"...tell her?....woke.....her friend?"

I felt nothing.

I didn't feel my eyes open days before. Or the stinging that would've came after. I didn't feel the broken bones or bruised lungs or the two cracked ribs. I didn't feel the oxygen I was breathing flow in and out of me.

Nothing. Not numb. Nothing.

"Can you......Ambris...?"

It was as if someone had stuffed a rag into my ear drum. I couldn't hear very well. It was like listening on the other side of a door.

My mom had to draw for me on a whiteboard.

I have a shattered ear drum.
I have bruised lungs.
I have two broken ribs.
I have a plethora of broken bones.

My mother furiously scribbled on her whiteboard. The doctor stood over her, examining my reaction. My mom was crying, and she held up the whiteboard:

"Honey, there's bad news that I need to give to you"

Bad news? Am I even capable of crying?

Through my muffled ears I heard the doctor clear her throat and turn her head away. She knew the news was bad.

But what was the news.

My mom quit writing on the board and stared at it for a long time. Then, she turned it over to reveal the writing to me.

"The vehicle that hit the car you were in was Mindi's Mini Cooper"

She searched and searched for a reaction but I only felt my bloodshot eyes swell.

"Mindi passed away instantly. I'm so sorry"

I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could as if it would make me blind so I never had to see or hear those words again. Mindi passed away instantly.

Instantly.

And here I was.

I have a shattered ear drum.
I have bruised lungs.
I have two broken ribs.
I have a plethora of broken bones.

And now, my heart has broken as well.

~•••~

Mindi's funeral was the day after I was told of the news. From that day, it had been a week and 21 hours since the accident, according to my mother. I was asleep for six of those days.

Her funeral was happy. Everyone wore yellow. Mindi would've liked that....

Darren came by the hospital and showed me pictures from her funeral. Her casket was beautiful. He hasn't slept and I know he hasn't. I didn't even have to ask. I couldn't of asked anyways. Darren only eats Subway now, because it was Mindi's favorite. He left a Pokémon card on the table after he started to cry.

That was four days ago. From then, I've had surgery. Four doctors placed metal beams in my ribs to ensure that the bones don't puncture my already battered lungs. And every day, Dr. Michietti has to stick a long tube down my throat. I don't feel it though. I feel nothing.

"Honey?" My mother walks in. I can tell she's almost yelling, because I can lightly hear her. I always think, what if my heart is stopping and I can't hear the machine go off. What if my heart has stopped a long time ago. I would never know.

"They're....surgery, okay?"

Surgery. Another surgery.

A few minutes later, the same doctors contorted my room into a surgical lab and began a double myringoplasty. It was supposed to aid my hearing. They cut my ear open and placed a small surgical tissue to cover the hole the crash had created. The anesthesia didn't put me to sleep, so I was awake during the procedure. I didn't feel it, but I cried anyways. I find myself crying when I least expect it. I guess my body is sad but my mind is unaware.

Today marks a week after the myringoplasty, a week and two days with metal beams inside me (does this make me half robot?), a week and six days since I received Pokémon cards, two weeks and one day since the funeral, two weeks and two days since I was told the news, two weeks and three days since I woke up, and three weeks and three days since the accident.

Three weeks, three days, three weeks, three days.

I came out of recovery an hour later and Dr. Michietti unwrapped the bandages that sheathed my head.

"There ya go, Ams," He spoke. I could hear him almost perfectly. "There will be a day or two of recovery where everything might seemed a little muffled still but soon you'll have your hearing completely back."

He knew I had absolutely no way to respond to him so he gave me a thumbs up and smiled intently. "You're on your way, Ambris. Things are gonna work out in your favor."

If I was capable of showing expression in that moment, I'm positive I would've smiled and given him a thumbs up back. I can't do as much as tilt my head.

My mother came in a while later to speak to me and fill me in on gossip from around the hospital. My heart laughed at her jokes and the silly way she impersonated people. She then left me to my thoughts, my equipment, and the multitude of flowers and balloons scouring my room.

And today, for the first time in three weeks and 3 days, I thought about the accident.

I can't remember much. I can't remember who I was with, or the events leading up to the accident. I do remember her face. Not the features, but the expression. The horror that swam in her cheeks and the despondency that dripped from her eyes. I remember her Mini Cooper. And I remember the silence. And thats it. I don't know whose car I was in, who was driving, or where we were going. Come on, how can I be so absent minded?

But the one significant thing I do remember is pleading for the sky to give me my memories back. Now, instead of pleading to the sky, all I can plead to is the white panels above me.