I woke up with my head on the linoleum floor, my legs curled up tightly. I was using my hands as a pillow.

I had a horrible headache.


I slowly got up and walked over to the bathroom.

As I looked into the mirror, I could see that my face was streaked where the tears had dried.

I had bags under my eyes; I looked exhausted.

I sighed, walked out of the room and collapsed on the couch.

I glanced over at the clock: 6:30 a.m. It was usually still dark when it was 6:30.

I pulled back the curtains. It was still dark.

Somehow, I was happy it was. I felt like I had privacy. No one could look in and see a young girl standing in her window, her heart breaking every second it beat.

I tried to remember when visiting hours began at the hospital. I closed my eyes, concentrating. Finally, the numbers flashed onto my dark eyelids: 8:30.

I opened my eyes and sank onto the couch once again. I still had two hours to go. What was I going to for two hours?

I wanted to watch T.V., to make it look like I was doing something, but the remote was sitting on the chair by the window, and I didn’t want to get up.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, but once I glanced at the clock to see if it was 8:15, it was only 6:45.

To distract myself, I decided to take a nice, long shower.

Once I came out, ready to go to the hospital, I saw it was 8:00. Close enough.

As I walked out of my apartment building, I found it disturbing how brightly the sun was shining.

It was like as if nothing terrible happened just mere hours ago. It got me frustrated.

Many people were rushing past me, acting like it was just another normal day. How could people be so oblivious?

The many lights on Broadway were blinking their greeting, even though the sun’s lights were enough to light New York City.

I walked to the other side of the street and whistled for a cab. Minutes later one began to slow down and pull its way over toward where I was standing.

I told the driver to take me to Memorial Hospital, and with a nod of his head, he took off.

It took about ten minutes to get there. Surprisingly, the morning traffic wasn’t that bad!

I paid the driver and thanked him. With a nod of his head, he was off again.

I walked up to the front desk and asked what room Griffin Klotz was in.

The receptionist asked who I was and I told her that I was Jacqueline Reese and that I was a friend of his.

She nodded. “They told me you were coming today.”

She pointed down the hallway. “Just go down there to room ninety-seven.”

I thanked her, and then slowly walked down the hallway, scanning all the doors for the right room.

Finally, I came to room ninety-seven.

I was hesitant, but knocked anyways.

The door was answered quickly by a tall man in a white coat: the doctor.

“Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing?” the doctor whispered urgently, quickly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

“It’s okay, I’m Jacqueline Reese.”

The doctor stared at me, clearly puzzled.

“I’m one of Griffin’s friends.”

Realization came across his face. “Oh, well, we weren’t expecting you for another,” he checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait until 8:30; hospital rules.”

I sighed and slowly made my way toward the end of the hallway where there was a chair.

Once again, I was waiting. I was so close to seeing him, and yet, I still had to wait.

The minutes seemed to take forever.

It seemed like all I was ever doing anymore was waiting.

As I sat there, I heard the creak of a door open. I looked up.

The doctor was standing in the doorway. He had a sad sort of look on his face.

I didn’t mean to, but I began to run down the hallway.

I just looked into the sad eyes, and then tentatively walked into the room, the doctor following.

It was silent, except for the beeping of the monitors. There were many monitors hooked up all around the room. They were even hooked up to Griffin,

Griffin laid on the bed, motionless, his eyes closed. There were many cuts on his face, and his whole left arm was bandaged up.

I now realized that the monitor that was sitting next to Griffin’s bed was beeping.

My eyes began to itch again.

“So, when do you think he’ll wake up?”

The doctor didn’t say anything for a moment, but then spoke up.

“Well, um, he’s not really in a coma anymore. It’s actually much worse than that.” He paused. “Griffin’s on Life Support. We’ve lost him.”