Crash
Whether through drugs, promiscuity, retail theft, or generally opposing anyone sober or sensible, it was while awakening in a hospital that Beverly finally pondered whether her life was truly a pursuit of adventure or a reckless retreat to oblivion.
The doctor told her she was lucky to be alive and that she’d be fine. At least he didn’t give her a lecture about drinking and riding motorcycles too fast. He also relayed that her sister was doing well. Of course, he couldn’t know that his patient had no idea what he meant since she hadn’t spoken to anyone in her family for over three years.
She asked for clarification and after a few more words, fell back into the arms of quasi-consciousness. Beverly attempted to fathom how fate could orchestrate her recovery at the same time and in the same building where her little sister was giving birth. Despite her medicated state, she was profoundly aware of her drift from those who had always been her biggest supporters.
Beverly awoke again in the afternoon. Sort of. She tried to keep her eyes closed to reduce the pounding in her head. The throbbing intensified. But a soft cry — muffled yet insistent — pierced her dreary daze. It came again, closer this time, followed by a low, soothing voice.
She turned her head toward a vision appearing through her mental fog: her sister cradled a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Simultaneously, Beverly felt a familiar friend — shame: a feeling like a fist tightening and twisting in her gut turning in synchronicity to all that she did and didn’t do in the past few years. “What the…?” Beverly’s weak, raspy voice trailed off.
“Hey, Bev. You’re awake.”
Sarah’s voice was so quiet, Beverly wasn’t sure she was real. But her attention was drawn to the flicker of a newborn’s hand reaching out from the blanket. A tiny, perfect fist gripping Sarah’s thumb.
“I… I didn’t know,” Beverly whispered.
Sarah walked closer, the baby nestled securely against her chest. “There’s a lot you didn’t know.” Her voice was soft, devoid of accusation. “You’ve always had a way of making entrances, but you could have come as a visitor instead of getting your own bed.”
Beverly wanted to chuckle, but for now, all she could do was look at the fragile life in Sarah’s arms.
“Can I…?” Beverly swallowed, her voice struggling.
With a gentle nod, Sarah held the baby closer, guiding his tiny hand towards Beverly’s outstretched finger. The tiny hold was stronger than she expected. A spark of something ignited within, pervading any sense of hallucination.
“Mom and Dad will be here soon.”
A single tear escaped, rolling down Beverly’s cheek. The crash she was recovering from paled in comparison to the newly breaking cracks splintering the concrete walls she built to hide behind, signaling the incipient release of what she had steeled herself against for years.
She began sobbing.
The newborn grasped Beverly’s finger tighter.
by George Alger
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