Jennifer Masercola

Zombieland

I'm sleepwalking through my life
Dozing off and snapping back
Completely unplugged
And this is far from temporary
And this is far from complicated
And this is far from ordinary
I walk to walk
I walk to walk
I walk to walk
There is no destination
I'm not sure if there ever was
I'm a step above carefree
A step below helpless



Stuck

And I've dug myself so deep into you
That you're blocking my sunlight
Sometimes I can see a tiny ray
Or a very faint shadow
But most of the time all I see is you
But this isn't me complaining
Don't take this the wrong way
Who needs the sun anyway?


The Doctor Will Be With You Momentarily


She jingled the change in her pocket loudly, impatiently. She was never good at waiting. She cleared her throat in hopes that someone would remember she was there and tell her what was going on, but nobody so much as flinched her way. She was pessimistic and always jumping to conclusions, so you can only imagine all the horrible things racing through her mind. Her knees became weak and she had to sit down. She fumbled through her bag and shoved a few pieces of gum in her mouth to try and calm her nerves.

“Is this really happening?” she thought to herself. She put her hood up in an effort to keep her head from falli
ng off. She hated hospitals: the smell, the busybodies, the loud unfamiliar noises, everything. But then again, did anyone really enjoy going to the hospital? Hospitals always meant bad news, and that’s what she was expecting. Her hands become cold and she could feel her pale green eyes tearing up. She hugged her knees to her chest and her breathing became heavy.

“What am I going to do without you?” she thought. She glanced over at the others, standing in a circle, all of them clearly very upset, and talking very quietly. Seeing as she wasn’t family, just the girlfriend, she felt out of place standing with them. She figured when something major happened they would let her know. Her long hair began to stick to her wet face. “Please be okay."

Watching and listening to him sing in the car never gets old. The way his head is always nodding to the beat, and how he closes his eyes to hit a high note. How he drums his fingers on his legs, his left leg always shaking rhythmically along to the tune. How he stares out the window the more into it he gets. If he could sing instead of talk, he would. He was the most passionate person I had ever met. Passionate about singing, passionate about his family, passionate about me. He goes out of his way for everyone; he’s constantly doing something nice for someone. But boy does he have a temper. Every time he’d start to bite his bottom lip or set his jaw, I knew to back off. I knew him inside and out. I knew that when he would smile, he was genuinely happy; he doesn’t hide or fake his emotions. I knew that he could eat tacos and drink Coke everyday and be totally satisfied. I knew that when he spoke to me and he hung his head, or his breathing became slightly louder than usual, he was serious. I knew that when he looked at me, he was really looking at me. He always had his hood up, hiding his curly blonde hair because he thought it looked bad. But to be honest, I’ve never met a more beautiful person.

Waking up in the same uncomfortable chair, in the same sterile hospital, was a huge slap in the face. I thought I had dreamt it all, but in fact the only thing I had been dreaming about was him, safe and beautiful, with me. Everyone was hunched over in strange positions in a light sleep. I was the only one awake. I could hear the buzzing of telephones and intercom systems, shoes clacking on the linoleum, heavy breathing and sighs, coughs and sneezes, machines humming, hearts breaking. I racked my brain for hope, but the search came back empty handed. I sucked in a sharp gust of air and pushed myself out of the chair with a little more force than necessary, throwing my balance slightly off. I put my hood back up and hung my head down as I walked over to the coffee machine. I wanted to be awake. I wanted to be alert. I wanted to know what was going on at all times.

Conveniently enough the coffee machine was located almost directly across from his room. So desperately I wanted to peek in, just walk in and see him, but I knew it was wrong, and I knew I’d regret it. If he didn’t make it out of this hospital I didn’t want my last memory of him to be bandaged up, unconscious, with tubes everywhere. No. I couldn’t have that stuck in my head as the last time I saw him. I’d rather keep the image of him smiling at me through his window, his big bright smile, and pulling out of the driveway. Yes, that’s a much more acceptable way to see him for the last time. The last time. The last time. Is it possible that that really could be the last time I see him? The hardest concept one will ever have to face is seeing someone for the last time. Does it ever fully register that you can never see them, feel them, and talk to them, ever again? Do you ever get over that feeling of aching for someone who’s no longer there?

“Don’t go in there; it’s only going to make you more upset.” I looked up and noticed I was no longer alone. His father was standing there, looking at me as if he had just heard every thought in my brain. His father was always an intimidating man to me. He was really tall, with a bit of a beer belly, and lots of tattoos. I stared at him blankly; I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond.

“That’s not the way you want to see someone you love,” he continued. “You should go home, shower, get some sleep, and we’ll call you with any news."

A shower and some sleep sounded so good. But going home would just make me worry more, the idea of not being here right when everything happens scared me, I knew I would never be able to fall asleep.

“I think it’d be easier if I stayed here.”

“We would tell you the moment something happened, honey. You don’t need to stay here; it could be hours before we hear anything.”

“If I went home I wouldn’t do anything anyway. I won’t get any sleep.”

“You could at least get some decent food, take a shower.”

“Do you not want me here?”

“I just think it would be better for you if you went home for a little while.”

I sighed. He was right. I needed some food and a shower. But I didn’t want to leave. I would feel guilty if I left. I know it’s silly, but it’s true.

“Well maybe I’ll just shower and then come back. That way I’m not gone too long.” I compromised.

The drive home was a blur. So was the shower. I knew the water was burning hot, but I couldn’t feel it. I was numb. I wasn’t even upset anymore, I was angry. I was angry that someone tried to take him from me. I was angry that one human being could do this to another. I just wanted to find the man that did this and put him in the hospital myself, make him and his family and friends suffer like we’re all suffering now.

After my shower I laid in my bed. I knew I wouldn’t sleep, I just wanted to physically feel comfortable for a little while. But just as my eyes slightly started to droop, my phone shrieked to life.

“Hello?!” I panted.

“I . . . I’m not quite sure how to tell you this.” The voice struggled out.

“No.”

“The x-rays have confirmed severe brain damage. There is . . . there is a little chance he’ll make it out of this, and if he does, he’ll need to learn everything all over again. I think . . . I think you need to come down here, and uhh, and say goodbye.”

And that was it. That’s all I needed to hear for my entire world to come crashing down and caving in around me. The phone slipped out of my hand as I hit the floor, and everything went black.