would've been coming in every single day to read me long, horribly boring books on things like quantum physics, just so that if I could hear him, that I would be bored to tears, but there would be nothing I could do about it. That basically summed up mine and Dallas's relationship. We both antagonized each other, but in a loving way, if that's even possible.

“Hey, the nurse says we gotta go. They need to readjust his piss tube or something like that,” Mickey said, poking his head in the door. Mickey was Dallas's twin brother, who I'd met in the ER on the night of the crash that landed Dallas here in the first place. Mickey was so much like Dallas in every single way, that it almost made the whole thing worse. In one way, it was almost like having him around still, but at the same time, it was a glaring reminder that he was gone.

“Sure thing, I think I'm gonna go visit Sammy on the way out. Don't wait up for me,” I told him, following him into the lobby.

A tall, gloomy looking guy who highly resembled a skeleton was slouched over in one of the waiting room chairs, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He nodded infinitesimally in greeting as I walked past, causing his black Ray Bans to slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Seeya tomorrow, Poe.” I told him as I walked towards the automatic doors, and he grunted, but didn't look up at me. Not unusual. That was pretty much the only response I ever got out of him.

Poe was Dallas and Mickey's oldest brother, who I'd also met on the night of the crash. He wasn't as nice as his younger brothers. Or like, even nice at all. He was tall, grumpy, and very very intimidating, and although he'd come along for every single visit, I hadn't once seen him go in to talk to Dallas. I think he still wasn't thrilled about finding out he had another brother.

A few weeks before the crash, Dallas had found out that he was adopted. It wasn't until the night of the crash that his biological family showed up in the emergency room, which meant that Dallas had no idea that Poe or Mickey even existed. He was in for a hell of a surprise when he woke up, that was for sure.

Sighing, I made my way down the front steps of the hospital, shouldering against the wind as I approached the cemetery. Sammy's grave was as far away from the entrance as you could get, resting right under the weeping willow in the corner, so it was a bit of a walk. I'd grown to look forward to the walk though, because it gave me time to think about everything without anyone bothering me. It'd been a little over six months since Sammy died. I never imagined that I'd still be thinking about him everyday.

I ducked my head against the wind as I hustled towards the enormous tree, slowing to a stop as it came in to view. I hadnt been here in a while, and it seemed gloomier than I remembered. Then again, I dont think I'd ever seen an un-gloomy grave in my entire life.

I stared down at the now flat grass that had been a fresh pile of dirt last time I'd been here, and bit my lip to keep myself from crying. Dead flowers rested at the base of the marble headstone, the cold wind blowing the petals away from me. I pulled a gloved hand out of my pocket and knelt down, picking up the stem of an old rose between my thumb and index finger and studied it, all the wrinkles in the brown petals, and all the curves of the leaves, the whole flower dead, not a single ounce of life left in it. Nobody had left flowers here since his funeral in June.

Because everyone had moved on.

Everybody but me.