I've Lost the Power to Feel

I am awoken the next morning by an annoying cardinal singing outside my window. The pain in my head was still there, but it wasn't as bad as last night. I try to pull the covers over my head, but they're tucked snugly into the mattress. I hiss at the blanket before slamming the only pillow I received over my head. I lay there in the suffocating silence for about four minutes before I can't take it and burst forth from my covers. Still sleepy, I swing my feet over the bed and my feet meet the cold tiles with a shock. To my dismay, I'm wearing one of those ugly blue paper gowns that tie in the back. I groan. Gross.

I take a good look around the sterile room. There's not much pizzazz in here, just an oil painting of a rather dull landscape on the wall, a clock, and a purple swivel chair in the corner of the room. On it lies a bundle of crazy-colored clothing, probably the work of my best friend. I crane my neck as far as I can to examine the clumsily-folded pile. There is a blue Iron Maiden cutoff draped over the back of the chair, some neon green jean shorts, and a pair orange sneakers I knew weren't mine. Maya, I thought. That girl is awesome, but only she would throw something with all those colors together. I personally appreciate one color, maybe two, if you count black or white. I find dressing simpler that way. Honestly, I don't even want to step foot out of this room in that horrid combination, but I guess I'd rather wear that than this stupid gown. I remembered that IVs do NOT come out of your hand easily like in the movies, so I regretfully call a nurse with a button on my bed. I don't recognize the new nurse, but she checks my blood pressure and a slew of other things I don't really care about before giving me the okay and pulling out my IV. She tells me to take it easy while getting ready and asks me to call her back as soon as I am ready to have my final checkup.

I shuffle to the bathroom with my fresh clothes. My body is stiff and I am extremely lazy, but I decide to take a quick shower since I smelled like shit and I can feel my greasy hair sticking to the back of my head. After a while, I am squeaky clean and dressed, but the pain in my head has been increasing from a dull throb to jackhammer pounding ever since I got up. I sit down on my bed and call the nurse with that little button. Soon a male nurse walks in, wearing grey scrubs. He looked frazzled and tired and not a day over 45.

"How can I help you?" He asks slowly. I notice he has a bit of a Texan drawl.

I stifle a yawn. "Uh, yeah, I was told to ask for my last checkup before I can leave, also, my head hurts so much that it's painful to think."

The nurse flips through the papers on the end of my bed, humming. He looks back up at me. "The doctor will be in today and tomorrow, you can leave sometime in there. The schedule says you can have your medication now, so I will go grab your allotted and be back shortly."

"Kay, thanks." I give him a smile. He nods politely and walks out.

I lay down, waiting for my wonderful pain reliever. I take the monster pills the nurse comes in and leaves for me and fall asleep again. When I wake from a dreamless sleep a few hours later, I eat some crackers in cellophane packages that are sitting on the night table by my bed and doze off again. I surprise myself by waking up the next day at about nine. I don't have any other clothes, unfortunately, so I just lay there until something happens. At some point a nurse comes and tells me my doctor will be in soon. Time starts being weirdly blurred. Must be the meds, I think.

Doctor Yannik Kahlert is an older man, large and gentle with calloused hands and a wrinkled smile. His voice is kind and laced with a German accent. His rugose skin was an olive brown, his eyes deep chocolate in color. I instantly relax when he slips into my hospital room.

"How are you feeling, Jordan?" He asked, quietly rolling the R in my name. I smile and sit up, facing him on the edge of the bed.

"Like shit," I respond matter-of-factly, too medicated to put my mental filter in place. The big man chuckles, crow's feet appearing beside his eyes.

"Well," he says. "You aren't sugarcoating anything, are you?" I shake my head.

He pulled out some papers from his grey clipboard. "How does your head feel, Jordan? I won't ask you to be honest, I know you will be."

"Um," I think thickly. "The side of my head is sore and it's throbbing."

He nods. "That is to be expected. You were hit quite hard."

I shrug. "I guess."

Dr Kahlert clears his throat. "Well, we are going to take your blood pressure again and a few x-rays, and if everything looks okay, you're free to go." He held up a bottle full of pills the size of Nevada. "You are to take one of these in the morning and one at night, each day. They are for the pain." He holds another container out, a blue-tinted one with smaller pills. "These," he continues, "are to make sure your head doesn't get an infection. Understand?" I nod and take the bottles from his work-worn hands, then placing them on the bedside table with my purse. He gets up slowly and saunters out the door with me trailing behind.

He takes my blood pressure and brings me to a dark room where nurses do a few X-rays of my head, then we walk out side by side. As I gather my sparse belongings in my room, Dr. Kahlert turns to me and offers me a piece of cardstock that reads "Certificate of Health" on the top, my name in pen, and his name scrawled on a line at the bottom. I look up at him and he smiles warmly.

"You're free to go, Jordan."

My face lights up. "Really?"

"Yes. But you must take it easy the next couple weeks. No more horse riding for a bit." My face fell.
"Not to worry, child. It's only for awhile. You are young and strong, and you will heal. There is a phone downstairs at the reception desk that you may use to get a ride home. No driving while you are on your medication. Show this piece of paper to the receptionist and she will let you go."

"Thank you!" I hug him without thinking and scurry down the white hallway, extremely anxious to be rid of the hospital. I hate the smell. I can hear the doctor chuckling behind me.

I call Maya at the front desk and check out. I sit and read a six-month-old Rolling Stone magazine for a half hour until she came to a screeching stop at the front steps in her little blue Prius. As I walk out, Maya rolls down her window and sticks her entire head out, long brown hair included.

"Get in, fatass. I almost got a ticket." She pulls her purse off the passenger seat and I take my time getting in.

I give her a pointed look. "Babe, that's what cruise control is for."

"You know I'm taking off of work to come get you, right?" Maya works at Ikea. She claims it was the food that hooked her.

"You chose to come and get me,"

"Whatever." She throws Metallica's Ride The Lightning CD rather violently at me and I pop it into the Prius' stereo. We sing to Fade to Black and Fight Fire With Fire all the way home.

We exit when Maya puts her Prius in park in my driveway. My Viper isn't parked in its normal place. Must still be at the barn, I think. I make a mental note to call a tow truck later.

"Jordan," Maya states seriously as we infiltrate my kitchen.

I turn to her, concerned. "Yeah, babe?"

Maya nervously scratches the back of her neck. "I, uh," she stammers. "I got kicked out of my apartment."

"The fuck, dude?" I asked incredulously. "How?"

Maya's face could have rivaled a kicked puppy. "Well, let's just say James came over last night and we got wasted and we filled water balloons with vodka and threw them at the landlord's car. It's even on tape."

I sigh in exhaustion but reluctantly hug her. "Aw, I'm sorry. Pack up your shit, you're staying here. But one rule: no boys. I don't want to get in bad with the law because you're a damn lightweight."

"Fine," she says, ashamed. "I'll go get my stuff." Suddenly she smiles in relief and darts out the door.

"You're paying rent!" I yell after her retreating form.

"I love you, Jordan!"

Over the next few days Maya comes and goes, dropping her stuff on my porch when I'm not home and overtaking my kitchen table when I am until I yell at her. I, who cannot drive, clean up the spare bedroom for my new housemate and at night I have Maya drive me to work. On Thursday at about 3:45 AM, I am just falling off the cliff into Dreamland after collapsing on my bed after work when my phone started buzzing incessantly. I fumble with it and try to focus my blurry eyes on the caller ID. It's my mom. What? She goes to sleep promptly at 10 and get up at 4:15, rarely deviating from her schedule.

"Hello?" I say sleepily, halfway believing it's a butt call.

"Jordan, baby, it's your mother." My mom's voice is filled with worry.

"Mom, what-" I start, wide awake. She stops me dead.

"Honey, it's your father."

Notes

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Madi