Enjoy this Excerpt from Colton...
 

Ice chips are heaven sent. The cold melts on my hot tongue, soothing its way down and erasing the dry cracked feeling. I can only equate it to spending too much time in the desert without a bottle of water. Although, this is different. I’m parched, but thanks to the IV drip—that itched like a motherfucker as soon as I saw it there—I don’t feel dehydrated.

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The nurse took my temperature before allowing me to put anything in my mouth. The heat radiating off of my skin means the hospital room has a higher than normal temperature. Some things make natural sense. Yet, it’s taking me longer to put two-and-two together for others. I shiver under the thin blankets as every neuron in my body misfires, proving it’s as confused as my brain.

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I keep closing my eyes to concentrate. It goes from a barrage of familiar voices speaking all at once to dead silence.

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Coma. That had been the hardest word to parse.

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“Do you remember any of what happened?” The doctor has palpable doubt that I do.

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“No.” My voice is still scratchy. I push a thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets. I don’t even remember being back at Kingsbrier, where I’d been raised, when the accident happened.

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Whole parts of my life are missing.

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How could I forget being in the old barn? My favorite thing is the challenge of getting the old tractor running after it’s been sitting idle a long time. Then using it to mow the fields the way I had as a teenager. My siblings never bothered me out there. It’s peaceful, and solitude is scarce when you’re the youngest of five kids.

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After sharpening the blades on the old bucket of bolts, I reattach them. The engine’s always been finicky. I tinker around with spark plugs, refill the gas and change the oil. I never give up. With persistence, it roars to life. The blades begin a slow turn, gaining speed with each rotation. My patience is rewarded when I get to cut those long perfect lines in the overgrown fields. There’s something about the smell of fresh cut grass and the Texas sun beating through my loose shirt that refuels my soul.

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I guess this time the tractor backfired, taking me and Adam by surprise when it lurched forward. The impact of the front end hitting me propelled my body against the barn wall where I hit my head the first time. Slipping into unconsciousness, I crumbled. Slumping like a rag doll to the dirt and straw covered ground, my temple cracked on a cast iron sheller.

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Gauging by the bandage from the sheller impact, I should be worse for wear than I am.

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Everyone is acting like it was lucky that I’d already lost consciousness for the rest; when my lower half went under the newly sharpened blades. But so much is a blank that I don’t even know how to piece back together what everyone’s told me happened.

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I’m missing more events in my life than the surgeries to relieve the pressure in my head. The doctors kept me sedated to heal. It’s been weeks since the ambulance arrived at the trauma unit. I can’t even recall if the last mission I’d gone on is a genuine memory or an amalgam of the previous ones. Even random occasions farther out like my tenth high school reunion are a wash. How can so many conscious experiences be gone?

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Somehow I’m certain that all of those memories won’t return, because thinking hurts. It’s flat out painful when someone says something simple that I’m supposed to know and my mind searches through the spider web of information. Everything makes me distracted and grates my nerves. 

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There are quiet murmurings, side conversations between Colette, Devon, and Lily Anne. I glance around the room at pink construction paper get-well cards from my nieces that someone taped to the wall. Balloons with cheery script sentiments fly low, having lost their helium as the days wore on. Flowers wilt in cheap vases. A silver frame holds a snapshot of a chubby baby I recognize as my oldest nephew. It makes no sense because Mateo is ready for middle school.

No matter how hard I’m trying not to look, none of these things distract my attention from the spot on the firm mattress where my left shin should be resting. They’ve covered it back up with the sheet. I can’t believe it’s gone. However, if the pins, stitches, and raw scarring on my right leg are any indication of how mangled the left was before the orthopedic surgeon amputated, any person in their right mind would’ve agreed it had to go.

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I hadn’t been in any state to make that decision, had I?

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For better or worse, my parents signed the consent form allowing this asshole in a white coat to saw my leg off and, in doing so, agreed to end my naval career.

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I want to love them for not giving up on me. I’m tamping down an overwhelming anger that they sacrificed me for what they wanted, not what I needed.

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My mother has dark circles and deep worry lines on her face. She’s aged a decade since the last time I saw her—the last time I remember seeing her. Her remorse is palpable, churning and souring my gut. I can’t hate her for loving me, but I do hate what it’s doomed my life to become.

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 I tune out the buzz in the room. The doctor, nurse, even my family, watch me with such… Pity, waiting for a reaction. As if they expect me to jump out of the hospital bed, rip the cords from my arms, and go on a rampage.

But how? It’s not like I’m even capable of standing.

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The ice I swallowed makes my stomach gurgle and roll after being empty. I sway forward as my mouth floods with saliva. The room spins like an out of control carnie ride. My blood turns cold as my internal temperature ratchets up to thermonuclear. Rose thrusts a pink plastic bedpan toward me as watery vomit sputters out of my mouth. I gag at the rancid bile burning its way up, searing my esophagus, and making my eyes water.

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Trying to clear my throat, I choke on nothingness.

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I have nothing left.

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Slumping back against the pillow, I push the bedpan away and cover my face with the crook of my right elbow.

Overseas I’d taken every precaution to protect my parents from having to endure something like this from happening. There’s no path in front of me without the Navy in it. From the way the doctor presented my mangled and AWOL body parts for inspection, the life I’d led is over. I can’t even put one foot in front of the other to navigate a course and find my bearings.

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The stress of their sorrow and side glances, seeking reassurance that I’m okay now that I’m awake, are unbearable. With my eyes closed, I imagine everyone leaving the room. This is a bad dream. I’ll wake up with everything the way it had been.

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“Go.” I whisper to no one in particular, to stop them from seeing the wetness trailing down my cheeks.

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There’s a pat on the mattress from the doctor along with a reminder of how to find the call button. The door closes with a metallic snick. The squeak of nursing shoes echoes on the linoleum tiles outside. A cool hand brushes my forehead, pushing back the unruly and ragged white-blonde shag that’s growing back.

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Momma’s familiar perfume fills my nostrils. She takes what little space remains on the bed, tucking herself around me. I don’t have the energy to push her away and find I’m trembling against my mother, clinging to the only safe harbor I’ve ever known. Unafraid to hold back the monstrous sense of loss cleaving my chest, I don’t know how to react to the wracked sobs I hear. It takes a moment to recognize they’re mine.

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“I’m so sorry, Sugar. I wish there had been another way to save you. We made a selfish choice, but I would make it again in a heartbeat to have the chance to hold you in my arms one last time.”

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Her own tears fall on us. She touches an old battle scar above my ear with tenderness and love. “The day you came home with this scared me out of my wits. I shouldn’t be thankful for it. But I am. This horrible souvenir shows me your strength and determination.” She’s insistent this mark—and all the others I hide—show the grit and stubbornness that will pull me through this tragedy.

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My sobs turn to painful howls as I try to curl up in her lap like a child. Momma nods as the nurse returns, acknowledging I can’t take any more. A needle is injected into my IV. 

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“I love you.” Momma rocks my massive body in her arms, repeating those words until she’s hoarse.

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Exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions, sleep overtakes me.

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©2019 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved

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