2 Margaritas

My list was simple: vacation in Florida, meet a cute girl, order my first legal drink.

The funny thing is I accomplished everything, just not in the way I imagined.

When I pictured palm trees swaying and catching a tan in the iconic Sunshine State, I didn’t imagine it from a hospital bed.

Sure, the palm trees are technically swaying. And if I could open my eyes, I might even catch a glimpse of them through the window.

But I can’t.

I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even blink.

Technically, there are plenty of cute women in and out of my room. I know this because I can hear them.

One in particular—Nurse Charlotte—always says hi. She calls me by my first name, which I appreciate. I’m not old enough to be a “Mr. So-and-So.”

Cute girl: check.

There was an accident—somewhere between my first legal drink and my inevitable blackout.

The kind that splits your life in two: Before the accident and After.

Before

I remember it clearly: a touristy beach bar, packed with too-tanned strangers and the smell of sunscreen and sweat.

My friends and I were celebrating—finally legal. It took thirty minutes just to flag down the bartender. When she finally noticed me, I panicked and ordered two margaritas.

Mistake number one.

Around 10:45 PM, we pushed through the crowd to find a spot outside—somewhere we could smell the ocean and hear the waves.

The sky was so clear you could see straight into the universe. For a moment, everything felt right.

I sipped my drink, feeling small under that massive sky.

“What do you think our purpose is?” I asked.

My friends groaned.

“I’m serious. We’re not religious. So do you really think it’s all just... coincidence?”

Harry sipped his Corona. “I don’t know, man. If you don’t have religion, you’ve gotta find something to anchor you. Without that... I don’t know how you'd last.”

His words stung more than the sour margarita still on my tongue.

“I don’t know how to believe in anything,” I said, “but I don’t know how to live without it, either.”

Rob straightened up. He rarely chimed in during deep conversations, but this time his brow furrowed.

“That’s a journey every man has to take, brother. Figuring out who he is, what he’s here for... that’s the battle.”

“I’m just tired,” I said. “Tired of wondering all the time and never finding an answer.”

Rob chuckled.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re doing exactly what we’re meant to do. Wondering. Searching. Holding on to hope in spite of it all. That’s the human experience.”

Harry clinked glasses with him. “Cheers to that.”

I kicked off my shoes and placed my hat beside me. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Harry stood up dramatically. “The only question I’m asking now is—where’s my drink?”

“Which is why I grabbed two,” I said, raising my second glass.

That night wasn’t about answers. It was about being alive and celebrating it.

So instead of wallowing in this self-imposed pity party I decided to lose myself in the banter of Harry and Rob while we checked out girls at the bar.

This is probably a good time to share exactly why I ended up here. Here being the hospital, not “here” as in our purpose, just to be clear.

Only my memory fades at the table, laughing over drinks.

After

You now know everything I know. Whoever you are. Maybe you're a figment my brain invented to cope with being consciously unconscious.

Whatever the case, I’m glad you’re here.

Charlotte told me this morning that I’m expecting visitors later today. She’s the only person who talks to me like I’m still me. Everyone else just comes and goes—polite, quiet, distant.

If it were my parents, she would’ve said so. They visit every day, even missing work to do it.

But it’s not them.

I stopped hoping to hear Harry or Rob’s voices by my bedside. Maybe they feel guilty about what happened. I don’t know.

What I do know is—if anyone could help me make sense of this, it would be them.

I used to spend so much time wrestling with big-picture questions. Now I’d give anything for just one simple answer.

The door creaked open. Charlotte’s voice was soft:

“Your visitor is here.”

A chair scraped closer to my bed, and the air shifted.

I caught the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. My parents don’t smoke.

Harry.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “I haven’t been sleeping. Or eating.”

His voice cracked.

“Rob’s a mess too. We just don’t know how to help.”

He cleared his throat—loud and awkward.

“Anyway, I had to come see how you were.”

That can’t be all. Say more, Harry. Please.

“We really need you to wake up, you hear me?”

His voice shook. “You’re all I’ve got, man. Without you... I don’t even want to think about that. So please. Do whatever you can. Come back.”

Silence. Then a quiet sniffle.

I remembered what he told me once—how his brother drowned when they were younger. He always said he felt responsible. That being friends with me made him feel like he had a brother again.

Then, the door creaked again.

“You came,” Harry said. His voice cracked again.

Rob.

“I couldn’t distract myself,” Rob said. “Not while this was going on.”

He stepped closer. I could smell the soap from our hotel—cheap and citrusy.

“No changes. He’s stable. They’re still running tests.”

A heavy sigh. I imagined his shoulders slumping, like they always did when he felt helpless.

“Do you think he can hear us?”

“I hope so,” Harry said. “I’ve been telling him to hold on.”

A thud landed on my bedside table—Rob must’ve brought a book.

“It’s by an author who struggles with religion and identity,” Rob said. “Not my usual read, but... it felt right. For him.”

“Can I stay a while?”

“Of course.”

Rob started to read. Harry didn’t interrupt, but I could almost hear him thinking: skip the table of contents already. It would’ve been my job to actually say it.

"Can you live a fulfilled life without religion?” Rob read aloud.

“What replaces it, if anything? If I’m not an atheist, agnostic, Christian, Catholic—what am I? And even when I say I don’t believe, why do I still pray when I’m afraid?”

“Hmm,” Harry murmured.

I’d never prayed so much in my life. And yeah, it’s mostly out of fear.

Does that still count?

I had time to think. And judging by the thickness of Rob’s book, I’d have plenty more.

Outside, a tropical thunderstorm rolled in.

Rain hit the window. Distant thunder rumbled.

The palm leaves—those same ones I once imagined swaying above me in paradise—were dancing in the wind, drinking in the downpour.

The air turned cold. Or maybe I just imagined that, too—longing to feel something. I wanted to be part of the storm. Not trapped behind the glass, watching it happen without me.

………………………………………………………

Rob came with or without Harry, but always with the book.

I started to look forward to it. Even when the pages raised more questions than answers—especially when they did.

So when the door creaked open again, I assumed it was Rob with another chapter to dissect.

But this time, it was just Harry.

And something was off.

Again, he reeked of alcohol. And this time, I wanted to scream at him. To shake him.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, voice brittle.

My heart sank.

“I didn’t know she was coming. I swear. I never would’ve left the hotel if I had.”

She.

Even in my haze, her name surfaced like an oil slick.

Alexis Corrigan.

“She wouldn’t stop,” Harry muttered. “Taunting us. You looked so shocked to see her. I should’ve had her thrown out, done something...”

He exhaled hard, words slurring. My heart monitor must’ve noticed what he was doing to me.

“I thought the restraining order kept her away,” he whispered. “Then she showed up. Here. In Florida, of all places.”

Images flickered. Memories blurred at the edges. Alexis in court, daring me to flinch. Her eyes—dark and lifeless, even then.

“The whole point of swimming was for me to face my fear,” Harry said. “We were just dipping our toes in. Trying to take it slow. Then suddenly she was there. Drunk, rambling, calling us cowards. She threw her drink at us. Said I deserved to join my brother.”

Jesus.

“We backed up. The water got deep. I panicked. I didn’t mean to… Just wake up, man. Please. Why didn’t you fight to stay up? Why did you let me hold you down?!”

So that’s it.

I drowned.

My memory cuts off at the table, laughing over drinks.

Everything after is a blackout.

And now, this.

I’m not sure how much of me is gone. Or how much Alexis took. Again.

I tried to reach him.

Harry, this wasn’t your fault.

I imagined screaming it at him.

If I could just move something—just one part of me—he’d know I was still here.

I focused everything I had.

My middle finger twitched. Maybe. I think.

Ironic. That’s the finger I’d use to tell him: Get out of your own damn head.

Was Harry exaggerating when he said I didn’t fight?

I’ll never know.

What I do know is this: Harry was...is the best part of my life.

And I've always believed that for all the suffering he’d endured, he still deserved peace.

Maybe it wasn’t about sacrificing myself. Maybe it was just my way of saving him.

They say a man doesn’t know what he has to live for until he faces death.

I used to wake up and do the bare minimum, then complain I didn’t have answers to life’s big questions.

But here—stuck in this still, quiet place—I’ve found more perspective than I ever had while moving.

Rob’s readings planted something in me. A belief that there’s more to this story. That I’m not meant to drown. That maybe—just maybe—there’s a plan for me.

Even if I don’t understand it yet.

I didn’t hear Harry leave.

Just knew I was alone again.

Charlotte’s off tonight.

My parents won’t be here till tomorrow.

Rob’s been distant. Maybe he feels guilty, too.

He was probably on the shore when it happened, chasing sea turtle nests. That was his thing—he saw it on a documentary once.

He’ll carry his own version of the guilt. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

Harry and Rob were...are my brothers.

I hope they know how much that means to me.

If I had another chance, I’d tell them.

But for now, all I have is me.

Outside, the palm leaves tap against the glass. They catch the warm summer breeze, whispering reminders of what I’m missing.

Just outside the tiny window of my hospital room, the world is bursting at the seams.

Somewhere out there, sea turtles are racing toward the ocean—dodging the birds overhead.

The palms sway under moonlight, shimmering and dancing, making music I can’t hear.

Fishermen drift on their boats, waiting for a bite.

My parents are watching old videos of me trying to skateboard—probably laughing through their tears.

Charlotte is asleep in her bed, probably curled beside someone lucky enough to have her.

Rob is buried in that thick, dusty book, searching for purpose on my behalf.

And Harry…

Poor Harry.

He’ll never forgive himself.

I wish I could tell him it’s okay. That I’m still here. That he doesn’t have to carry this.

Rob told me once, as long as I was alive, there was hope.

Right now, that’s all I’ve got.

So I choose to believe it.