Linda Singleton: Dead Girl Walking

There were scenes of my friends, too.

My kindergarten best friend, Lola, sharing one of her prized naked Barbies; reciting Australian words over the phone with my online pal Emily; giggling as I taught Alyce some of these words (“tacker,” “bikkies,” “dunny”); screeching through a red light when Dustin tried to teach me to drive; staging a vampire neck-bite for Alyce to paint; a school play where my family and friends filled an entire row and applauded like I was the leading lady rather than the ass end of a costumed donkey.

The palm pictures faded, but their applause sang in my ears.

“Still want to stay with me?” Grammy asked gently.

I remembered the hurtful things I’d overheard at the party, which had sunk my self-esteem like tons of gravity. But a different kind of gravity, a foundation of real friends, supported and grounded me. Not fake Jessica and her crowd, but people I could count on — like Dustin, Alyce, and my family.

A lump ached in my throat. “They’ll miss me if I don’t come back.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“But it’s so hard … I hate leaving you.”

“‘Hate’ is a four-letter word and it’s strictly forbidden here. Take heart, Amber; our parting will be short. What will seem like a very long life to you is a blink in time here.” She reached down to pat Cola’s head. “We’re always here for you.”

Clouds thickened around me. “So how do I get back?”

“See that path up ahead?” Grammy Greta pointed and bright bulbs of light lit up a winding pathway. “Follow the path to an area of velvety darkness illuminated with shooting streaks overhead that are as dazzling as the Milky Way. It’s very beautiful, but don’t linger. Make a left turn.”

“A left turn? At the Milky Way?”

“Right,” she said. “Be happy, Amber.”

“I’ll try,” I promised. Then we hugged — for the second “last” time.

Cloudy puffs under my feet pushed me toward the road of glowing lights. I was moving — not exactly walking, but almost floating through a fine mist that sparkled like body glitter. When I reached a burst of brilliant light, I hesitated. The light beckoned, offering a glorious glimpse of deep green trees against a sapphire-blue lake, with waving figures on a distant shore. I was tempted to follow the light — until I thought of my friends and family.

So I surrendered to the flowing current that pushed me forward, and entered a darkened tunnel. Darkness faded like a segue in a movie, from night to dawn, and overhead I saw a dazzling light show — like crystal shards of stars sprinkled across a glittering path. The stars shone brighter: glowing, waving, inviting.

“Like the Milky Way,” I murmured.

I replayed my grandmother’s directions to a fork in the starry light path, hesitating for only a moment to look each way.

Then I turned right.

* * *

Slowly, I swam back to consciousness.

When I tried to open my eyes, agonizing pain crashed into me, and I realized I was back on Earth.

“Grammy, take me back!” I wanted to scream. “I’ve changed my mind!”

The pain was too much, overwhelming, concrete buildings exploding with shards of piercing glass, slamming onto me, torturing. I couldn’t take it. Please let me go back where nothing hurt and everything was perfect .

My head floated, thoughts drifting and nausea and pain attacking my body. I sensed movement, someone bending over me … a prick on my arm and …

More nettles, I thought, as I sank into darkness.

When I awoke next, I heard a mechanical hum of machinery and distant murmurs. I smelled an odor like disinfectants and starchy sheets covering me. I vaguely saw pale light streaming underneath a door, and heard voices whispering outside. I tried to lift my head, but pain exploded. Moaning, I sank against a cool pillow. Weak, dizzy, utterly helpless.

Ohmygod! I was in a hospital! My condition must be serious! How badly was I hurt? I could barely move, although I was able to wiggle my toes and fingers, so I wasn’t paralyzed. I’d expected some broken bones (I mean, I’d been hit by a truck), only I didn’t feel any casts. But the pain was beyond miserable.

How bad were my injuries? Had I been disfigured? What if my face was horribly scarred? I’d seen an episode on Oprah once, where this supermodel was crushed so badly she didn’t have a nose or half of her mouth.

What if that happened to me?

How could I have a public career with a scary face?

Panic gave me the strength to lift my head. After the dizziness passed, I blinked and my vision cleared. I struggled through the pain to click on a bedside light.

When I looked down at my left arm and saw the tube poking from my arm, I almost threw up. It was all so real now, and my heart rate increased to frantic beats on the monitor. My hands were pale ghosts that I didn’t recognize. My arms seemed unusually thin, too. As if I’d been ill so long I’d wasted away. Not the way I’d hoped to lose weight.

And where were all the nettle bumps? My skin was pale and smooth, with no rash or bruises. How long had I been hospitalized? My visit with Grammy had seemed as short as a brief nap, but if my nettles had already healed, it must have been a long time.

Days, weeks … a month?

Grammy Greta said time ran differently between worlds. Had those brief moments with her passed by in weeks on Earth? Had the school year ended? Had I missed my finals? Had my class graduated without me?

I spotted a mirror on a tray just a reach away. But moving my body hurt so much … I couldn’t … too hard. Still, I struggled through waves of dizzy pain, gasping for each ragged breath as my fingers touched the edge of the tray.

The heart monitor quickened: beep, beep, be careful , it seemed to warn. Still there was no turning away. I had to know … was my face scarred and disfigured? Worse than scared, fingers trembling, I lifted the mirror.

Then I screamed and screamed and screamed.

The face looking back at me wasn’t mine.

It belonged to Leah Montgomery.

“LEAH!”

An elegant blonde woman I’d never seen before rushed toward me in a cloud of lavender perfume. She pushed aside a table to sit beside me, her diamond necklace glinting, tears streaming a pale trail down her rouged cheeks.

“Oh, Leah,” she sobbed, clasping my hand. Her hand on mine felt wrong, like we were both made of plastic and none of this was real.

I’m not Leah , I tried to say, but her lavender fragrance caught in my throat. I gasped for breath.

“Leah, you’re awake! Thank God! At last!”

Not Leah. You’ve made a mistake.

“Leah, baby!” Trembling, she wrapped her arms around me. “You can’t imagine the hell I’ve been going through since Angie found you yesterday. You wouldn’t wake up! I’ve been frantic with worry that my baby girl was gone forever.”

I struggled to speak, my throat burning, suffocating.

“Are you all right, darling?” the lavender woman cried.

I might be if you’d let go , I wanted to say.

“Don’t exert yourself.” Her hold eased as she studied me. “You’re looking better already, and you’re going to be fine. That’s all that matters now.”

No it’s not, because I don’t even know you.

Shaking my head was a big mistake. Blinding pain exploded. I sagged back against the pillow and fought to speak, but only spit out a pathetic croak.

“Honey, are you trying to tell me something?”

Duh! I’m not your honey or anything. But I couldn’t do more than moan. My energy faded. I wanted to sleep.

“Leah! Stay with me!” Hands gripped my shoulders, shaking. “You’ve made it this far, you can’t go back into a coma now. Don’t you realize what a miracle it is you woke up? They told me you didn’t want to live, which was utter nonsense. What do those quacks know? Thank God they were wrong! Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.”