What Did You Do?

19

Monday

Everyday is the same routine. I wake up, sit in my bed while I stream through the boring capable, eat, they change my bandages, and then I go to sleep. They don't let me walk anywhere. Some people would say, hey you're getting treated like royalty, why are you complaining, well you kind of get tired of sitting down for a very long while.

I guess I'm just irritated. I'm irritated on the fact that my mother still comes in crying, not understanding what happened to me; I'm irritated that my "friends" don't come to visit me in the hospital. It's like I did something bad to them.

I try to remember. I try I remember what happened but it feels as if someone grabbed my memory and just swiped out the part where I supposably got into an accident.

There is other times where I feel sadness. A real big sadness as if someone I loved hurt me or went away for a while. And I hate it.

The silence of the hospital kills me. No one really passes by through this wing, that and the doors are soundproof. They can't hear me cry frustratedly in here and I'm glad.

The nurse who always comes in here, opens the door, flashing a smile at me. She scribbles some stuff down and she makes me rise my gown. At first I felt a little awkward showing her my breasts, but now it's okay. She doesn't look. She takes a look at my bandages and scribbles more stuff down.

"So, how are we doing?"

"Um, I'm alright."

"How's your stomach?"

"Hurts still."

"Okay, here's some medication. It will make you feel a little drowsy, but, besides that you'll be fine."

"Okay."

She cocks her head to one side. "You don't have anyone to talk to, huh. What's wrong?"

"My mother comes in here everyday crying. She just doesn't know how to be strong and it's kind of making me feel bad."

"Don't. She just cares. Once, there was this little girl who got hit by a car because she ran to the street when her mother told her not to. So, she comes in the room, bleeding and crying, and her mother looks fine. And I look over at her and she rolls her eyes at her kid. Like if her kid is just being a drama queen. And so I talk to the little girl, and I ask if she'd like a lollipop, and so she says yes, I give to her and I look over at the other and she still wears the same face. So I ask her what's wrong, and she says," she pauses and shakes her head. "I kid you not, she says, I could be doing better stuff with my time. I told her not to run into the street and she doesn't give a shit what I say."

"No way," I say in disbelief.

"I wanted to slap the mom. But of course, I didn't. I didn't want her suing me or anything, but I just looked at her and told her to wait in the waiting room."

"God, she's an evil mother."

"Yep. A few months later, the kid got taken away from her. They said she wasn't going to school."

"How do you know?"

"My son went to school with the little girl. The only reason I knew she went there was because she was wearing the school's sweatshirt."

"Wow."

"I know. It sucks how some people can be you know?"

"Yeah." I sigh.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Well, none of my friends have cared to visit me and see if I was okay. They probably don't care."