It was a dark and rainy day in February when I was hit by a small red pick up. February 15th. I was told I flew 15 feet before landing smack on my head. Apparently the driver was drunk and didn’t see me crossing.
I don’t remember that day at all.
Four weeks I slept, in a coma that many feared I would never come out of. I was placed in a ward of children and teens with major bodily harm or disease. My roommate was a boy named Mason. I never did find out his last name. For the time in which I slept, he found out bits and pieces of me from my various visitors. My favorite color, what music I liked, and other random things.
The day I woke up, I was showered with love and attention from my family and it took me almost an hour to realize the presence of the boy laying in the bed beside me. He flashed me a lopsided grin and quietly went back to the book he was reading.
Eventually I was left in peace and after about 20 minutes of mental debate, I spoke up and asked him his name.…