Dale heard voices, but she couldn’t make them out. She thought, at times, that they were talking to her, but she couldn’t be sure. She knew someone had been hurt. Something had crashed.
Was I in a crash? she wondered. She wasn’t sure. No, I’m fine, she decided.
But then she tried to open her eyes, and she couldn’t. She’d start to try to talk, but there were tubes in her mouth. She’d try to move her hands, but they were tied down. She felt panic growing in her chest and legs. Where was she?
But then the woman with the cool hands and familiar voice would put her hand on her arm or her face and talk in low, soothing tones. The woman would call for someone else, and that person would come into the room and put something into the bag hanging above her arm, and she’d sleep again.
Dale kept trying to make out her face. She recognized the voice but couldn’t place it yet. At first, she thought it was her mother, but it wasn’t her mother’s voice.
And her mother’s hands were always warm. Besides, her mother wouldn’t be this calm if someone had crashed.
Dale could hear the woman breathing in the chair next to her bed. The woman didn’t talk, and when she left the room, it was never for long.
She always came back and sat in the chair next to her bed.
Dale was tired again.
She’d figure it out the next time she woke up.