own joke. Sam hits me in the arm for my punishment.
“Ha ha ,” Sam
sarcastically chuckles. “Ah hell, I’d be happy with some extra arms, two of
them at least.”
I laugh more and shake my head.
“What? What’s with the shaking of the head thing?”
“Only you would want to make a clone of
yourself so you can get more work done.”
“What, it’s a perfectly good use for a
clone. It’s much better than an organ
donor I would think.” I continue to laugh and she starts to smile.
“That’s true, but most people would get a clone
so they don’t have to do work, not so they can do more.” I’m can’t stop
laughing and Sam starts giggling.
“Then I’ll just take the limbs.” I laugh even
harder at the mental image of her with four arms. Sam chuckles as well.
Present Day
This can’t really be Sam.
It just can’t.
Sam is a lively girl. Someone once asked me if she ever sat still,
I had to reply with “the world would stop spinning if she were to stop.” She’s always laughing and carrying on with
things.
Seeing her like this is more than I can bear. She’s too still and peaceful.
She looks like a corpse being forced to live on
with machines.
I realize I’m staring at her, but I can’t really
help it. I’m enthralled by her sleeping
figure and, though it’s hard, I can tell it’s Sam in
that bed. The medical equipment —
respirator and nasal tubes — cover most of her face, but I can tell it’s
her.
I can always tell when it’s her.
The respirator rises and falls with her chest and
I catch myself following the same rhythm. The heart monitor beeps loudly and I jump, panicking a little that it
might mean something bad.
Her right arm looks like scaffolding has sprouted
from it. It’s no longer black, but it is
in a cast with metal poles and cords weaving in and out of it. Her arm must have been worse off than mine
was. Of course it is – she got the full
brunt of the impact. I can feel the fire
start to ignite as I think about the accident. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I try to banish the thoughts. Getting mad is not a good idea right
now. I’m here to visit Sam, not the
past.
I stop breathing when I reach the lower half of
the bed.
The blankets fall unnaturally around that
area. Sam is short, but I guess about
average for a girl her age. She comes to
just below my chin. I think it’s the
perfect height.
Reality hits me.
Sam will never again run and jump, climb trees, or
play the sports she loves so much. She
loves track and spends a lot of time on the track trying to shave that last
second off her time. Sam used to play
football as a kicker for the team; she is the first girl to do that. She even got in a couple of tackles.
But that’s all over now.
Sam’s legs are gone.
Both of them.
I wheel myself closer, taking care not to mess up
all the wires and tubes attached to her body. I can see the catheter snaking its way from under the blankets to under
the bed. There’s an IV in her arm. I
decide to go to the side with the IV since it doesn’t have the cast in the
way.
I notice more things as I get closer to her. Gauze wraps her head and a skullcap covers
it. Her eyes are closed, but unmoving
and sunken somewhat into her head. She’s
pale to the point of almost matching the sheets. She’s not moving — in fact, her chest going
up and down is her only movement. Sam’s
hair is gone. I can’t see any sticking out of the skullcap. She used to have long and pretty auburn hair.
She looks peaceful, serene — dead.
Seeing her here, like this, I can hardly believe
it. The proof is looking me in the face,
but I still can’t really acknowledge it. I reach up and slowly trace my finger along her cheek. Sam used to wiggle and squirm when I did
that. She said it tickled. Now, she
doesn’t so much as flinch at the contact and her skin
is cold.
“Ha ha ,” Sam
sarcastically chuckles. “Ah hell, I’d be happy with some extra arms, two of
them at least.”
I laugh more and shake my head.
“What? What’s with the shaking of the head thing?”
“Only you would want to make a clone of
yourself so you can get more work done.”
“What, it’s a perfectly good use for a
clone. It’s much better than an organ
donor I would think.” I continue to laugh and she starts to smile.
“That’s true, but most people would get a clone
so they don’t have to do work, not so they can do more.” I’m can’t stop
laughing and Sam starts giggling.
“Then I’ll just take the limbs.” I laugh even
harder at the mental image of her with four arms. Sam chuckles as well.
Present Day
This can’t really be Sam.
It just can’t.
Sam is a lively girl. Someone once asked me if she ever sat still,
I had to reply with “the world would stop spinning if she were to stop.” She’s always laughing and carrying on with
things.
Seeing her like this is more than I can bear. She’s too still and peaceful.
She looks like a corpse being forced to live on
with machines.
I realize I’m staring at her, but I can’t really
help it. I’m enthralled by her sleeping
figure and, though it’s hard, I can tell it’s Sam in
that bed. The medical equipment —
respirator and nasal tubes — cover most of her face, but I can tell it’s
her.
I can always tell when it’s her.
The respirator rises and falls with her chest and
I catch myself following the same rhythm. The heart monitor beeps loudly and I jump, panicking a little that it
might mean something bad.
Her right arm looks like scaffolding has sprouted
from it. It’s no longer black, but it is
in a cast with metal poles and cords weaving in and out of it. Her arm must have been worse off than mine
was. Of course it is – she got the full
brunt of the impact. I can feel the fire
start to ignite as I think about the accident. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I try to banish the thoughts. Getting mad is not a good idea right
now. I’m here to visit Sam, not the
past.
I stop breathing when I reach the lower half of
the bed.
The blankets fall unnaturally around that
area. Sam is short, but I guess about
average for a girl her age. She comes to
just below my chin. I think it’s the
perfect height.
Reality hits me.
Sam will never again run and jump, climb trees, or
play the sports she loves so much. She
loves track and spends a lot of time on the track trying to shave that last
second off her time. Sam used to play
football as a kicker for the team; she is the first girl to do that. She even got in a couple of tackles.
But that’s all over now.
Sam’s legs are gone.
Both of them.
I wheel myself closer, taking care not to mess up
all the wires and tubes attached to her body. I can see the catheter snaking its way from under the blankets to under
the bed. There’s an IV in her arm. I
decide to go to the side with the IV since it doesn’t have the cast in the
way.
I notice more things as I get closer to her. Gauze wraps her head and a skullcap covers
it. Her eyes are closed, but unmoving
and sunken somewhat into her head. She’s
pale to the point of almost matching the sheets. She’s not moving — in fact, her chest going
up and down is her only movement. Sam’s
hair is gone. I can’t see any sticking out of the skullcap. She used to have long and pretty auburn hair.
She looks peaceful, serene — dead.
Seeing her here, like this, I can hardly believe
it. The proof is looking me in the face,
but I still can’t really acknowledge it. I reach up and slowly trace my finger along her cheek. Sam used to wiggle and squirm when I did
that. She said it tickled. Now, she
doesn’t so much as flinch at the contact and her skin
is cold.
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