Freedom of Sketch

Daniel

Right as I'm in The Lounge getting ready to write a science paper, there's a light tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Tori, her eyes wide and expectant. "Dr. Fox wants to see you," she says.

I roll my eyes. "I already had my session today."

"Well, he needs to meet with you again," Tori says with a shrug. "He probably forgot to tell you something."

"This had better be good," I grumble, standing up from the table.

Tori escorts me down the hall. The industrial floor scrubber has licked the rainwater trails from the linoleum, so we don't have to worry about where we walk. Tori is her usual pleasant self, practically skipping at my side.

The door to my doctor's office is already open. I walk in and immediately sense an aura of tension, the molecules in the air pressing down on my skin. Dr. Fox glances up from his desk, and stiffens when he sees me. "Come on in, Shiloh."

As I enter the dimly lit room, a woman gets up from one of the overstuffed armchairs, then turns around, exposing her face to the gentle breath of light from the corridor. It's my mother.

"Mom? What the - !?"

My mother hurries over and wraps me in a bone-crushing hug that smells like the comforts of home: clean carpeting, fabric softener, maybe even a chicken roasting in the oven for her lonely supper tonight. She fiercely kisses me on the forehead, her thick hair draped around my face like a dark curtain. When she leans back to study me, her shaky hands resting on my shoulders, I see that she's been crying. Her lashes stick together around her weepy, bloodshot eyes. Before I can ask her anything, there's a brief knock on the door.

Meredith sidles in, looking concerned. She quietly closes the door behind her. "Sorry I'm late," she says.

"No, you're right on time," Dr. Fox responds, glancing back to me. "Shiloh, I need you to have a seat."

I dumbly stare at the second armchair.

"Please."

I oblige, frightened by the somber tone of his voice. The psychiatrist looks at Meredith, who turns her eyes to my mom, who finally meets my gaze. She takes a deep breath.

My mind races through several scenarios. It's Grammaw, isn't it? Or Grandpa. Oh God. Oh, no. Not them - please, God - not them!

"Shiloh, there's been an accident," she says, sniffling.

My heart skips a beat. The air disappears from the room and all of the blood leaves my head. I am vaguely aware that Dr. Fox has removed his glasses. He presses his thumbs into his temples.

"Wha-what do y-you mean?" I stammer, struggling to move my words across my sticky dry tongue. My brain now explodes with panicked thoughts of my father, my half-brother, my aunts and uncles, my cousins.

"I'm so sorry... I thought long and hard about the last time we talked... I didn't understand how much he meant to you...." my mom says.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's Daniel," she responds, locking eyes with me.

I twist my fingers into the hem of my shirt. My stomach swoops down to my feet, and I gasp. "What h-happened?"

The social worker trades cautious expressions with my psychiatrist.

My mom clears her throat. "Brady's mother called," she says hoarsely, dabbing at her face with a damp tissue. "Daniel was in a very bad car crash this afternoon - she said he never got home from visiting you."

No. NO. No, no, no. Not my Daniel, not my friend. Not the one who ate the leftover crusts from my peanut butter sandwiches in kindergarten, not the one who played Marco Polo with me in the crowded YMCA pool every summer, not the one who took the blame when I sent a baseball smashing through my neighbor's living room window, and certainly not the one who swept me off my feet and gave me a taste of paradise when he kissed me at Brady's party. I tuck my hair behind my ears. "He'll be okay, though! Right? I mean, I just saw him!"

Only the distant sounds of locking doors and ringing phones hang in the air. No one makes eye contact. Dr. Fox rests his chin on his fist and fidgets with a pen.

I wind my hand through my hair and dig my fingernails into my scalp. "He will be okay - right!?" I demand. "He has to be... it can't be that bad." Tears pour down my face before I can stop them.

"Shiloh, Daniel suffered very severe head trauma," Meredith says. She hands me a bouquet of tissues from a box on Dr. Fox's bookshelf. "He's in a coma. His prognosis isn't very good."

I can't breathe through this lead rock jammed in my throat. I hide my face in the handful of tissues and sob loudly, rocking back and forth on the edge of the chair. My mom's voice rises above the animal noises escaping from my chest. "Shiloh, sweetheart," she murmurs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR!?" I scream, startling her. "HE'LL BE OKAY!!!" I saw him, I saw him in the hall and he gave me a peppermint and talked about his future and OUR future and squeezed my hand, saying, "It'll be all right." And then his shadow melted into the gray as I watched him leave the hospital, and I waited behind the picture window and stayed there even after the silver sheets of rain closed over his car.

Dr. Fox intrudes with his detached and solemn medical voice. "He had no pulse at the scene," he says. "No one knows how long his brain went without oxygen."

"But they brought him back!" I protest, pounding my fist into the squishy armchair. "They brought him back, and people come out of comas all the time! ALL THE TIME!"

Meredith hangs her head and studies her wedding ring.

"Even if he does regain consciousness, he'll probably never be the same," says Dr. Fox, his forehead wrinkled in sympathy. "He's very sick, Shiloh. You need to understand and accept that he might not make it." He looks to my mother for assistance, but she grimaces behind her trembling hands.

I leap from the chair and viciously point my finger at Dr. Fox. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" I yell, falling to my knees. For once, my mom doesn't chew me out for being a drama queen.

Meredith takes a tentative step forward. "In situations like this, it's wise to hope for the best but prepare for the worst."

Another one of her sappy Hallmark card clichés. The terror of losing my best friend while I rot in this hospital fills me with a painful emptiness I'll never be able to purge. I double over in complete emotional agony, feeling as though someone is hacking off big pieces of me with a meat cleaver.

Mom leans into me: warm, tender, nurturing. I cling to her like a baby, staining her cranberry-colored turtleneck with my tears. She wipes my face with a crumpled tissue like she did when I was little. I smell her lipstick. "I'm sorry, honey," my mom breathes into my hair. "You have to let him go." Her voice breaks.

I claw my way out of her grasp. "NOOO!!!" I scream so loud, the shingles slip-slide off of the roof. I uproot plants, splinter glass. Lights flicker, concrete cracks, hairs stand on end. Blood flows. With one fluid motion, I sweep the clutter from Dr. Fox's desk with my arm. A heap of papers cascades to the floor, yanking a small lamp and cup of pens down with it. I want to destroy everything - shatter the sky, scar the universe beyond with my screams.

My mom, Meredith, and Dr. Fox run over to intervene, but I'm too crazed, too lost. I allow the hallway to swallow me. My heart tears up my chest. I sprint past door after door, confused faces, scrambling techs, everything hazy, everything in my way. I burn a hole through the air, whip down another corridor, and slam into the locked double doors with a metallic thud.

"SHILOH, STOP!"