I’m on my knees wailing while tears drench my cheeks, chin, and neck. As his truck pulls from Alma’s driveway, my life, my entire world leaves with him. Hamilton doesn’t look my direction one final time. His mother keeps her eyes on the backseat avoiding me. I scream when I no longer see his red truck.
Alma and her daughter Taylor approach with words they hope will calm me. Through my sobs I see their mouths moving, but I do not hear their words. I don’t want to hear them. Nothing matters—nothing will ever matter again. My world fades to black.
I feel cold metal upon my chest. I don’t open my eyes—I can’t. I hear Taylor instructing another to write a prescription. I hear a male voice but can’t make out his words. A cold hand brushes my hair from my face and Alma whispers near my ear to come back to her. The dark emptiness engulfs me once more.
Warm light bathes my face, I internally debate covering my eyes with a pillow or opening them. My bladder urges me to wake if only for a moment. I open one eye. My room is empty. Opening my second eye I notice not only are my curtains open, but the wood-slat blinds no longer decorate the window with horizontal lines. I’m sure it’s Alma’s doing.
Sitting up every muscle in my body protests. I’m unsure how long I laid in my horizontal slumber. It doesn’t matter. A quick trip to my restroom, then I will return to my protective blankets and forget about the world around me.
My eyes remain on the tile floor as I enter. Upon flushing my eyes remain down as I sip water from the faucet of the sink and pad back to the bed. I don’t need to see my reflection, I know how I look—I look and feel like walking death.
While my legs slide beneath the blankets, Alma darts into my room.
“I’ve brought water, diet cola, chocolate, crackers, and a ham sandwich.” She gasps for breath. “My doctor visited yesterday morning. I’ve placed your pills on the tray. Taylor insists they will help.”
I fluff my pillow, lay my head down, and close my eyes.
“Madison,” Alma’s stern tone is not one I’ve heard before. “You need to eat, you need to drink—it’s been two days.” She rips the blankets from my body. “I’ve allowed your hiding in bed long enough. It’s time to take care of yourself. In order to fight, you need to be strong and healthy. Liberty needs you now more than ever.”