He felt laughter rise up in his throat. "Machines that had been neccesary
to keep him alive during his coma were now shut off. They were pushed off to the side unused, but ready. They were no longer
his crutches to lean on, or enemies to fight off. His laughter bounced off the white walls of the room,
and returned to him in an unrecognizable voice. A timid tap on his shoulder brought his attention to a
small blonde girl of about five years old at his bedside.
She stood at what would have been a little more than half his height, had he been able to stand.
There was something familiar about her, if only there was something familiar about him. The one time
he had bothered to glimpse in the mirror, he had been so repulsed by the ugly scars that he forgot all
that he had seen. He did wonder what his parents looked like, and what his past held. He felt a
stronger tap and said, "What do you want?"
A hurt look filled the girl's eyes. "They.....they wouldn't let me see you. I snuck in. Why were you
laughing?"
Youth. Innocence. "Because I'm paralyzed from the waist down. Because I don't remember who I
am. Because I'm going to die soon."
The young girl's aqua-colored eyes shimmered with the beginnings of tears. She pulled something
from the pocket of her bright yellow jumper. "You're brave to laugh at that. I'd be really scared.
Here, I made this for you. Mommy taught me how to print while you were asleep. Boy, you must
have been tired."
The coma. There is nothing as horrible as knowing what is going on around you while everyone
thinks you can't hear it all. Unless you don't remember your life. He didn't remember much at all. He
glanced down at what the girl was handing him. It was a tiny red heart made out of construction
paper. So small a gesture. On it were the words, I love you. The printing was far from neat, and
though when he first came out of his coma, he could not remember how to read, it, along with most
of his other "school" skills had come back. He glanced at the girl, then back at the heart. The color
sparked memories of jellybeans. It quickly faded in with the other meaningless memories. The little
girl pulled something else from her jumper. A small box. She handed it to him and said, "Open this
when you want to feel better. I love you."
The little girl climbed up on the bed, kissed his cheek, climbed down, and retreated out the door with
a little wave of her small hand. He stared out the door for a few minutes, then looked at the box in
his hands. It wasn't so much a box as a plastic piano. He wound a knob on the back, and it began to
play. Short notes of music. The song it played brought back memories of it's own creation. He
remembered what the little girl had said. She claimed to love him. Was it possible? He didn't know
love, or did he? A few more memories flooded his mind. A girl of about seventeen years old.
Walking into a party. A golden ring. At this point, he had all but given up on memories like this, not
knowing if they were his own, or some part of an episode of a television show. A creak of the door
brought his attention to a familiar figure in the doorway. The woman had been there before. He didn't
know who she was, he had never bothered to ask. She sat down in a chair by his bed and asked,
"Have you remembered anything else?"
He spoke up. "Yeah. A little bit. A ring, a party, a girl. That's about it. Oh yeah, jellybeans. By the
way, who are you?"
The woman took his hand. "Honey, I'm your mother. This girl, did she have brown hair, and blue
eyes?"
The woman's face showed that yes was not the answer he was looking for. And yet, it was the
answer. He told his mother just that and asked, "Who was she to me?"
The woman's face hardened as she spoke bitter words. "She was your fiance. She convinced you that
she was pregnant, and, being the good, Christian boy you are, you asked her to
marry you. You should
have asked someone you were in love with. What about Kaitlyn? She had such pretty blonde
hair...."
That word love again. What did it mean? As the woman spoke of Kaitlyn, another memory entered
his mind. This time a girl of about nineteen, only she was with somebody. He knew it wasn't him,
because he could never see himself in these memories. But it was someone who looked very familiar,
and very similar to himslef. He shook off the thought, but more came. Each one more disturbing than
the previous one. His memory came crashing back like his life had gone crashing down.
He was twenty year-old Jordan Taylor Hanson. He had fallen in love with a girl from the "wrong side
of the tracks". To lead his parents away from the fact that he had been dating her, he had dated
Kaitlyn Hines. Kaitlyn quickly dropped him for his brother Zachary. Melissa, his one true love, had
been raped on her way home one night. When she went to the police about it, not much was done.
She had been tested for many diseases, as well as pregnancy. She was found to be pregnant, but
luckily had no diseases. She would have to be tested every six months or so for HIV, though. She
had decided against abortion immediately. Then, he had decided to ask for her hand in marriage.
When he finally did, she declined. His parents had found out, and had threatened her. Three months
later, he had invited her to a party. She came, or so she said, to say good-bye. They had fun, and
then because it was raining, he had offered her a ride home. She had walked to the party, so she
agreed. When he had pulled out into an intersection, his car was hit head-on. At that point, his
memories stopped coming, but his thoughts continued. He had loved Melissa Anderson. He still did.
Her's was the only love that he knew. He did know what love was. But he had been told by his
parents that he didn't know.
He had been taught from birth to love his parents, God, the Earth, all those who inhabited the Earth,
his religion, and his music. As he fell in love with Melissa, he denied it because of the world's
insistance that youth cannot love because it is youth. Because of that, he began to lose his belief in
love. He ostracized himself from everything he had loved. His family, his friends, his religion, and his
music. He had stopped caring for everything but Melissa, and she had denied her love for him.
His thoughts began to jumble as his mother's words cut through. "Your brothers were so worried
about you."
At the time, he could care less. He interrupted, "Mom, what is today?"
She glanced at her watch, "October nineteenth, two-thousand-three. Why?"
He had been in a coma for at least eight months. Melissa had been almost four moths pregnant.
"Mom, when did Melissa have the baby?"
His mother's lips formed a scowl with the presence of a cruel smile half-hidden underneath it as she
said, "Melissa died in the accident. Served her right the way she threw herself at you. So unlike
Kaitlyn."
He tried his best to remain calm as he spoke, but it didn't work. "She didn't throw herself at anyone,
and certainly not me, so how did she deserve to die, especially while pregnant? Did she deserve it
because I loved her? And don't say I don't know what love is, because then I can easily say that I
don't know if I love you. At the moment, I'm beginning to believe that I don't love you. My memory
has obviously come back, hasn't it? And as for your beloved Kaitlyn, she's probably having
unprotected sex with Zac right now. I know for a fact that she threw herself at him. Now, get out of
here."
His mother stood and proclaimed, "Fine. Have it your way. You obviously did with Melissa. So glad
your memory has come back."
Now there was no reason to remain calm as he shouted, "Do you even know all the details? Melissa
was raped! And don't think that it was where she lived, because there, the people are decent. It
happened in our neighborhood. Everything you have ever said about her has been horrid. You didn't
even give her a chance. If I could move my damn legs, I'd be trying to kill you, and after I succeded
in that, I would kill myself. Hope you're happy, now get out!"
A look of horror crossed her face as she realized what she had done. She got her things and
retreated out of the room, tears just beginning to form shiny trails down her cheeks. He lay back
against his hands, and drifted into a restful sleep. The next morning, he was found dead due to heart
failure. Could heart break really cause death? Or could it be that with no one left to love, he could
leave the world behind? Whatever happened, the world took note. Youth and true love go hand in
hand, and if one is denied the other, except for a small handful of cases, disaster will result. Believe in
love for as long as possible, for it can make or break your life.
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