Lucky In Your Eyes

I saw her get out through the front door of her parent’s house with a duffle bag and run towards the passenger side of my car. When she got in, she stared into the distance for a second and then turned to me and asked, “Are you sure we should do this?”

There was nothing I was more sure of in that moment.

I wanted to do this more than anything. I remember the first time I thought about her and I living together. We were watching a movie in my room one afternoon while we were both on my bed. We were sitting up and she was leaning her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not so I tried my best not to move a muscle just in case she was. In that moment, I didn’t think about being or doing anything else. I wanted everyday to be like this. I wanted to go somewhere where nobody could tell us what we can and can’t do. I wanted to build a life together and be happy. So I said, “I am sure I want to do this. Are you?”

With no hesitation, she said, “I want to be with you.” So I drove off.

I didn’t think we would ever end up in this position. The agony of waiting to hear if she was going to be alright or not was heart wrenchingly awful. I can’t stop thinking about the endless possibilities. I can’t stop thinking.

Sometimes I wish there was an off switch because it is times like these where I do not want the ability to think. I want a moment where I am not thinking about what could be happening. About what was going to happen.

Right now I am thinking about everything.

I’ve been in the waiting room for two hours now and still haven’t heard from a doctor since they finished with me. When we got to the hospital, they took her straight into surgery and they pulled me aside to stitch up some cuts I had gained from the accident.

They said I was lucky.

The other car didn’t hit my side and the air bags saved me from suffering through any other injuries.

But she wasn’t so lucky.

She was left with a fractured skull and internal organ injuries. The last time I saw her, a paramedic was hooking her up to a mobile ventilator and another was doing their best to clean up a nasty cut she had on her arm.

I didn’t want to believe it, but the medic said she was suffering through some sever injuries. I didn’t say anything back. I didn’t even cry. All I did was hold her hand.

How could this have happened to us? Especially today? Was I not careful enough?

I stopped at the red light. When the light turned green, I looked both ways to make sure there weren’t any cars planning to run a red light and there weren’t any (at least not from where I was sitting). When we finally began moving, she asked me if she could put on some music. I was going to respond with a snarky comment, but then I caught a glimpse of her eyes with help from the traffic lights and I wasn’t able to respond.

I wasn’t sure at the time but now I understand why her eyes had such an affect on me in that moment.

Her eyes held something that looked like a mix of sadness and fear. Like she had something on her mind she wanted to talk about but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I wanted to relieve her of whatever she was feeling because I could not stand seeing her like this. She was on the verge of tears but I know she was trying her best to hold them back.

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It’s been almost six hours now and I haven’t heard anything from any doctors; but, this should be good though, right? I haven’t heard anything, which should means that they are still working on her and she is still alive?

I haven’t even heard form her parents yet either. I thought they would have been looking for her by now.

At this time, she usually makes pancakes and eggs for her parents, packs lunch for her two older brothers, and a bowl of cereal for herself. She waits for everyone to be finished with their meal and then washes the dishes. When she’s done with that, she leaves.

Sometimes her mom will stop her while she’s half way out the door to tell her, “Don’t forget about the trash,” or “Are you sure the kitchen is completely clean?” She always tries her best to leave the house as neat as possible before she gets ready for work, otherwise her mom will throw a fit and she’ll never hear the end of it.

She once told me she wanted to go away for college, but her mother convinced her father not to let her. “We need some extra hands around the house,” was her mother’s excuse.

Two years after graduation, she was fed up with it. She couldn’t live at home anymore because they relied on her too much. She was rarely aloud to do anything for herself and in the rare occasion that she did do something for herself, they called her selfish.

There were nights where she would call me to let out her frustration.

“Am I the only one with two working arms and legs, because that’s what it seems like. Nobody, Nat, NOBODY, helps me with the dishes or with meals. They don’t even pick after themselves. Everybody leaves their dishes on the table and goes about their day. And Lord forbid I do the same. When I get up to go to my room she says, ‘Y tu quien te crees? Recoje aqui!’ Ugh! I am so tired of her, of all of them. No me respetan. No me tratan ni como una persona de la familia. At this point, I’m just their unpaid maid.”

I didn’t know how to respond to her at first, but after I witnessed it in person for the first time I told her, “Let’s get out of here.”

That was a few days ago and now we’re here.

A doctor walks up to the waiting room and asks for the family of Janine. I immediately stand up. He walks over to me and sits me down once again.

As soon as I sit down, he says “I’m sorry,” and I blank out. I am unable to hear anything besides the ringing in my ear.