I'm speeding down the highway, singing at the top of my lungs. The air—conditioning is on full blast, and the windows are down. This might seem contradictory, but there are times in life that simply warrant a window—down moment, and today is one of them. And when one is driving in Texas at the beginning of September, unless the moment includes sweaty makeup dripping down the face, air—conditioning is recommended.
My song of the month is on repeat, blaring through my car speakers. I'm belting out the words to "Stitches" by Shawn Mendes like it's my job. I suppose it isn't the most fitting song for the occasion, but I can't get enough of it. It's my current obsession, which means I will play it on repeat until I can't stand it anymore. At which time, I will never listen to it again, if given the choice.
I'm happy, plain and simple. Tomorrow, I am getting married! Life is going according to plan.
Meet the cutest boy in high school and immediately fall head over heels for him? Check.
Start dating said cutest boy sophomore year of high school? Check.
Experience homecomings, proms, and enough firsts to fill a glittery pink diary? Check.
Go to the same college? Check.
Be one of those annoyingly sweet, adoring couples whom everyone hates—knowing, in reality, they're just jealous? Check.
Buy a house together right out of college? Check.
Get engaged? Check.
Get married? Tomorrow. Check.
When I was younger, I wrote a narrative of the way my life should play out in my sparkly purple diary, the journal prior to the pink one. Its pages are full of my hopes and dreams from the middle school realm of my life. I wrote daily during that time when I was secretly in love with half of the boys in my grade, but I was too self—conscious to talk to any of them without giggling like a hyena. That was back when a pimple was the worst tragedy life had to offer, and a cute boy's attention was the best. It was a carefree time full of self—discovery and firsts.
Though I'd like to block out my first real kiss with Corey. My school had two Coreys—gross Corey and hot Corey. One guess on which one slipped a tongue into my mouth for the first time? Only because he cheated in a game of Spin the Bottle, but that is neither here nor there.
My point is that, at a young age, I knew. I visualized my life, and I wrote it down. I created my own path. I constructed my destiny.
My life is perfect.
I reach toward my radio to hit the Back button on the display screen. The song just ended, so, naturally, I must play it again. When I look back up to the road, I'm blinded. Bright lights are assaulting my vision.
A scream infiltrates my car. It's deafening, so familiar. It seems close, but at the same time, it's so distant.
Screeching.
Glass breaking.
Metal crunching.
An excruciating pain tugs me down toward the darkness. A panicked fear invades my mind. I think my body is trembling from it, but I can't be sure. I can no longer feel anything.
Silence surrounds me. Blackness is all I see.
Terror rises.
I gasp, struggling to breathe. There's no air. I scream, but there's no sound. There's nothing.
I'm alone, sinking in a sea of emptiness.
Panting, I cry into the void.
I'm dying.
Please save me.
I'm fading. The agony is almost over now.
Please save me.
My life is coming to an end.
I can't believe it.
Why now?
It's not fair.
Air fills my lungs. I'm met by the most striking emerald eyes I've ever seen.
Simply stunning.
An immense love permeates my body, pushing out all the fear.
I am no longer afraid because I can see, but more importantly, I can finally breathe.
A hostile feeling saturates my brain. My skull is expanding, ready to detonate from the force within. The pain, so acute in nature, is foreign to me. I try to wrap my mind around its source, but nothing makes sense. I can't focus. The constant pressure in my head is taking up all my energy.
Other sensations leak through the blurred recesses of my consciousness.
There are conflicting smells, a vile taste, incoherent sounds, but they're all shadows next to the torrent of pounding.
Beep.
Beep.
The incessant high—pitched bursts hurt. Make them stop.
Beep.
Beep.
The repetitive noises seem to be coming from a great distance, but at the same time, the source could be located within my skull. With each piercing ting, pressure explodes, and aftershocks of pain follow.
What is that?
Using all my willpower, I concentrate.
Focus.
I hear voices, but I can't make out the words.
I feel warmth against my hand.
I think.
I'm disconnected from my body. I can sense the different parts, but there's no clarity. The synapses in my brain are firing, yet it's as if they have to pass through a maze of confusion and disarray to get to their destinations. When they finally reach their end points, they're left with more questions than answers. The information sent back to the brain is riddled with uncertainty and turmoil.
I summon an enormous amount of strength, using all my concentration. I open my eyes, only to be assaulted by a bright light. I snap them closed again.
Where am I?
Why am I so tired?
I can't make sense of anything, and I don't have the energy to try. The beeping fades as the blackness pulls me under once more, and I welcome it.
***
Beep.
Beep.
The rhythmic pattern of sounds pulls me from the darkness. Past my closed eyelids, I can feel the light beyond the sleep from which I am awaking. The fog from before has lifted. The pain, although still present, has dulled. An odd combination of scents register—chemicals, aftershave, mint, and lilies.
"Mia? Mia? Can you hear me, baby?" a male voice asks.
I can't place it, but it's familiar.
"Mia? Honey, it's Mom. Mia, can you open your eyes?"
Mom?
Bracing myself for the harsh light, I slightly open my eyes. Two figures are hunched toward me. I blink, my eyes dry and scratchy.
"Mia?" My mom sobs before falling lightly against my chest, her body vibrating atop mine as she cries.
I'm so confused.
"Mom?" My voice is barely a whisper. The simple question scrapes my throat on its way out.
A plastic straw is placed between my dry lips.
"Here. Drink this," the male voice offers.
The cold water feels incredible as it slides down my throat. The straw is removed from my mouth before I am finished, and I mourn the absence.
"You'd better go slow. I don't want you to get sick," he says.
The room slowly comes into focus. My neck aches as I slightly turn it. I blink several times, and my eyes, like everything else, feel irritated. Two women hurry into my view. My mom and the man release my hands and stand back.
A blur of activity surrounds me.
"What a day!" the shorter woman in blue scrubs says as she lifts my arm and wraps a blood pressure cuff around it. "We knew you would be back. Quite the sleep you took, young lady." She smiles warmly at me as the fabric around my arm begins to expand with air. She watches the monitor on the side of my bed.
"How do you feel?" the taller woman in the white lab coat asks while shining a light into my eyes.
