A New Day Dawns

Wednesday, June 10th, 1953

The first sound Dean heard was a steady breathing. Someone close by, sleeping perhaps?

After a few moments more sounds joined in. The steady murmur of voices, which seemed to rise and fall over time. The grinding of a metal cart as it came closer, then receded.

Where was he?

The acrid reek of antiseptic, along with the insidious hint of sick mixed in told him he was in a hospital.

Dean forced his eyes open. It hurt. Everything was so bright and the figure before him was haloed by the beam of sunlight pouring in the windows from behind. He blinked, willing his eyes to focus.

The figure leaned closer, “Dean?” Her features resolved, into a mass of curly blond hair, and...

How was this possible?

“Dean?” She smiled at him, “Nurse! He’s waking up!”

His mouth opened and closed. “Muh...Maggie?”

The squeak of shoes in the hallway signaled the arrival of another - a hand on his wrist, cool fingers against his skin.

“I’ve called the doctor, Mrs. Edmonds, he should be here in a moment.” Her hand moved to his arm, “Mr. Edmonds? Can you hear me?”

The nurse had a rough, almost gravelly voice. She smelled faintly of cigarettes.

Dean blinked, struggling to adjust to sunshine that still poured into the room. “Wh-What?”

June leaned close, tears in her eyes. “Oh Dean, I have been waiting and waiting for you to wake up. The children...” she choked back a sob, “the children have been asking about you every day.”

Dean croaked out the words. “June? Where’s Maggie?”

“Who?” June glanced back at the nurse, “Is there a nurse named Maggie here?”

‘On this floor? No, Mrs. Edmonds.” The older woman shook her head, “Edna and I handle the day shift, and then there is a Laura and Delia on the night shift.” More footsteps, and more. Blurry figures began filling the room. Their features were indistinct. Where were his glasses? Had he lost them in the crash?

The doctor, a tall, thin man with long, delicate fingers pushed past the others as he hurried into the room. He wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Edmonds! What a pleasure it is to see you have finally rejoined us!”

He pulled up a wheeled chair on Dean's left, focusing on his watch as he checked Dean’s pulse and then leaned close. “You took my advice, I see.”

“Ad-advice?” Dean managed, his throat was parched, his tongue swollen and thick.

“Yes. I’ve had several rather one-sided discussions with you recently on the importance of waking up. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, Mr. Edmonds. Do you remember why?”

“There was a man...in the road.”

“A man in the road, you say?” The doctor glanced over at June who shook her head. “And here I thought it was a truck. Nevertheless, you are awake and that is a very good sign. I’m going to conduct some tests and then we will see if you are up to drinking some water and talking with your lovely wife, who has been by your side this entire time.”

The doctor turned and smiled in June’s direction.

“Practically starved sitting here waiting for you to wake up.”

He reached out a hand and the nurse handed him a chart. He studied it for a moment and then plucked a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. The doctor nodded to the nurse as he eyed the crowd of people.

“Please clear the room.”

He turned his attention back to Dean, “You have garnered a fair amount of attention it seems. Would you care for some water, Mr. Edmonds?”

“Yes, please.”

The nurse and the doctor propped him up in the bed. His ribs hurt, as did his right leg. Propped up with pillows behind him he could see that it was encased in a heavy white cast with weights hung from the back of the bed to provide traction.

June was still crying, yet smiling at the same time. Dean felt confused, his head swam with questions that he could not seem to formulate. How was June here? Where were Maggie and the children?

A cup appeared with a straw and he sipped it, coughing, as the first liquids in weeks slid down his throat.

“Good job, Mr. Edmonds.” The nurse also clucked her approval.

The doctor checked his reflexes on his left foot, peered into his eyes, and took his pulse. “Excellent, all excellent, Mr. Edmonds. Why don’t we check just a few more things, starting with your age?”

“I’m thirty-six.”

The doctor lifted an eyebrow. “What is your birth date, Mr. Edmonds?”

“September fifteenth, nineteen twenty-five.” The doctor looked at the nurse and at June.

“And what year is it, Mr. Edmonds?”

“Nineteen sixty-two.” Dean could hear June gasp.

“What is your address, Mr. Edmonds?”

“Three twenty-three Cypress Avenue, in Kansas City.” June gasped again, tears forming in her eyes.

“I see, and you have children?”

“Yes. Teddy and Sarah.”

June began to sob, the nurse patted her back.

“Mr. Edmonds, the year is 1953, not 1962.” The doctor said, a look of concern on his face. “Your chart indicates that you live at 5900 Grand. And your children’s names are...” He looked over at June.

“Betty and Danny,” she said between sobs.

Dean’s head hurt. The flood of memories of June, Maggie, all of the children, it whirled about, confusing him further.

“Mr. Edmonds?” Dr. Waterston pressed, “Do you remember Betty and Danny?”

“Yes, but...”

“But what, Mr. Edmonds?”

‘They’re...they’re dead.” June’s head and body snapped back, reacting to his words as if he had assaulted her.

Dean struggled to understand. Was this hell? Was the doctor deliberately lying to him? How could June be alive all of these years and him not know? He turned toward her. Her face was young, mid-twenties at most, her appearance had not changed in the slightest. She looked every bit of the woman he remembered before the crash. She hadn’t aged, not at all.

“And you, June. You died in the crash, nearly ten years ago now. But here you are here. I don’t understand.” He said, looking around at the nurse and doctor, at June whose face was filled with horror and tears, “Are we all dead?”

June began to scream then. An orderly had come running. June didn’t fight as they pulled her from the room. Her body was limp in their grasp. Her feet dragged as they hoisted her between them and disappeared down the corridor outside of the room.

Doctor Waterston beckoned one of the hallway nurses over, “Give her a sedative and put her in a bed to rest, poor woman.”

“Where is my wife?” Dean asked, his eyes on the hallway June had disappeared into. He could still hear her cries, even though they had grown dramatically quieter. “Where is Maggie?”

Doctor Waterston, patted his shoulder, “Now, now, Mr. Edmonds, please, try to relax now. Mrs. Edmonds will be fine.”

“I need Maggie.” Dean felt his anxiety spiking. “Where is she?”

“Who is Maggie, Mr. Edmonds?” the doctor asked, “None of the nurses on this floor are named Maggie. Was it one of the candy stripers, perhaps?”

“No, no, no!” Dean was terrified now, “My wife. Maggie, her name is Maggie.”

The doctor’s face tightened with concern, “Mr. Edmonds, your wife’s name is June.”

“June was my first wife. She died. My children, Danny and Betty, they died as well.”

The doctor nodded, “And when did this happen, Mr. Edmonds?”

“In a car crash in 1953.”

“And it is what year?”

“You know what year it is!” Dean said, sitting forward, his leg and ribs spiking knives of pain, “It’s nineteen sixty-two! What the hell is going on here?”

The doctor gave a nod to the nurse, who turned away to a metal cabinet and pulled out a small bottle and syringe.

“It is 1953, Mr. Edmonds. And your wife June and the children, Danny and Betty, they survived the crash. You were the only one seriously injured.”

The nurse returned, a sliver of metal and needle flashed in her hand.

The doctor continued, “Now I know this is all quite confusing. There can sometimes be a bit of a mix-up between what is dream, and what is reality, after a head injury like yours. I want you to just try and relax now.”

Dr. Waterston took the syringe from the nurse and gave the needle a light squeeze, a droplet of clear fluid emerging from the sharp tip.

Dean felt a deep chord of fear. He didn’t understand what was happening, or why. He tried to pull his arm away as the prick of the needle descended. He was still weak, too weak to move away in time.

“I don’t understand.” There was a warm rush in his arm, “I lost June and the children and I saw their graves. I saw them!”

His words were slurring and Dean struggled to keep his eyes open. He fell back into the bed. The sensation of heaviness spread from his arm to every part of him, finally reaching his eyes. He tried to fight it, to tell them this was all some crazy dream, that maybe they were all in hell. The words stopped forming, thoughts were muddled, and then there was nothing.

“My God,” Dr. Waterston said, his voice heavy with concern. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He looked up at the nurse, whose face looked troubled.

She shook her head, “I’ve seen men with shell shock who woke from sleep confused, but never anything like this.”

“Hm, well, call the Psychiatry department and ask for an evaluation.” He rubbed his eyes, “That poor pretty wife of his, did you see her face when he said she was dead? The absolute horror on it. Poor woman.” He moved away from the bed, “Let me know once he’s slept it off and had the eval, I will want to talk to the doc myself.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The room grew quiet and Dean slept, lost in a medicated abyss.