THE SMELL ALWAYS HITS ME first. That sterile emptiness that makes me aware I’m far from home. The sounds of machines and the somber faces of passerby’s that I’ve become numb to. It all combines into this nightmare of watching Madison lose and create life by the time I reach her room. We aren’t supposed to touch her much beyond a hand hold or a forehead kiss, but there are some days when I can’t help but break the rules. I wrap my arms around her and hug her and tell her that I will never forgive her if she doesn’t recover in one breath, and tell her in another that I’m sorry.
The guilt never leaves me, though. And I won’t let it.
I’d like to think she’d be happy I ran this morning. Going for a morning run was something we started in junior high school and continued religiously until a year ago. Then our runs became my runs when her leash of freedom started getting shorter and shorter.
Today is the first morning I felt like running in months. In fact, I hadn’t even thought about it or remembered how good it feels to experience Chicago through the lens of a run. I’ve never been one to give myself over to something completely, but with running I can.
So, this morning, after I got over the initial shock of last night and saw my sneakers poking out of my gym bag, I decided to scratch the car service and run the two miles to the hospital. I’m sure my body will fight me a little tomorrow since it’s been a while, but it’s worth it. The sun is shining today and the only thing that could make this any better is if she were by my side, matching me stride for stride.
I’m prepared to have a regular day of reading to her when I walk through the door of her room and meet the eyes of her mother and brother, Liz and Kason.
“Oh, hi. Didn’t expect to see you here,” my words fumble out. This is the first time Kason has been here in about a month. With the length of Madi’s coma and the amount of work he was missing at the studio back in California, he’s been catching last minute flights when he can between clients.
Unease settles over me as Liz struggles to stand, reaching out to hug me. Liz doesn’t come to the hospital. Ever. Something must be wrong. She came initially, but after the first week, she couldn’t take it. Had a breakdown, had to be sedated by doctors, the whole nine yards. With the medications she takes for her epilepsy, and the consistent additions of new medications for a slew of other things, she’s hardly in the shape to trek back and forth. Aston told her he would get a daily report from the doctors and nurses, and that unless change occurred, there was no reason for her to come.
Change.
“Did something happen last night? What did they say?” The words fly from my lips without pause and I’m moving toward her bed to look over the machines attached to her.
“Lydia, calm down and come sit.”
I turn and try my best not to glare at her. I love her, but I don’t want to hear her tell me to calm down when she couldn’t be bothered with any of this over the last six months. But of course, I just move to sit in the chair beside her and wait expectantly for whatever she needs to say.
“Aston just left about thirty minutes ago, but we’ve been here since three this morning. Apparently, a little after two, she had a series of contractions and a spike in brain activity.”
“So, what does that mean? What doctor came in? Spinelli or Harris? Which weekend nurse is here? Joan? I need to find them and get them to explain.” Liz puts her hand on my shoulder and attempts to calm me, but I shrug her off. “What did they say, Liz? Quit fucking around and shoot it straight to me here.”
Her eyes widen.
“Lydia Selene, the attitude and language isn’t necessary.” She takes a deep breath and stands, walking over to the bed and staring down at Madi’s face. “Madison has given us a flicker of hope, and you believed she would even when we didn’t. This is more than we could ask for.”
Hope.
I’ve waited for months for her to give us something. A sign that she was still in that body on that bed, and now that she has, I don’t know what to do. I want to throw up and laugh and scream all at once, but not because I’m happy. Because I’m fucking terrified to be happy, to hope. I know as soon as I do…
I can’t even finish the thought.
I pull her into a hug and squeeze. Words seldom fail me, but in this moment, there is nothing that needs to be said. Hope is a fragile thing and I’ve always heard that every word we say lands somewhere. The last thing we need are my words landing on this moment and shattering the little strength of what Madi has given us.
“Here, I’ll walk you out,” Kason, Madison’s brother says, standing from his chair. We walk out into the hallway. “I’m glad you came by, I was going to call you. I’m in town tonight and I’m taking you out.”
“You know I want to, but really, with all this—”
“All this is still going to be here. Tonight, I’m taking you out for some music and a couple drinks. I’ll be by to get you at eight.” He hugs me and slips back to the door and into the room, not giving me much of a chance to argue.
I smile and shake my head, walking down the hall to the elevator. When it arrives on the ground floor that feeling begins to burn white hot from the bottoms of my feet. I push through the revolving doors and when my feet hit the pavement, I run.