THIS is me…(2)

By: Sarah Ann Walker

I remember a Kayla, I think.

“Suzanne, I need you to wake up now. It's Mack, and my throat is killing me. I swear I have never spoken so much in my life as I have in these last 2 days. You're killing me here. Could you please wake up now, so I can give my voice a rest? Come on, Suzanne. It’s time now. I need you to wake up and I need you to talk to me.”

Who the hell is this? God, he seems so familiar to me. But who IS he?

“Suzanne, it’s Mack. YOUR Mack. Can you hear me, Suzanne? If you can hear me, please just give me a little movement. Just move your fingers a little while I'm watching you. Or, could you open your eyes for me? I would really like you to open your eyes for me- for just a second if you can. You have such beautiful eyes Suzanne, and everyone wants to see them open again. Suzanne, please... I just need a little movement, so I know you're here with me, and then I'll stop talking, I promise.”

“Suzanne, Kayla will be here soon, and she'll be all pushy and Kayla-like if you're not awake yet. I KNOW you don't want that. God, I don't want that. So why don't you just wake up for me, and I'll tell Kayla you're awake, and then she'll leave you alone. How does that sound? If you wake up for me now, I'll protect you from your treacherous Chicago Kayla when she gets here. Does that sound good?”

“Please, Suzanne. I need you to wake up now. I miss you, and I really need to talk to you. I'm your person, remember? You can tell me anything, remember? Come on Suzanne, I need you to wake up now. I need you back with me. I miss you very much, and I love you very much, Suzanne.”

He loves me? Who the hell IS he? He sounds so nice. But seriously, who the hell is he? Think. Think, dammit.

Shit, I'm so tired; I kinda want him to stop talking for a bit now. I need to sleep quietly, I think. And I hate this dream. It's all weird and depressing and exhausting really. It's like I can't get out of this asleep. I feel trapped in my awake, which is just exhausting in my asleep.

“Please, Suzanne. You have so many things to wake up for. You have so many people who want to see you awake. You have a whole life just waiting for you. But you need to come back now so you can live it.”

Oh. This guy sounds so sad now. Ugh. He's making me feel sad now. Well, that's not really fair, is it? It’s not like I can tell him to shut-up, because I'm asleep over here. Forget it. I'm done. I'm not listening anymore. Good night...


Suddenly I remember my grandma. Why now? Why? I try to never think about her, and I don’t want to think about her now. God, I loved her. God, I miss her.

My grandma was so sweet and kind. My grandma was such a wonderful, beautiful woman. She wasn't old or creepy when I was little- my grandma was just beautiful. I remember clearly how beautiful she was. I think everyone who ever met her remembers how beautiful she was. I remember always wanting to be beautiful like my grandma, but I never was.

Sometimes when I would visit her, I hated my grandfather so much. Well, maybe not hated him so much as feared him. My grandfather was stern and cold, and truthfully, just grouchy all the time. He never smiled and he never really spoke to me. He just always seemed so mean and distant, or like he didn't like me or something.

But my grandma was never mean; she was always sweet and kind to me. Whenever my grandfather started on one of his angry fits, my grandma would just 'shush' him, take my hand, and lead me out of the room. She always did that. I forgot about that, but now I remember. My grandma always kept me away from my mean grandfather when he was in his grouchy moods. My grandma always kept me safe from my grouchy grandpa Edward.

My grandma was always nice to me, and my grandma always loved my hair. Oh! She did. I forgot! My grandma always loved my hair. She loved my light blonde hair when I was a little girl, and she loved my strawberry blonde hair when I was a bit older. It's funny how I forgot that, but now I remember. My grandma loved my hair.

After my baths my grandma would sit me in front of her gold and mahogany vanity and she would brush my hair dry. It seemed like hours would pass while she told me stories about when she was a little girl. She told me funny, amazing stories while brushing my pretty blonde hair for hours, until it was dry.

Maybe that's why I insist on keeping it long? I don't know, but I can't believe I forgot that. I can't believe I forgot my grandma loved my hair and I can't believe I forgot how many hours she put into brushing my hair dry when I was little.