Not your turn- Demise express

Part 20- Is this the end?

"Little steps Lia, little steps." My mom's gentle voice reminded me as I tried to cross the room on crutches.

"I know mom! I'm trying! I didn't just nearly die in a coma so that you could yell at me!"

I made it to the window and my mom pushed a chair over for me so I could sit down. I was already exhausted and sweating, eagerly clutching my crutches.

"I am not yelling at you, honey. I am reminding you." Of course, she was right. A nurse came into the room, wheeling in a wheelchair, that we had rented for the time being. Her and my mom helped me in and pushed me out the door, back to the front desk where my dad was waiting, a bright smile on his face. "There she is!" He laughed and hugged me when he saw us coming. Feeling him close to me, hearing his voice and the relief in his tone made me really emotional out of nowhere. I suppose he must have felt something similar since he also started shaking under the sudden release of all the tensity that was built up over the last month.

That's how long I was in a coma. For a month. I spent another month trying to learn how to control my body functions again, training to say certain words again, how to use a knife and fork, learning how to walk, all the good stuff. While I could now eat and speak almost normally again, walking was still difficult for me. I had no strength in my body to carry my weight, so I had to learn again.

My parents took me back home in the car. I watched people passing by, the huge skyscrapers, trees, and many cute dogs out and about. I knew this was my home, but it didn't seem familiar in any way.

At home, I hobbled my way over to my room, which felt like I had just completed the world's longest, most difficult workout when in actuality I had just walked from the car to the house and across the hall. A distance I had probably mastered many times before.

My room was waiting for me, my bed was made and the pillows propped up on the headboard, the desk clean, cleaner than I ever kept it, no clothes on the floor. Propped over my desk chair was my favorite jeans jacket, that I had worn the night of my accident. It had also been washed and smelled so familiar when I stumbled over to reach for it. I draped it over my shoulders and went back to sit on my bed. I stared at my photo wall, that was on the right wall from my bed. Many smiling faces. Man, I had a lot of friends. If they ever came to visit me? I would have to ask. But not now. I decided to take a nap and just slept with my clothes on.

Over the next three months, I could mostly walk again on my own, just not very long and I couldn't exercise yet.

One morning I asked my mother if she knew a boy named Phillip Walton by any chance, and if he was one of my friends. She denied and didn't give it another thought. The next day, I asked if she knew Emily Brooks. That's when she shattered a glass of water in surprise.

"You remember Emily?" she asked me with a surprised look.

"Mom? What's wrong? Whos Emily?"

"Honey...Emily was with you in that accident."

"One of my friends died with me that night and you didn't think I'd want to know?"

"Lia, we didn't know Emily before the accident. We met her parents at the hospital. She jumped in front of your car. That's why you had an accident."

"Oh my god!" A girl jumped in front of my car? "Oh god, did I kill her?"

"No, Lia look at me! You did not kill Emily! None of this was your fault ok, sweety?" She pulled me to sit on the living room couch with her and held me tight while I quietly wept into her sweater, which smelled like daisies, so familiar.