Ian ’s POV
Just two days ago, I heard my mum’s soft tone, “Quit it, Ian .”
She looked at me through the rearview mirror of my dad’s mini truck; her warning fell on deaf ears.
“But mum, you promised,” I bumped my knee against my father’s truck seat once again.
“ Ian ”
Dad’s nose flared. I sensed I was in trouble, so dropped my legs onto the carpet of the van seat. My words held a grunt while I stared at my lap
“I don’t wish to fly to Aunt Abbey’s birthday,”
My dad turned on the blinker light; he pulled toward the side of the road.
“I know you wanted to go to sea world with Jeff, but it’s your aunt’s birthday.”
“But I don’t want to leave Aunt Abbey’s house; she hates me.”
I avoided the mirror. Mum was staring through it. I peered around for the street signs and they had numbers and names of cities on them; my heart sank at the sight of a green one with the phrase: Mystric International Airport. It meant we were soon arriving at the airport and headed for Calitain. I hated the idea.
“All she doesn’t is talk about her son Luke” I pointed out like I was making an argument, which needed to be heard “She says Luke attends the best school. Have the best grades. I hate it every time she does that…” I added. I was about to continue but the sound of a loud horn cut my words…
“No. Ian
you shouldn’t say that” Mum said
A big truck drove by us, on the highway paved with black tars, with trucks driving near us. The comments of the driver got my attention.
“Watch where you are going,” he yelled.
“Your aunt loves you”
Mum swept a strand of her hair; she seemed to ignore the remarks of the trucker, “Abbey is nice…” mum’s voice disappeared at the last part.
My parents were middle earners. Dad, a teacher, and Mum owned a flower shop, from which she and dad delivered and donated flowers to hospitals here in Mystric, a state in the country of Monthel.
I hated history but got an A, last semester because mum said my birthday gift depended on my grades. Anyway, years ago, America and Britain once colonized the country of Monthel, thus instilling its influence on the language and culture. People here speak, read and write both forms of the English language.
I never lacked but was well taken care of, though we didn’t live in an upscale apartment with a concierge and a world-class experience in a single-family house which dad lucked out in an auction as an AS, I knew this because dad kept me informed. Maybe because I was his only son at age twelve or because he had a psychic power that told him, I would one day have to become an adult without them. Anyway, I lived privilege.
“Quit it Ian ; how old are you? Will you stop whining about everything?” My dad glared
I wasn’t good at winning over my parents though I usually tried anyway. I watched mum, pat dad’s hand then sighed. Dad turned back the vehicle’s ignition.
“Honey, I think we should….”
Mum’s words held in midair, with a loud clash sound; I could hear mum add the words “William, watch out!!”
Along came a chaos and tumbling sound from my dad’s car – then came a loud slam sound. The words “Ian , can you hear me?” Followed
“Mum?” I cried out
My voice muffled like in the chaos, one of the flying debris had lodged its way into my throat.
A resonance of chaos against my skin and my purse rose. My leg jerked several times, and my body submerged into the air like a magician’s trick of levitation.
The bones under my skin were broken into pieces; the pain ran through me like lighting. Pin and needles became my skin.
The car tumbled, and now I could see my world upside down. One I knew Aunt Abbey’s birthday was better than.
From the corner of my eyes, came debris; a broken glass piece from dad’s windshield. Mum’s weak voice
“Are you okay, Ian ?”
I opened my mouth to say, mum, but the gag from the debris stuck into my throat was still there, making a buzzing sound in my ear.
Another loud clash followed; everything became dark, the echoes of a siren, signaling from a distance; then chatter from what I knew were the emergency response, and then my world became dark.
I opened my mouth to say, mum, but the words wouldn’t come. Another loud clash followed; everything became dark, and quiet except for a loud buzzing sound in my ears.
I woke up to a beeping sound; I listened to a distant conversation between nurses and doctors. I tried to turn my head, but the pain was unbearable; with an effort, I tried to open my eyes; they felt so heavy, they would not budge.
The beeping sound got louder as it came closer; I could feel something in my arm, a needle. It felt as if someone pushed a tiny electric machine toward me. Pain flooded over me, worse than anything I had ever felt.
I tried to move my legs but couldn’t, my hands felt like needles and pins were weaved into every layer of my skin.
I screamed, then came an unfamiliar voice
“Ian , can you hear me?”
“My name is Karina, and I’m your doctor.” The voice added, “You are at the hospital.”
The voice was reassuring because I had no idea where I was until she spoke. Now I wanted to know where my parents were, so I said “Mum Dad?”
A rhetorical question, I felt deep inside me, what its answers were. If only I didn’t protest our travel to Calitain to see my aunt. If only I went along with my parents without arguing.
I tried to open my eyes, but everything was dark. I call out repeatedly to my mum and dad, my voice choked up with tears.
I reached out my hand, trying to grasp my surroundings; everything was dark, and the room felt cold; I knew what had happened, my parents were gone. It was a truth, I wasn’t ready to face. My throat tightened, and I tried to breathe but just couldn’t. I could hear the doctor’s voice.
“He is hyperventilating; get me…”
The Doctor’s words disappeared as I felt a little pinch on my skin. The world became darker, and I slumped slowly toward an abyss.
I was now in a trance, though everything seemed so vivid and my body was falling into a somber state, I would have sworn that, the people in front of me were my parents.
Dad was in blue jeans and a white t-shirt; his brown eyes and unshaven beard gave him the youthful look mum teased a lot of times, about her falling in love with him because of it.
Mum was on a green flowery dress that aligned the garden we were standing in, cheerful yellow aconites, pink, and blue flowers.
Mum’s long hair was braided and a daisy hair accessory was used to hold it on its side. Though I couldn’t feel her hair, the vivid sensation of her brown hair over my hands most night’s when mum combed it before going to sleep was too real. Her smile was so cheerful. This dream was so surreal.
“We will be leaving soon, son.” Mum hugged me. She still smelled like vanilla, her hands warm like, these muffins she baked every weekend
“What? Where, Mum!” I shouted, but my voice betrayed me- muffled I couldn’t even hear my own words.
Then, all I could hear was a beeping sound that became louder; it got nearer and nearer.
“No mum,” I cried out.
“Quit it, Ian . You have to stay strong.” The crystal clear voice of my dad
“Ian , look at me, son, please,” My dad added
I managed to look sideways at him, but he looked away, towards the window. Then he smiled, confusion flooded over me, and then pain surged through me- the beeping sound had returned. I winced, the sound got louder I was out of the trance:
The beeping sound was now louder than ever and clearer than before. I opened my eyes; it was dark in the room except for one thing, a small glowing light.
“Ian
, can you hear me?” I could recognize the voice; it was the doctor.
“Doctor, I can’t see?” I reached toward the little ray of light I could see.
“Doctor, it seems his pupils are reacting to the penlight,” a voice I couldn’t recognize said.
“Ian , can you see this,” the Doctor pointed the penlight toward my right eye.
“Yes, Doctor, but only the light”
My question was followed by silence; then the Doctor spoke, “When is the child psychologist coming?”
“I’m here,” heard another voice, which I couldn’t recognize, but I could presume that the new voice had just arrived and was walking toward my bed because of the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor.
“Ian , you can call me Mirabel. I have a few questions for you,” After her adenoidal voice came, a screeching sound, like someone was pulling something against the floor.
“Its okay, Ian , that’s me, pulling a chair, so I can sit beside you.”
I nodded to her words, “Where are my dad and mum?”
Silence followed, and then the psychologist’s voice came up again. “What is the last thing you remember, Ian ?”
“Mum and dad were driving to my aunt’s birthday party, then I …”
After I narrated the event to the psychologist, she later spoke to a detective, and the Doctor and nurses began therapy for me. The Doctor said I had partial blindness due to trauma to my eye during the accident and it could be corrected surgically.
It’s been three days since I was admitted to the hospital. I have a nurse by the name of Jessica and she says I’m scheduled for surgery in a week. I don’t know if I should be pleased about it or sad after all with this bandage over my eyes, reality still seems like a story rather than a reality.
I can still live in the belief that when I open my eyes mum and dad will be in front of me. I can still believe that I will be out of this place soon. Seat with mum and dad at the dining table and hear mum hear hearted laugh echo through the room as she plates my food. The bandage gone will only mean the truth, that mum and dad are gone.
A crack sound pulls me out of my thought. It’s like someone is in my room. Every time, there is a nurse or caregiver in my room, they usually announce their presence.
“Is that you Jessica?”
Jessica is my day nurse but I don’t think she is the one here now, it should be Lucas. I reach my hands into the air searching for whoever it is. The scent of vanilla fills the room.
I’m not in a trance, though this person smells like mum. It’s the first time anyone has walked in smelling that way.
“Are you crying?” she asked
It’s the first time I have smelled that scent, after the accident. Mum’s kitchen smelled that way every weekend when she baked. I want to ask who it is but I will just wait. Whoever it is will introduce them anyway.
“Hold on Ian , let me get the light”
So she must work here. She knows my name, but what is she? I hear the clicky sound of the light switch, and through the bandage, I can see a little light in the room. She makes a joke about not eating me or something about dinner.
“I’m Myra ?”
I haven’t met her before. Is she supposed to be my caregiver for the day or is it a night, already? I can’t tell with the bandage on. I have two regular nurses except Lucas had been rotated to another hospital wing. Is she my caregiver? I have a personal caregiver by the name of Nadia.
Her voice is so breathy like she has been running. I want to ask her from what or who but stranger alert, I pull my leg towards my body and rest my hand over my knee. I wonder what she looks like, how old she is.
Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I just want to be left alone.
“It’s okay to cry. You’re strong if you cry”
What is she? A sorcerer? How can she tell that I’m about to cry? She must work here then; she must know why I’m here.
“It must be your first time in the hospital; I understand what it’s like. When my mom first came here I was crying because I was scared, didn’t talk to anyone, and refused to even look away from my feet”
Her story is sad: she lost her leg? I sighed at the thought, because I lost something too, my eyesight. Curiously peaks right through me: was she in a car accident like me and my parents? How did she lose her leg? I want to ask that but I just met her and might come off nosey, so I say
“Why were you looking at your feet? What’s wrong with it?”
Silence, the tapping sound of the rain against the window of my hospital room, makes me more nervous. Why isn’t she saying anything? This room feels cold, though I have a heavy blanket over my feet. Has she left, already? I ask
“Were you scared?”
“Yeah, I was” her breathy voice echoes into the room, like we are in space. It’s like she is crying, but I can’t see her.
“Your leg must have been like mine”
I think aloud. Mine from what I sense and have been told by the doctors and nurses have bandages wrapped around them. If she said she couldn’t stop looking at her feet, hers must be like mine or maybe worst. She is silent, maybe I never thought aloud or she never heard me. I ask
“Really?”
I hated the silence. It was like the one, I felt when the accident happened and when the silence was broken, an unexpected happened. I was about to say something though nothing came to mind, she said
“No. It was painful because it was the first time, my mum was brought to the hospital and this place was new and strange to me. I had no one to talk to”
Should I call it empathy or shared pain? I could feel her pain, I felt tears begin to drip down my eyes, and though I had a bandage wrapped around my eyes, I knew she was in front of me. I couldn’t let her see me cry, I turned my face towards the wall, and I stroked the ears of the stuffed dog on my bed
“Quit it, Ian ” I cautioned myself
“Is your mum sick?”
“Yes, Ian ”
The scent of vanilla engulfs me. My chin pulled towards her, it’s been three days since someone has had such warmth to them like mum. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I cried.