11


"Vickie?"

Robert bolted upright.

"Vickie?"


"Doctor?" someone called.


Robert turned. "Vickie?"

It was then he realized he was laying in bed.


He saw a man walking toward him. "Its me Robert. Its me."


Robert's memory began to flash back to him. It took a moment but he recognized the man.

"Phil?"


The man smiled as he stood by his brother's bed.

"Yea, its me."


Robert was puzzled.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

He looked around the room. It was far different from the one he had been in when he first met Vickie.

"Where is Vickie? Where am I? How did I get here?"


At that moment, a doctor walked into the room.

"When did he come to?"


"Just a moment ago, Doctor," Phil informed him.


Robert looked at the doctor.

"Where is Vickie?"


"Who is this Vickie?"


Phil shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea."

He looked back at his brother.

"Who is Vickie, Robert?"


"Vickie. Vickie Fitzpatric. The beautiful blonde girl who ..."

His words trailed off, as he realized he was no longer in 1961, but was back in 1981.

Robert's face went white.


Phil was concerned.

"Robert? We don't know who Vickie is."


Robert lay back in the bed. Tears began forming in his eyes.

"No one. Just no one. I guess I was just dreaming or something."


Phil turned to the doctor, seeking an explanation.


"Its not uncommon for a coma patient to have very vivid dreams while in their coma. When they first awake, some can have a hard time distinguishing between the dream and reality."


Robert listened, sadly.

So it had all been a dream. The whole thing was just a dream, a sadly beautiful dream. Vickie had only been a figment of his imagination.

What an evil trick for his own mind to play on him. To bring someone so beautiful, so close and then whisk it away in a second, as reality took over again.


The doctor took a couple minutes and checked Robert's vitals; his pulse, heartbeat, blood pressure and temperature. All were normal or close to normal.

The doctor looked at Phil. "He's in pretty good shape considering what he has  been through."


"What about his hands?" Phil asked, concerned.


"My hands are fine," Robert answered, nonchalantly. 

He looked down at his bandaged hands. "At least they will be, as soon as you take off these things."

He held up his hands.


"You seem pretty confident," the doctor commented.

"They were pretty badly burned."


"Well they have had four days to heel and besides, they were not burned as badly as everyone thought they were. Besides, I've played since the accident."


Phil and the doctor stared at each other. How was it possible that Robert knew how long he had been in the hospital? He had been unconscious since they brought him in the hospital.


"What do you mean, you have played, Robert? You are not making any sense."


Robert stared at his brother, forcing a smile.

"Don't mind me. I guess I am a little shaken up by this whole thing."


The doctor nodded. "That is perfectly normal, given the ordeal he has been through."


'If only the doctor had known how much of an ordeal,' Robert thought to himself.


"How much longer will he have to stay here?" Phil wondered.


"Just to be safe, let's give it one more day. I will check the burns tomorrow."

He looked at Robert. 

"You know, young man, it was a miracle that you did not kill yourself when you fell off that stage."


Robert smiled again.

"Maybe I was being spared for something more special."


The doctor smiled.

"Well, I have two teenage girls who just love your music. They would love to meet you at some point, if you are up to it."


Robert nodded.

"Sure. What about tomorrow?"


The doctor nodded.

"Sounds good. They will be so excited. And after I check those hands, I will make a decision on when you can leave."

The doctor left, after the brothers thanked him.


Robert waited until the door closed.

"It wasn't a dream, Phil."


"What?"


Robert sat up in bed.

"It wasn't a dream."


"What wasn't?"


"Vickie. She was real. She exists."


"Seriously, Robert. You know that is impossible. You heard ..."

He was about to continue when he noticed something in his brother's look that stopped him.

"You are serious."


"I was there Phil. I was with her. I don't know how or why, but I am telling you that I was there with her.

I held her, Phil. I held her and I kissed her and I made love to her. I remember everything about her. I remember every second of our being together.

You can't dream that. You can't dream what I felt.

I can still smell her hair, Phil."


Phil was amazed at his brother's insistence and sincerity. He was not used to seeing this side of his otherwise easy going brother.

He pulled a chair up near his brother's bed and sat.

To hell with what the doctor had said earlier about dreams and comas. This was not the ravings of some half crazed lunatic, or the mutterings of a man lost in the void between reality and unreality.

Maybe, just maybe, something had happened to his brother during the aftermath of the accident. Something unreal.

He stared at his brother. This was the rational, cool brother he had grown up with. The brother he had looked up to. The brother he had followed from playing in their garage, to playing in front of thousands of screaming fans.

If Robert believed this whole story about a beautiful blonde girl named Vickie, the very least he could do was sit and listen.

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