ThE
COMA ZONE
The Coma Zone
On most days things normally go in circles in my mind and today is no different. I start off so certain of something, so very sure, before a little voice in the back of my mind makes me stumble. At that point I cannot help but begin to doubt my reasoning. And just when I am about to lose belief completely, I shake my head in disbelief and start to be sure of it all again. “Hey, don't you think you've had enough?” the bartender says. I ignore him. “Another Remy and pineapple, this time no ice, no pineapple.” The bartender looks at me with a smirk. “Rough night eh?” I don't respond, staring at nothing in particular. Some random punk walks over to me, he is about a gram away from obesity. He is holding a cheap can of beer in his hand. “Hey there! What's a pretty thing like you doing in a joint like this?” I don't pay him any mind or justify his existence by looking in his direction. “If you wanna....” I down my Remy in one go and before he can finish his sentence, I stick my head in his face and press my lips onto his. Something within me snaps and that feeling when you want to be someone else for a change takes hold of me. This fella is a grotesque loser who is desperate for some form of physical contact with a woman. The kiss lasts for five seconds then I bite down hard on his bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to turn his short-lived pleasure into a nightmare. “Ayeeeeiiiiiii!” he screams. I pull away and twist my head in a deranged way, giving the impression that I'm one rabid minx. The old person I was has vanished within the last few moments. The look of horror on this guy's face betrays a special kind of confusion: he looks half terrified, half embarrassed and humbled. I walk towards the exit. I can feel their stunned eyes glued to my back. It is the beginning of winter, December 2001, and the view from the Good Dog Bar is rather reminiscent of a Hallmark holiday greeting card. The night seems so tranquil, so inviting. Not wanting to be in this bar any longer, I walk out. Maybe I too might have some peace for a change. Hopefully the coming New Year will be a new beginning for me. I walk further along the streets of Byberry, my neighborhood, not going anywhere in particular. That inviting and peaceful feeling that the night portrayed only moments ago starts to change. It is almost as if my presence has disturbed its rest and I have now incurred its wrath. The snow falls heavier than before, covering my vision like a wedding veil. The cold harsh wind whips my body as I trudge through the snow. There was a time in my life – a very short time – when on a night like this I would be resting in the arms of the man I love. 11
Monique Bonnick
Dutch Ferguson was the love of my life and still is. I say he is the love of my life because all the wrongs seemed so right when we were together. Working in a diner felt like I was working in a five-star hotel. Living in one of the most derelict parts of Philadelphia was like going home to a mansion in Beverly Hills. I felt so safe with him, I had no worries, no fears. Seeing him yesterday, seeing them together at the place that was once our special place, hurt deeper than when he told me it was over between us. Before I met Dutch I did not have many friends and even then I always felt like I never knew whom to trust, not at first. I normally would let my guard down and hope for the best, and even when I got hurt or let down I would simply continue to trust. It takes a lot and a long time to break that trust down. So after seeing him and my supposed best friend together, I do not know if I can go back to thinking or feeling that way. It’s different now. It's funny how the tables have turned. Only three months ago I had everything, I had Dutch. And now here I am wandering the streets at 2 a.m., drinking myself to an early grave and kissing strange men. Those words that I read somewhere once, not sure if they were from a book or the Bible, are clearer than ever in my head: And if I have faith enough to move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. The words bring a sense of fear racing through my heart. I start to run and although the snow is almost up to my ankles it feels like I'm running through a field on a hot sunny day. Tears run down my cheeks like melting icicles. I want to feel love again, I want the life I have always dreamed of. What if I run to Dutch and I tell him I still love him deeply, I still want us? Maybe if he knows that I forgive him for tearing us apart, he will finally realize that he made a mistake. And he will understand that I am the one for him, I am the one who truly loves him. I glance back, once, twice, to see if anyone is behind me. My legs betray me. I slip on something and feel my body crashing into the snow. I look to the sky, a zillion snowflakes softly drifting downward. A zillion flakes, all alike and yet completely individual. Breathing heavily, I watch the snowflakes until they transform into a host of human souls that disappear as they hit the ground. I am so tired of this, tired of living this life that only comes with losses and disappointments. I listen for any kind of sound, only to hear an echo of nothingness. Suddenly my surroundings begin to change. It isn't so dark anymore and various shapes are appearing around me. The shapes look like palm trees, birds flying high in the sky. A sense of calm and happiness sweeps over me: there is something else beyond the darkness. I reach my hands out, I want to go to this place, I want to have it all again. It's like a paradise, so enchanting, so... -------
The Coma Zone
22
I see everyone around me smiling. My parents, the people I work with, strangers. All laughing away like they have no care in the world. I wish I could be like them, even if just for a day. I have no idea how long I lay in the snow two nights ago, but if it wasn't for that stranger who helped me onto my feet, I would have preferred to stay there and freeze for however long it would take to numb my woes. “Jewel is the bacon ready yet?” Mr Malone hollers across the busy kitchen. I pretend not to hear him. It is 6 a.m. Monday morning and the diner is already packed with cold and hungry people. Construction workers, bankers, nurses. Everyone comes here to the Morning Glory Diner for some help to start off their day. I turn over the bacon slowly. It has been happening for a while now: my clothes do not fit me anymore, even the colour of my skin is an unusual shade. I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Mr Malone. He gestures for me to follow him away from the grill. “Jewel, look,” he exhales, pushing the air out of his nostrils in a frustrated and disappointed manner that suggests what he's about to say may hurt my feelings but still needs to be said. “I notice you've been moping around here like somebody stole your soul. I don't know what is happening with you, but I'm trying to run a business here. So I'm giving you a warning to step your game up and try to be professional even when something is bothering you. You haven't been here long but I hope you want to be.” I glance at him for a brief moment without saying a word. I hold my head down and I try to –––––––––– shrug off my melancholy mood, but the tears welling up in my eyes emerge and begin their descent down my cheeks. Sometimes you may not notice or care how others see you – stress can suffocate all reasoning and rob you of your vigor and will to live. Lately, even breathing has been arduous and feels like a workout. “Right. I take it that your silence means we both agree.” He stretches out his arms and holds both my shoulders, rubs them a little and then walks away. The others in the kitchen pretend to look busier than usual as my humiliation concludes. They knew I had it coming, that I am sure. I walk back to the grill without saying a word and try to suppress my obvious feelings of embarrassment. Lifting my feet off the melting snow, I pull my knees closer and wrap my hands around my shins. The bus is scheduled to arrive in one minute but if it was on time I would be able to see it by now. No matter, with the mood I'm in I will enjoy waiting. Heavy thunder cracks, rumbles and pounds, accompanied by bright and sharp streaks of lightning. It is as if something huge above has shortcircuited and the twisted threads of electricity that illuminate the sky signal how the behemoth of a device up there no longer works. I look at my watch. The evening is fast approaching and nearly ten minutes have passed, but still no bus. A few juggernaut trucks rumble along steadily, making 33
Monique Bonnick
everything vibrate and creating a chilly breeze that makes me shiver. Gritting my teeth, I imagine throwing myself in front of one them, but then suddenly another earth-shaking drumroll of thunder sounds, as if the sky is going to cave in. White misty air rises from my mouth and I feel my body temperature dropping. After the day I've had I just want to get home and sleep away my grief. A bus arrives and stops no more than a few metres away from me. But it is not my bus. I give up and decide to walk home after waiting for what feels like forever. I am walking along Lombard Street when from the corner of my eye I see the side view of a tall guy in Safian & Rudolph Jewellers. It's only been four days since I last saw him, but it’s felt a lot longer. My heart feels like it is about to leap out of my chest. I look down at my shaking hands, my whole body is shivering now. This is the opportunity I have been waiting for, to tell him the things I did not get to say when he broke things off. Even though the air is cold, seeing him heats up my body with passion. Before I can make my way into the store I see Tracey diving into his arms. Where did she come from? She was not there a minute ago. And why is she smiling so much? She stretches out her left hand; she and Dutch embrace and kiss like soul mates. She is joyous and smitten as she wraps her hands around his neck again. I feel like a hundred tiny daggers are pricking me in my chest. My heart feels mortally wounded and my breathing gets shallow and weak. My head is spinning with different thoughts, things that I never used to think. Dutch has proposed to her. Two years, and in the end I got a broken heart. Three months and Tracey gets an engagement ring on her finger. If there is an easy way to die right now, I'll take it. It is finally over. All the months, days, minutes of loving him, wanting him will never happen. I–––––––––– can't seem to remember where I am or what day it is. I walk to the end of Lombard Street leaving the life I have always wanted behind.
Do you ever get that feeling when all you want to do is cry? Just cry your heart out and hope LATE SEPTEMBER, 2008 that the pain and sadness washes away with the tears and all the hopelessness and despair drains from your body? Even though, deep down, you have that gut feeling that the problems will still be there? What makes that feeling even worse is when you can't cry. No matter how much you want to cry, you can't. Seeing Dutch and Tracey today made me realize that I have been chasing after something that has long been lost. If anything, tonight is the night I do not want to think of anything, I want to clear my mind and think of nothing. I am so tired of it all, so tired of living a lie. It's like all my aspirations, dreams and hopes have been lost in a deep dark grim lifeless black hole that has pulled in and snuffed out the good memories I had left. Right now I'm gasping, struggling, and angry with myself, I feel like a desperate fool, like a walking dead brittle husk of a life. I'm back home again now and it's suffocating. My one-bedroom apartment is warm and cozy but a lonely place to be sometimes. I normally would lose myself by reading one of my many books and The Coma Zone
44
escaping this reality for a time. Maybe that’s it. I will sit and meditate for a while and clear my mind of hurt and woes. I have meditated before in the past, but it has been some time since. Lately I have also discovered ganja tea as a way of slipping away from tangible matters and unpleasant feelings. I'm hungry and fatigued from struggling with my emotions but I refuse to eat anything. I pour myself a tall glass of water, and then another one, but my heart is still beating fast. I'm really stressed out. Why me, why have I let myself become this way? I put the kettle on and take the last of my hidden ganja stash from under my mattress. There is enough for two good cups of tea but today I will use it all in one cup. I unplug the phone and mute the intercom system, I really don't want to see or talk to anyone. The kettle cuts off, the water is boiled but I let it sit for a while, it would be too hot to use to brew the tea right now. In the meantime I stare through my netted curtains down at the cold snow-covered streets and across into my local park. The snow is falling once again as the tears roll down my cheeks. I thought I was tougher than this but I can't help myself: I long to be with a good man who will embrace me in his arms and make the most passionate love to me. I stand motionless and trancelike for a few minutes before making my way back to the kitchen to make the tea. I set my thermostat to maintain a nice warm temperature of 75 degrees, then I change out of my street clothes into my thick cotton bathrobe. I turn off all the lights in the house and light up a slow-burning candle that I place on top of my coffee table in the middle of my living room. Then I sit for a while drinking the tea, stirring a little to make sure the almond milk infuses with the hot liquid. I look at the digital clock on the wall, which reads 19:42 and shows a room temperature of 71 degrees. I then sit on my rug with my legs crossed, staring at the candle’s steady flame. I begin thinking of less and less as my mind calms and the aches I have been experiencing in my body ease off a little. The effects of the tea are kicking in sooner than usual and seem to enhance my meditation – I have never tried both at the same time before. I journey further into a tranquil state. I can feel my heartbeat slowing and slowing… –––––––––– -------
It is a day of days: it is not summer hot or winter cold, it is not humid or breezy, it is like the weather is balanced perfectly between two more potently decisive days. Byberry, Philadelphia has the kind of scenery that buffs and polishes the eyes of those who are privileged enough to see it. This place can make a person abandon their psychological baggage for a spell so they can bask in its splendour. You have to be here to fully comprehend and appreciate it. Strolling along the local path, I have again strayed off the trail that accompanies the River Twinning, an admittedly common occurrence in my gallivants. Rays of sunlight sharpen every detail and intricate marvel that can be 55
Monique Bonnick
seen in the surroundings. The reds look remarkably deep, the vibrant yellows resemble the bright glow of a firefly, the varying shades of blue show a healthy sky and make a promise to mankind that calm and pleasant weather will be maintained. My name is Jewel Ki Winters. I would describe myself as a shy yet friendly person. I always say that after passing the age of twenty-one I will not tell anyone my right age. But since I always get compliments on how young I look, just this once I will say it: I am twenty-five years old. My mother is Korean and my father is Afro-American and as far as I can remember I have never met anyone with a similar background. I guess that makes me unique in my neighborhood. My long black midnight hair is above my waist now, I have been growing it ever since I was eleven years old. From running and my weekly yoga classes, my physique is muscular in all the right places, especially my lean long legs, or so I have been told. Pausing momentarily to hear the melodious singing of a red-eyed vireo, I stoop to pick a small bunch of the most exquisite flowers I have ever seen, powder pink to match my strapless silky summer dress. I take in all that’s around me. Nothing is out of place. So colourful are my thoughts right now, colourful and happy. A gentle breeze whispers past, animating the trees and tall grass, carrying along with it the scent of various plants and flowers. I tilt my head back, close my eyes and thank the heavens for this perfect day. Today is an extraordinary day. Winter has long passed but traces of its footsteps are still noticeable on certain parts of Ellemera Road. At noon on these bright days the sun looks down smiling at the soil it seeks to bless with its life-giving rays. Tall blades of grass reach out of the earth, stretching upward their slender and ribbon-like shapes as if to thank the unknown source who has given them life. My home is situated right on top of a hill, surrounded by greenery on all sides. It is my own secluded slice of paradise. Though newly decorated to my liking, certain parts of the house still have Grandma’s touch to them. I remember sitting on the front porch as a young girl and how the wind was always warm. I remember when it added to the warmth of her arms wrapped around me. From my bedroom window the view outside is bursting with Creation. All around me the leaves of the poplar and cottonwood trees are spinning and dancing in the gentle breeze, creating a sound almost like raindrops. The sky looks as if someone has taken a piece of white chalk and written a message in some unknown language clear across a blue chalkboard. So many birds are singing and chattering, telling each other stories. I close my eyes and inhale the pleasant smells: the sweetness of the honeysuckle growing on the trellis by the front porch, the invigorating aroma of wildflowers growing along the road at the side of the house. A distant voice whispers in my ear but I ignore it. The voice speaks again, this time louder. I open my eyes and time seems to stand still. I stop breathing for what seems like a The Coma Zone
66
whole minute while my senses feast on this shining knight without armor. I look around but there is no one else in sight, just this bizarre but intoxicating specimen of a man working up a sweat. Watching him jump rope is a turn-on, his washboard abs tense up after every hop. He is slim, tight and veiny, just the way I like my men. My gaze eventually alerts him to my presence. Our eyes meet whilst he is in a horse stance. He gives me a look that stops my breath. He winks at me and I bite my bottom lip. I perk up with his gesture, it’s like chemistry one on one. It seems like love at first sight or more likely lust, but I'll take what I can get for now. Breathless, tongue-tied and magnetized by the fullness of his lips and his big bright eyes, I’m left weak-kneed. For the first time ever my body is quivering with sexual electricity that has sparked a feral desire for intimacy; his fixed gaze has sent my imagination into hyperactive overdrive. In my head all I can think at that moment is how much I want to walk outside naked and sit in front of him. He makes me so horny and naughty and I think he knows it. I say his name out slowly, just above a whisper. “Otis.” I like the way it sounds out loud. We met a week ago at Cafe des Amis. I was feeling a little buzzed that late afternoon when someone sat beside me. I turned to look at the person. He was young but confident, looking totally alpha in a dark gray expensive-looking suit and crocodile-skin shoes. “A glass of Hennessy please,” he gave a brief nod to the bartender. He had jet-black curly hair. As if feeling my gaze on him, he turned and our eyes met. “Hello there.” He had a Latin-influenced accent. “Hi,” I smiled at him. “Well, you're beautiful.” He glanced at my legs, which were showing because I was wearing a short black strapless dress. He smiled and looked into my eyes. “What's your name?” “Jewel,” I answered. “Yours?” “I'm Otis, Otis Gamboa,” he said before taking a sip of his Hennessy. That day we talked like we were long-lost friends. He had a way of making me tell him things I would never have said to anyone on meeting them for the first time. I didn't have any illusions of myself that I looked seductive or beautiful or anything, really, but I knew that he saw me differently. I just knew it. He finishes his workout, but before he walks away I am rewarded. He catches my eyes wandering over his body, my smile revealing a little too much. I surely look like a grinning fool ready for the asylum, but Otis grins too, in a smoldering, bad-boy kind of way. I fumble haphazardly through the remains of the day, half delirious and half elated in a way I cannot put into 77
Monique Bonnick
words. I am meeting Otis for an early dinner at the cozy little Italian restaurant at the end of Lombard Street. This is our third meeting but in so many ways it feels like I've known him for a long time. It is almost four in the afternoon, yet it seems awfully quiet for this time of day. I look in my wardrobe to see what I can wear. There are so many options to choose from that it is difficult to decide. A little black dress perhaps? No, he has seen me in black already. I trail my hand along the line of dresses; nothing seems to match my flirty mood. My red dress: I completely forgot that I had purchased it a few days ago. I slip into the thinstrap floor-length dress and I have to say I'm even more pleased now with the way it hugs my body. My midnight long hair hangs loose around my shoulders. It fits perfectly with my deep rosy red lipstick. As I step outside into the cool evening breeze, I almost lose my balance. It seems as if I have stepped into another world. Normally the street ahead from my house is busy with people being busy, but now the whole street seems dead, like a ghost town. It's silent, devoid of life. I can only hear the sound of my thoughts. Maybe something happened and everyone had to evacuate the area. But I did not hear any screams, cries, nothing. So where is everyone? From what was a noisy, busy, vibrant neighborhood, everything now is so still. I begin to walk slowly down my street, constantly looking around to find some movement. I walk across the local park. The swings are swaying timidly in the wind as if someone or something was on them, but still no signs of life. I hear the faint sound of footsteps behind me, and because I have not seen or heard anything for at least ten minutes now, I am extremely anxious. I wait as the sound gets closer and closer. “Jewel, there you are. Why do you look so scared? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.” Otis’ arms are outstretched towards me. I am relieved to see him, but I am still confused as to why everyone has suddenly disappeared. “Otis thank God you’re here. What is going on? Where is everyone?” “Jewel, darling, calm down. What are you talking about? Everything seems normal to me.” I look at him as if he has just made a joke but I don't find it funny. “Come on, let's go and have a fun evening. You’re worrying over nothing. Besides, you have your knight with you who will protect you from all harm,” he says, pulling me into his arms. I’ve forgotten how charming he can be. But I still think it is very strange how it’s just the two of us standing in the middle of the street, without a single other living thing in sight. –––––––––– ------The Coma Zone
88
I am falling... falling... and falling further. I don't know what happened, but I am just falling deeper and deeper. There seems to be no end. But I am really enjoying this fall. No ordinary woman with warm blood would not. Oh, such a wondrous feeling... I open my eyes and for a moment I am not aware of my surroundings. Then I see his bright eyes and well-structured face. The high cheekbones that suggest cheekiness when he smiles. And those luscious lips I just kissed. I look up at the handsome man, my hands playing with his dark hair. He smiles, then stoops down and steals another kiss. I certainly do not hesitate. Willingly, I part my lips and let his warm lips touch mine. I swear that just being in this man's arms is heaven. Otis and I enter the park. From its entrance the lawn spreads to rest beneath several weeping willows, giant in size but gentle in nature, before tiptoeing down to the lake. A mass of green tendrils swings gently from each tree, like mermaid hair. The calm water is gray blue, a shade lighter than the heron that silently beats its wings to lift itself up and then over the water in a slow lullaby of a motion. People stroll the lawn and the water's edge in pairs, some in small family groups. Men row children in painted boats in circles while mothers open blankets and baskets. The spaces between gatherings are cushions of comfort. They form a community by sharing the park together. The park has its usual scenery but I am still bewildered as to why it was abandoned only a day ago. Why would everything appear so normal one day and not the following day? Why did that day feel and look like I did not belong here and why did Otis seem so calm and unconcerned about the whole thing? “Let's take a walk, I want to show you my favourite spot as a little girl.” We walk hand in hand, well, more like me skipping and dragging him along. We arrive at a little spot along a winding trail next to the river where a huge rock is covered with bushes. “We are here! This is where I would come and try to catch fish with my hands. Sometimes I would also skip stones on the river, it was like magic,” I say with a giggle. “It sounds to me you had an amazing childhood and were quite a little adventurer.” “It was, I would sit here for hours and just daydream. Come on, I want to show you something else.” We walk past several wild fruit trees, grape vines, a few squirrels that are gathering nuts, and even a couple of hen turkeys. “This tree here was struck by lightning many years ago before I was even born. It had spilt almost into two complete pieces but somehow it continued to grow to be over a hundred feet tall, isn't it amazing,” I say staring into his eyes. “It is, but not as amazing as you.” I love how when I say something he can turn it around and make it all about me. I cannot 99
Monique Bonnick
help but snuggle further into his arms. I want to stay in them forever. I feel so safe, so secure. I want nothing more than to just lay my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “Shall we go for a stroll along the path?” Otis asks sweetly. I melt when I hear his endearing tone. “Sure, let’s go.” Dark clouds suddenly colour the sky a mysterious shade. It is as if the night has come to visit the day uninvited. That's odd; only seconds ago we were surrounded with nothing but warmth and brightness. I look at my watch, thinking that we must have miscalculated the time. But the hands of my watch are moving anti-clockwise. It is the most bizarre thing I have ever seen. I look to Otis to see if he too is witnessing what is happening around us. He looks different. It is as if he is next to me, close to me but not really next to me. He is drifting away from me, as if some sort of force is pulling him away. I reach my hand out to him to grab his hand, but I can't. His mouth is moving but unexpected deafness has fallen upon me. I want to scream but I cannot. I am afraid, afraid of seeing what else is going to happen. A sudden vibration below my feet. I look down. The earth is shaking, separating, I feel dizzy. Darkness floods my vision. I try to keep my eyes open but my eyelids feel heavy and come down like store shutters, squeezing out my line of sight. “Otis help me, Ot-” Darkness. –––––––––– -------
“Jewel.” A soft voice echoes in my head. “Jewel, you need to wake up now,” whispers this soothing voice. I draw myself slowly out of what seems to be a realm of fantasy-laden sleep into a more grounded reality. Lying perfectly still on my back, my head feels heavier than normal, my whole body aches. I try to move but it feels like something extremely heavy is resting on top of me. I try to open my eyes but my lids remain shut. I make another attempt. I can't seem to make out what's in front of me. All of a sudden light gushes through a window, illuminating my surroundings. I can hear movements somewhere around me. A feeling of both stiffness and weightlessness engulfs me. Emotions I have never felt before course through me, and my head feels like it's on fire. A strange and unknown feeling forms in my stomach as I stare ahead, trying to take in some momentous piece of information that my brain just cannot swallow. I part my lips to speak, but the dryness in my throat has weakened my voice. A prickling sensation scratches in my throat. Trying to regain my bearings by gathering all the strength I have within me, I look around, but there is no one. There is not much I can see in the room except for The Coma Zone
10 10
white walls, a plain gray threadbare rug placed in front of my bed and a lone antique-looking chair in the corner by the window. I look to my left to see a bleeping machine with an electric screen and a hook leading up to my arm. Confused and definitely disoriented I try to sit up in my bed. Sharp pain shoots through my entire body like electricity. Have I been kidnapped? Where am I? What am I doing here? Maybe if I try to stand I will be able to see more, to learn more. I place my right leg down first. Eventually I manage to get both feet down by the side of the bed, flat on the cold floor. Dizziness. Everything is spinning, now I cannot tell the difference between wall and floor. I hold on to the bed using both hands for support. But no matter how hard I strain, no matter how hard I look around for clues, for anything, nothing seems to be adding up or making sense. “Where…” The word barely comes out of my mouth when that worrying feeling quickly vanishes, a more fundamental feeling kicking in. Fear. Before I collapse into more darkness. –––––––––– -------
A black cloud covers my face. I can't see anything past it, I just feel emotions. Emotions that flood me like a tidal wave. Anger. Loss. Loneliness. They etch deep into my body and fill me up until I feel like exploding. I feel like curling up and going to sleep and not waking up again. I wash my hair then my body. The water is starting to lose its temperature but my mind commands my body to stay in the bath for a while longer. I slide under the water until it covers my entire body. I open my eyes under the water. I see a shadowy figure coming towards me. I cannot make out its face but its form looks familiar. A hand reaches in and grabs me. “Jewel, what are you doing?” Michael says, pulling me out from underneath the water. I am gasping for air, unable to catch my breath. “I just wann-” “Come on, let's get you out of these wet clothes.” I was in a coma for two weeks and woke up in Kingsbrook Rehabilitation Center. I found it hard to believe when Dr Azoulay first told me, with my parents standing by my side. I was so distraught and hysterical because what I felt, what I saw, was more real to me than everything I see around me now. I asked Dr Azoulay how I ended up in a coma. Apparently I was suffering from depression and with an extra dose of the ganja tea and the meditation, I had passed out for two days before my parents found me. While I am happy to be alive and not dead, the worst part is that Otis, the man who brought 11 11
Monique Bonnick
such happiness to my life, does not even exist. For the first few days after I woke from the coma I cried myself to sleep, wanting nothing but to go back to that world where life seemed so easy, so pleasant. If Michael, my physiotherapist, had not pulled me out of the tub that day, I probably would have drowned as I wanted to die. I could not go through it all again. I just couldn't. The car stops. Something does not seem quite right. I know this place, but I don’t know this place. “Where are we?” “Sweetheart, you are home,” my mother says. I stay quiet for a moment trying to observe my surroundings. We are parked just outside this old Victorian-style house. And it seems that we have also stepped back into the Victorian era. The off-white paint is starting to fade and peel in the corners. Mom and Dad are out first. My mother says they had to give up my one-bedroom apartment as they thought they had lost me for good. I know this house is where I grew up, but coming back here again, it seems so unreal. Like I do not belong here. “Come on Jewel, let's get you inside,” my father says, helping me out of the car. Even the air feels different. Several ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about next door. One of them yells, “Oh look, that girl is out of the crazy house.” All eyes are on me. I just walk towards the front door. The house is more ramshackle the further we go into it. The cabinets are covered in a layer of dust, the bowls and cups have a thin film of scum on them, and every time I step on the antique carpet a cloud of dust erupts. Once again everything is a blur. I do not feel a sense of belonging right now. I feel no connection to this house, but I guess it will take time. The kitchen sink is filled to the brim with dirty dishes soaking in the tiniest bit of water and a little soap. I feel the water, it's ice cold. I can hear my parents whispering in the living room, probably talking about who will take turns to watch my every move. Questions start to run through my mind, questions that I already know the answers to. –––––––––– -------
A knock at the door breaks the silence. “Jewel are you there?” A familiar voice comes from behind the door. “Jewel, it's Dutch, can you open the door please.” I walk to the door slowly. I haven't seen Dutch since I got out of the coma. So this will be our first time seeing each other. “There you are, what took you so long? Oh, were you taking a bath?” The Coma Zone
12 12
“Yes,” I say, wrapping my robe tighter around my body. “Can I come in? I wanted to see how you were doing.” “Uh, let me go put some clothes on.” I dash into my bedroom looking for something to put on quickly. I walk back into the living room to see Dutch sitting on the sofa. He has taken off the thin jacket he was wearing. I quickly put my wet hair in a bun and sit next to him on the sofa. “How are you really doing Jewel? I can't imagine what these last few days must have been for you.” “I'm okay,” I reply. He seems so different and caring. I cannot help but stare into his eyes, eyes that seem so familiar. If I had not already accepted the fact that Otis was not real, I swear it would have been him sitting in front of me. “I wanted to come and see you a few times, but when I phoned your parents said that you weren't in the mood to talk to anyone.” He places his hand on my knee. I flinch from his touch. I didn’t notice his hand before; on his left hand he is wearing a shiny gold band. He is married now. I continue to stare at his hand, asking myself: would we have gotten married? Out of nowhere Dutch takes my face in both his hands and tries to kiss me. “What are you doing?” I shout out, pulling away from him. “I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I must ha-” “Look Dutch, I appreciate you coming over here, but I have moved on and clearly you have as well,” I say, pointing to his wedding band. A shocked and almost hurt expression comes over his face. He picks up his jacket and walks towards the door. “Jewel I hope you’ll get better soon, and I am sorry again,” he says and walks out the door. It's funny how life can surprise you sometimes. Only a few months ago I would have given anything to speak to Dutch again, let alone have him sitting in my living room in front of me. Today I looked at him and felt nothing. I do not hate him, I could never hate him. Those two years we were together made my life at one point bearable. –––––––––– -------
The sudden rain distracts me from Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist. I had always noticed the book but never had any interest in reading it until now, as I feel that my coma experience was a journey and there is another journey I will need to go on again. The rain is coming down harder. A drop at first, then more, the tempo increasing until I cannot hear anything but its soft roar. The steady downpour has a hypnotic effect. I am unable to take my eyes away. I love the rain for the feeling it is giving 13 13
Monique Bonnick
me. Slowly I start to realize that the rain is encouraging my mind to ignore the present and all that's around me while carrying me back, effortlessly back, to those happier times. I like the feeling that is starting to form within my stomach. I feel so relaxed, my mind drifting freely. I can see the memories swelling, growing, until they come into sight. Lightning strikes. The roaring of the thunder causes the glass windows to vibrate really hard. The droplets rolling off now look like tears. I can see Otis through the raindrops: he is in his apartment by his piano, playing a familiar song, our song. I am standing over him resting one hand gently on his shoulders like I normally do. I watch how his fingers flow smoothly, flawlessly along the black and white keys, almost as if his hands belong there. His dark hair falls over his eyes, but it doesn't matter because his eyes are probably closed. The soft pattering of the rain is his accompaniment. The thought of him makes my insides quiver. Otis could make anything sound appealing, and that song was the sweetest I had ever heard. The thought of him and that song‌ each chord brings a sharp sting to my heart. With each phrase, my throat closes a little tighter. The bus stops. I hope I did not miss my stop. I wipe away the lonely tear that is rolling down my cheek. So many moments remind me of Otis, although he is not part of this world, my world. Will I ever get past this? By now the rain has lightened to a drizzle and everything is becoming clearer. A guy is sitting on a small bench at the bus stop next to a lamppost, his hands tucked tightly inside the pockets of his leather jacket. A gray, loose hood hides his face up to his forehead. He is wearing light blue jeans and boots up to his ankles. He's sitting there glaring at the pavement in front of him. It appears his mind is elsewhere and he hasn't even noticed the bus is here. The clouds part and the sun starts to emerge, giving a clearer view of this guy. My eyes soften as I look at him. I generally wouldn't just stare at anyone like that, but he is the only person at the bus stop. I find myself starting to wonder what his story might be. Did he have a similar life experience as me? Did he too once feel loved, truly loved? I can tell he has seen dark things, that is certain. I cannot say why that is the first conclusion I am able to draw. Maybe it's the way he's staring at the pavement like his life depends on it. Of course I do not know to what extent or where he has seen or witnessed these things. Maybe it’s the form in which he is sitting and waiting. He moves his head upwards as if he senses someone is staring at him. Our eyes meet and we hold each other’s gaze. Dizzy spells start to descend upon me, my legs feel weak although I am sitting. A strange feeling that I cannot fully explain is forming within my stomach. It's not a bad feeling, but that warm, bubbly feeling you get when you are sitting by the fire on a cold winter's night. His face looks like a face I have kissed, touched before. But wait, there is something I haven't seen. There is a small scar on the left side of his cheek, it is obvious as it is the only flaw on his face. I still cannot keep my eyes off of him. His lips part as if he is about to say something, but he does not. He just looks in the other direction. Before I can even react the bus is moving away from the bus stop. The Coma Zone
14 14
Someone joins him, it's a woman who looks about the same age as me. She greets him with a kiss, he takes her hand and they walk off. I smile to myself watching the young couple walk down the street. ------–––––––––– The experience of being in a coma has restored my faith that I can be happy again. I appreciate life more now and want to live and grow old. It has taken me some time to figure out, but now I realize that while in my coma I was not there for Otis; he was there for me. There to show me that I have to live. And now I truly believe that there is someone out there waiting for me. It's only a matter of time before we cross paths.
15 15
Monique Bonnick