Free Coma Girl: part 2 by Stephanie Bond Page A

thought it would.”
    A bed in the vegetable patch wasn’t on my list, either.
    The door opened. “I’m sorry,” Gina said, “but it’s time to say goodnight.”
    “I’ll be right out,” Joanna said.
    She took a few deep breaths to compose herself, then pushed up out the chair.
    “Why can’t we hit the rewind button and go back to the last time we saw each other? We were both so happy. Now look at us. You’re in this bed, and I’m just going through the motions.”
    Both comatose.
    “When did life get so hard?” she whispered.
    As she walked to the door, I noticed her steps were wobbly. The sound of the door closing behind her seemed like a gong heralding the end of our youth.
    And while I’d always been envious of Joanna’s life, now I wouldn’t trade places with her for a king’s ransom. Because my chances of waking up from my stupor were probably better than hers.
     
     
     
     

August 30, Tuesday
     
     
    I’VE DECIDED WHEN I wake up, I’m going to learn to play the cello.
    I can read music now, from hours of listening to the classical tunes playing on Dr. Jarvis’s iPod, and translating it from sound to notes. And I visualize my fingers on the strings of the cello, turning the notes back into sound. In my mind I picture a symphony, with my hospital bed sitting to the rear of the cellos, between bassoons and trumpets.
    I’m bored today, but I take it as a good sign, that my brain is looking for something new to do.
    In other words, I take it as a sign the drug Dr. Jarvis administered is working.
    Something is definitely different. Whereas before my mind was chugging along evenly, now it seems to ebb and flow, but the extremes are more… more. I’m napping more, but when I’m not sleeping, I seem to be firing on more cylinders.
    And the range of my emotions seems to be ever-widening… and sometimes ever-changing. Sometimes I think Keith Young should be punished for his wanton carelessness… other times I wonder if I did swerve into his lane. With Sidney chatting on her phone and Roberta laughing in my ear…
    Wait, was that a flash of memory, or simply a manufactured scenario?
    I tried to zero in on the image, but it slipped away.
    Hopefully, though, it will come back tomorrow.
    I didn’t have any visitors today, and it makes me long for even the melancholy of Audrey’s company. And while Joanna’s visit still plagues me, I recognize the encounter as yet a different stimulation that I need to process.
    And the realization itself is progress.
    I’m getting better, I can feel it.
     
     

August 31, Wednesday
     
     
    “THANK YOU FOR ARRANGING to be here today. I know you all have busy schedules.”
    Dr. Tyson has asked my parents and Sidney to come in. I’m so excited because I’m sure Dr. Jarvis came clean about administering the experimental drug, and Dr. Tyson is going to tell my parents I’m improving.
    “I wanted to talk to you about some changes in Marigold’s condition, and I felt it was important to tell you all together, since what happens to Marigold affects all of you.”
    The door opened and closed.
    “Nice of you to join us, Dr. Jarvis,” Dr. Tyson said. “You will be interested in this development, too.”
    “Sorry for the tardiness,” he said, sounding contrite.
    “As I was saying, Marigold’s situation has gotten more exposure than the typical patient, so what happens to her affects all of you on many levels.”
    “That’s exactly why I wanted David Spooner here,” Sidney said, sounding defensive.
    “You’re free to share updates with non-family members as you see fit. But I hope you’ll keep Marigold’s best interests in mind.”
    “That’s a given,” Sid said, still annoyed. “Can we get on with this?”
    Dr. Tyson seems to be taking her time, choosing her words carefully.
    “As you know, Marigold has shown very little change since she was placed in the long-term care ward two months ago. And even though she’s shown no motor response, I’ve