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12
On My Own
Sascha Gillam
7
Two-thousand, one-hundred and sixty-three hours since she had
last spoken. If only Dad was there to help. I remember hoping, that
soon, Mum would join him in the sky. It would’ve been better than
what she was going through here.
The crash was fatal. Dad died and Mum barely survived.
I was left to pick up the pieces.
My thoughts were interrupted by a deep, male voice.
“If you want to speak to her, she can hear you. She just can’t
respond.”
I turned to face the doctor that had been taking care of her.
“Thank you,” I whimpered.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to me.
“Sometimes in these situations, it’s best to get back to your
normal routine,” he suggested.
“I don’t have a routine. I graduated university two days before
the crash. I’m unemployed and I live…
lived
with my parents.” My
voice was barely a whisper.
After a minute of silence, he stood up and quietly left the room.
I thought about talking to her. There was something about
talking to a lifeless body that didn’t seem right. But I tried it anyway.
“They said that you can hear me. I don’t know if that’s true or not
but I’m talking to you, nonetheless. Doctor Johnson has been
taking good care of you. He says you probably won’t remember
much when…if you wake up. I remember what you told me about
your life, so maybe I can help you with that.”
I paused and took in a deep, shaky breath.
“You told me about how your Dad would take you to the park
every Sunday until you were ten. Your Mum would meet you at the
school gates and you’d ride your bike next to her as she walked the
dog, all the way home.”
I would’ve stopped talking, but the slow, repetitive beep from
the machine next to her bed reminded me that she was listening.
“You told me about the first time you met Dad. You were on a
skiing trip and you came flying down the hill and bowled him over.
You later found out he lived in your town. You always told me about
how his icy, blue eyes sparkled whenever he got excited. You also
told me about how I have his eyes.”
I sighed as I looked down at the tear stains on my dirty, grey
sweatpants.