JAINA

My Vans stick to the floor of hospital room. It's disgusting. I always thought hospitals should be the most sterile places, but it's all a farce. I've lost faith in the system. I pry the rubber sole up with each step, hating that it makes the heaviness in his room something I have to physically fight in addition to the way I can feel it inside on my heart and crushing my lungs each time I see him laying there not breathing on his own.

My eyes scan the machines. I read his propofol levels as if I know anything about them. All I know is it's keeping him asleep. It's helping him rest peacefully instead of feeling the pain I know he would be in if he were awake, but it is only one of about twelve medicines dripping into his blood at any given time. The white board displays the names of his nurses and the last time they rolled him slightly on his side.

"You finally got a girl's number, huh?" I joke out loud. "Want me to put it in your phone? Is she cute?"

He doesn't answer. Not even a twitch.

"I just feel like it's pretty rude that you started a summer diet without me. You know how competitive I get with that," I tell him as if we're standing in his room on a regular summer afternoon. I ignore his silence again and move toward the uncomfortable chair the staff has pushed into the farthest corner of the room. I know they don't do this on purpose—they've actually been very kind to me—but I'm tired and it's always been fun to share enemies with Nathan so I decide to make something out of nothing for the sake of entertainment. "I see they've tried to banish me to the corner again—"

"Oh, sorry about that," a voice answers.

"Oh my God!" I practically screech, spinning in the direction of his open door.

A young woman is standing there in scrubs, her hands folded in front of her. "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to check his vitals and makes sure everything was ok. I'm Marta and I'm his nurse for the next few hours."

I haven't met Marta yet. I've met Lisa and Benito.

"Hi, Marta. I was just kidding about the chair." I can feel my cheeks heating up.

"It's fine. He's doing well today," she says as she scans the large monitor hanging by the entrance to his room.

"Have they already done rounds?" I ask. I like to listen to them and try not to take my breaks to grab food or go to the bathroom when I think they'll be around.

"No. I haven't even seen them on the floor yet. You've probably got a while. Are you family?" she asks.

"Practically," I answer. "I'm his best friend from childhood. We've known each other forever. Our houses back up to each other." My throat closes with the lump that quickly forms inside. I blink so the tears don't fall. If Nathan doesn't pull through this, will anyone ever ask me that again? Will I get to tell our story? It hits me like a wrecking ball to my heart. I point to my name on the white board along with my phone number so she can see I'm a contact.

"Awww, childhood friendships are the best. I'll leave you to visit," she says, excusing herself.

I don't make it past the sound of her shoes sticking two steps before I lose control. The scratchy hospital blanket is rough against my face as I lay my cheek on it and look up at him, the tears making it hard to see his face. My hoodie sleeve serves as a tissue since his room is barren—he obviously doesn't need them so why would they stock his room. I've cried to him a million times before, through the years for a plethora of reasons—physical injuries and emotional ones too—my problems grew as we did, but this one is my biggest hurt and he can't comfort me. When I need him the most, he can't be there.

"Ok fine," I tell him, continuing a conversation from a few nights before our accident. It's a conversation we've had off and on for years. "I'll get a matching tattoo with you. I don't like needles so you know that's a big deal. Just fucking wake up."

When I close my eyes the tears fall across the bridge of my nose and onto his sheets and bed. I'm so tired. A whimper escapes and I try to quiet it by covering my mouth with the wet sleeve of my hoodie. I hate this stupid mask today. I pull it down and wipe my nose and then slip it back up again to protect my friend. My body slumps between the bed and the unwelcoming chair I've moved beside it. The plastic cushion beneath my ass is little comfort.

"It can be whatever you want," I plead, but then I open my eyes and look at his swollen face. "Nothing Star Wars you nerd." He'll forgive me for that and I don't even mean it. If he woke up right now I'd get whatever he wanted, and the truth is if he passed today, I'd get something to remember him too.

My palm finds his hand tangled and hidden in the covers. I hold it in mine. We don't hold hands anymore. It's been years actually. I miss it. I don't know when the last time was that I held his hand in mine and that makes me immeasurably sad. No one tells you there are these moments in friendship, any relationship really, where you do something for the last time. We'd done it daily as children, on the way to get a candy bar at the local liquor store, or as we ran past the scary dog house at the end of the block, but then one day we held hands for the last time without thinking about it and that moment of our childhood passed. It was as if in the night we both outgrew it. For the life of me I can't remember the night it had happened.

Right now, there is only one night on my mind. It's the night that I can remember every detail of. I remember the song on the radio as we drove down the freeway and the way Nathan gripped the wheel with two hands because he'd only had his license for six months and was nervous to be on the road. He was a great driver and I would have gone anywhere with him. I trusted him with my life. We'd gone to our senior prom together as friends and it was the highlight of our year—not the food, of course, but the venue and friends. It's the only dance we'd gone to because we worried we'd regret not going—crazy how that worked out, huh?

The first car flew by us going at least 90mph. We had laughed. There's always one lunatic, right? But then there was another. My heart stopped. Nathan's hands clung tight to the steering wheel and he said, "Hang on, Jaina," and then we were spinning. I know he saw them, he had to. Police say we were clipped from behind at a high rate of speed and forced into the center divider. The car that hit us fled the scene.

It should be easy to catch the car that potentially killed two kids on their way home from prom, right? A car that didn't care enough to stop and try to render aid to the people it flung into concrete—right? Should be open and shut, cops ask a few questions and are horrified enough to get on this immediately. No. Nathan and I were one of four accidents that night caused by the same group. One of four. In fact, another kid died when his ambulance was delayed because the same crew took over an intersection the emergency services needed to get to him.

I lace my fingers through Nathan's. "I know you say I'm stubborn," I tell him quietly, sharing a secret I've been keeping. "You're right. I admit it. I'm going to find them. If you want to talk me out of it, then you better wake up." I squeeze his hand and sit up so I can look him in the face. "I'm serious, Nathan. I'm so pissed."

I move my mask and wipe at my nose with the dirty hoodie sleeve again. The nurse from before passes the room and I can see the smile in her eyes. I nod my head. She can't hear me. She doesn't have any idea what I'm discussing with my friend. It's like being back in my clubhouse. Sorry Marta, you don't get to come in. This is between the two of us.

"I don't know shit about cars, Nathan, but I can learn. I'll figure it out. I'll find who did this to you myself." I watch for any signs he's going to be the rational friend and talk me out of it like usual. He doesn't move. It only makes me cry harder. "Then you agree," I say.

I hold his hand between both of mine and bring it up to my face. It's hard to do without his cooperation. I press his palm against my face and close my eyes. "I'm getting real tired of carrying the weight of this whole conversation," I joke. I laugh to myself and set his hand back on the bed beside his still body. I must be losing my mind. If he's in there at all, I'm taking us both on this rollercoaster of emotions. I'm up one minute and down the next, angry and then laughing.

"Hey Nathan, I almost forgot to tell you the best part! I saw a cute boy in the elevator today," say excitedly, moving from the chair to the side of his bed.

"Knock, knock," Marta says at the door. "The doctors are two rooms down. Just wanted to give you a heads up. Looks like they are doing rounds." She gives me a reassuring thumbs up. I give her one back reflexively.

"I guess Mystery Boy will have to be a mystery a little longer," I tell Nathan.

I step into the small bathroom in his room and use the one-ply toilet paper to clean my face. I know from the past when the doctors do their rounds they don't have time to deal with me. They want to share the information they have with each other as quickly as possible and be on their way. I feel the cold, hard sink beneath my hands as I lean on it, taking a second to breathe and center myself. My eyes pinch shut and my head clears.

Today I will hear what the doctors have to say, then I will set into motion my plan. 

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