Sleeping Roses

by RaShelle Workman

  She'd tried to explain this to him, telling him it was okay if they were different, but he always said no.

  After a while she quit asking because it was obvious the subject upset him. She’d actually learned about his dad by accident. He’d come home drunk and let it slip his father was in jail. When she asked him why, he glared at her, before rolling over in their bed, going to sleep. She doubted he even remembered telling her, and by then she had no desire to bring it up with him again.

  She accidentally discovered more a few months later when she’d been in the basement going through some boxes. In one, she found a journal. She didn’t want to pry, but couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know who’d written in it, if anyone. As she thumbed through the pages, she saw it was David’s because he signed his name at the end of each entry. Knowing they were his words, she read through each page with the fervor of someone feasting on a meal after fasting for days. She couldn't get enough, as though she was finally getting a glimpse of the man she'd married. In those three hours spent reading his journal, she learned more about him than he ever told her.

  She read his father had physically abused his mother. When David was old enough to realize what was going on, he’d asked his mom to leave his dad, had begged her, but he wrote, she’d been angry with him for suggesting “such a horrible thing.”

  He’d also written in a lot of ways he felt more betrayed by his mom than his dad because she’d chosen to take the abuse. It was after he'd written those words a new quote started to appear at the end of each entry, before he signed his name. He’d written it so many times she’d it memorized quickly. It said: “If you tell a woman what to do, in the end, she’ll love you.”

  With that quote had come an instant change in the way he wrote, the texture of his words. He seemed to have taken the quote to heart. She’d been frightened by some of the things he’d written, understanding a little why he was the way he was.

  When she read his last entry, she'd been shocked by it. He’d written his dad killed his mom. She still remembered the words on the page vividly. “She’d taken her last beating out of love for the bastard, and it killed her. Serves her right for staying. Maybe she’s the lucky one.”

  She’d cried for him, thinking she better understood him and wanted to be the one to heal his wounded heart. She thought by loving him enough she would change him; help him to love her the way she desperately needed to be loved.

  Obviously she’d been wrong, and had nearly paid for her choices with her life and possibly the life of her child.

  “How I wish I’d never met him,” she whispered fiercely, then immediately regretted her words. She’d become stronger than she thought possible. It was because of her need to leave David, and stand on her own. Just as importantly, though, she’d been given the blessing of being pregnant. She’d felt more womanly than ever before, and had such an intense love for the little baby growing inside her. Absently, she rubbed her belly, longing for the roundness that had been there. A profound sorrow welled up inside. Her heart broke.

  Where’s my daughter, she wondered, hoping against hope she was safe.

  “Here you go, dear.” Hope said, walking to her, gently putting the straw in Sophie’s mouth.

  Despite her breaking heart, the water tasted delicious, much better then she remembered.

  “Thank you,” Sophie muttered.

  "Sure. Would you like some more?"

  "Please."

  "I'm actually surprised you're still awake. Didn't the Demerol help?"

  "A little," she lied.

  "Well, try to get some rest."

  "Thank you," Sophie replied. She had a lot of questions. "Hope, can you tell me anything about what’s going on? Is my baby all right?" She noticed the shocked look on Hope's face, but didn't care. "Please, Hope. I'm going crazy not knowing."

  Hope looked down at Sophie, a sad smile on her face. "Dr. Hansen has asked us not to tell you anything yet. He thinks he needs to be the one to do it."

  "Hope, ple . . ."

  She interrupted, saying, "I'll only say you needn't worry, dear." Then she quickly walked away.

  She tried not to worry as she watched the sun begin to come up, falling asleep at around six o'clock the next morning.

  Chapter 22

  "Hello, Sophie," he offered kindly, giving her arm a slight shake.

  "Phillip, I had the weirdest dream," she began, opening her eyes. At once, she realized it was Dr. Hansen, and she must’ve been dreaming. "Oh, Dr. Hansen, hello," she said, her face reddening a couple of shades.

  He smiled, apparently a little embarrassed himself as he sat on a stool next to her bed. Hope walked over, taking a place behind him as he began, "Sophie, I have some serious, important matters to talk to you about." He stopped to rub a hand over his face before he continued. "It's actually incredible, fantastic news, but at the same time, because of some of the questions you've asked, I'm a little concerned as well.

  Fully awake, she tried to sit up. Hope came to her rescue, sticking pillows behind her back and head.

  "Thank you, Hope," she nodded to the nurse, then looked directly at Dr. Hansen, letting everything she'd been feeling come out in a big rush. "I've been patient long enough, and I get the feeling no one really understands what happened to me.”

  “Sophie, trust . . .”

  “Hear me out, please. Let me tell you what’s happened to me.”

  He sat back, a mixture of intrigue and confusion visible on his face.

  Sophie took a deep breath and began, “I was taken by my husband and locked up in a closet like an animal, forced to listen to him describe exactly what he planned to do to me and my baby. Then, as he began to brick me into the closet of the home we shared together, I started to bleed profusely, and lost consciousness.” She paused, fighting back the tears. “My baby. Can you please tell me what’s happened to her?”

  Hope and Dr. Hansen exchanged a curious look before he looked back at her and said, “Let’s start at the beginning. First of all, do you know what year this is?”

  She took another deep breath,

  “Yes, it’s two thousand and six.”

  Once again, both doctor and nurse exchanged strange looks. “It’s amazing you know the year.”

  Frustrated, but trying to contain it, she asked, “Why is it amazing? Am I not supposed to know what year this is?”

  “Frankly no. In most cases like yours, the patient has no idea what year it is, and that’s if they come out of it at all.”

  “I don’t understand. Come out of what?”

  “In a minute,” he said, shaking his head and putting up a hand to stop her interruption. “What do you remember about June sixth, 1996?”

  “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

  “It matters, trust me. Can you answer the question?”

  She laid her head against the pillows, closing her eyes, the events of June 6th, 1996 all to clear in her mind.

  Why was he asking her about it, though, she wondered.

  Finally, she opened her eyes, and said softly, “It’s the day my parents died.”

  Dr. Hansen sucked in his breath, as if she’d slapped him.

  “You remember your parents dying? Where were you when you got the news?”

  She looked at him, trying mightily to figure out where he could possibly be going with this. He seemed sincere, though, and he did promise to tell her what was going on.

  Didn’t he, she thought, trying to remember.

  “I was getting out of my car to go in my house. Can you tell me what this has to do with what happened to me?” She asked, trying to remain calm.

  “I can. I promise you’ll understand in a minute. Do you know what happened to them? How they died?”

  “Yes, Dr. Hansen, I do. A kind police officer told me my parents died in a car accident, on their way to Washington D.C.” She was angry with him for making her repeat such a painful memory.

  “Your parents were in a car accident,” he repeated
.

  Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she started, “Listen, they were my parents. I think I’d know what happened to them. Why are you being like this? Stop treating me like a child and tell me what’s going on.” When she finished, she breathed heavily.

  Hope came over to her, taking the cup, allowing her to take a sip of water.

  “Hang in there Sophie, dear. You’ll get your answers.”

  “You’re right. A lot has happened since you’ve been with us and I feel like I know you. I want you to know both Hope and I have great affection for you. You mean a great deal to us.”

  She was more confused than ever. Hope and Dr. Hansen seemed to be holding back tears. Slowly, she responded, “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

  Dr. Hansen looked at Hope, and Hope nodded.

  “Okay, Sophie. I’m going to tell you, but I need you to let me say it all, without any interruptions. You are going to have questions, but I need you to wait until I’m finished. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You see, Sophie, you came to us a little over ten years ago.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but kept her promise and didn’t say anything.

  “You were in a car accident on June sixth, 1996. The paramedics rushed you to Jordan Valley Hospital, where your serious injuries were treated. We weren’t there . . .” he said this as he pointed to himself and Hope. "But we were told you died for several minutes. They were about to call your death when you came back.” He stopped for a minute, as if collecting his thoughts before going on. “Even after all of your physical injuries healed and you were stabilized, you never woke up. After several months, you were moved here, to this facility, where we care for long-term coma patients. You’ve been here the longest, as I said, for ten years.”

  Sophie was furious. “Is this some kind of joke? Did David put you up to this? I haven’t been in a coma. You’re lying,” she yelled. “I went to college, graduated from the University of Utah with a Masters degree. I got married. I was pregnant,” she cried, exhaustion leaning heavily on her body. “Don’t do this to me, please. Let me go.”

  Hope rushed over to her, putting a hand on either side of her face.

  “Sophie, David didn’t put us up to this. We’re here to help you, sweetie.”

  “Stop it, just stop it.” She sobbed. “You’re lying. No! No! Please let me go! Where’s my baby?”

  Dr. Hansen stood.

  “Hope, go ahead and give her ten of morphine. This was too much. I won’t lose her again.”

  “Yes Dr. Hansen,” Hope responded, letting go of Sophie’s face, walking over to her IV bag.

  “Please, no more. Just let me go. I don’t want to be here. Let me be.” She wept uncontrollably. A part of her knew she acted irrational, knew not even David was this clever, but it was even more painful to know she hadn’t been pregnant.

  Her baby wasn’t real.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Hansen began, “Rest a while, we’ll come back later.”

  The morphine hit quickly. She slipped back, and suddenly Rina was there; Phillip, too. They were standing over her. She wanted to reach out to them, ask them to help her, but her mouth wouldn’t open. She didn’t have the energy. Still, though, their presence comforting her.

  #

  Sophie sat on a blanket watching a little girl with long blonde hair playing on the monkey bars. She looked around, seeing her mom and dad sitting on a park bench a little way off. Phillip was there, too. She was happy, at peace. Her mother watched the little girl, but suddenly turned to Sophie, and said, “Wake up. Wake up, Sophie. It’s me. It’s your mom.”

  She opened her eyes, at least she thought she did, but realized she must still be dreaming because standing before her was her mother.

  Maybe I’m in heaven, she thought, reaching out to touch her. Her face permeated warmth. This can’t be, she thought. “Mom, is it you?" Sophie cried weakly. "Are you real?”

  Her mom grabbed her hand in both of hers, kissing it softly. She touched the tears on her mother’s face and knew without a doubt she was real, she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Oh mom, I can’t believe it’s you,” she cried happily, still barely able to believe it.

  “Yes, it’s me. Your dad’s here, too.”

  “Dad?” she called.

  He seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Hey, Sophie. I’m here.”

  Still crying, she stammered, “I-I thought I’d l-lost you both. I-I can’t believe th-this is real.”

  Her dad stepped closer, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. She put her arms around him, holding him tightly.

  “Dad, it is you. You still smell like you.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked in mock severity. “It means you’re here. You’re both here. I have my mom and dad back.”

  They hugged, cried and talked for the better part of the rest of the day. Hope came in and checked on her occasionally, changing her fluids, taking her temperature and checking her blood pressure. Otherwise, though, it was just the three of them. She still had the gnawing sadness in her heart for her daughter, but tried her best to set it aside, letting the joy of seeing her parents again flood through her.

  “All this time, the time I’ve been in the coma, I thought I was alive; living. Without a doubt, I thought you both died. I’ve mourned your deaths for such a long time, a part of me still can’t believe I’m not dreaming now, which I guess is what I’ve been doing for the last ten years.” She leaned back on her pillows, trying to stop the throbbing pain in her head. Admittedly, she had a hard time adjusting to this reality.

  Her mother said, “We understand your mourning. Even though you weren’t dead, you weren’t really with us either. We’ve missed you Soph, very much.”

  She watched her mother’s eyes fill up with tears, her own do the same.

  “We always knew you’d come back to us, though,” her mother continued, gently stroking her hair. “Several doctors, even friends, told us we should let you go. The decision was one we pondered and prayed about several times over the years, but each time we knew you’d come back to us."

  "I'm glad you waited for me. In a way it's strange, though. I guess because everything I've been dreaming about these past ten years seems real. I mean, I went to college, got married. I'm an artist, and a teacher. I can't believe those things didn't happen." She stopped, looking at her parents, realizing, though, she was glad to have them back or to be back with them.

  "You know, I'm sure a big part of the reason it seemed real was because of Dr. Hansen," her mom began. "We knew from the beginning he was different."

  "Really," Sophie interjected, interested to learn more about him.

  "Absolutely," her dad answered. "His theories on coma patients are cutting edge. He told us from the beginning we should talk to you, tell you about our lives. Read, sing, whatever we thought of. He had all of the nurses, orderlies and whom-ever else came to visit you do the same. ‘Talk to her as often as possible,’ he told all of us. You also went to physical therapy four times a week. He wanted to keep your body, and mind active. Some of his colleagues even think he's a quack. We heard from several of them over the years, telling us Dr. Hansen gave us false hope, and we should let you go. Hopefully, now they'll change their tune because of you. We think he's a wonderful man."

  "He sounds like it," Sophie said, trying to stifle a yawn.

  "You must be exhausted, dear. We'll let you get some rest and come back tomorrow."

  "I don't want you to go. I've missed you both, and I still have a lot of questions."

  "I'm sure you do. We'll be back first thing tomorrow."

  They kissed and hugged for several more minutes, no one really having the heart to let the other go. Finally, amid their tears, her mom uttered, "C'mon, Bill, we need to let her rest."

  She never saw her dad this upset, and although Sophie was sad to see them go, she was tired, falling asleep before they reached the elevator.

  #

 
During the night, she was awakened several times by a nurse or night orderly checking her pulse and blood pressure, changing her fluids, and taking her temperature. Each time, she relished the knowledge she was actually awake, that this time she wasn't dreaming. Twice she pinched herself to make sure, but realized pinching wasn't a guarantee, either, because during her time in her coma, she experienced pain as well.

  By dawn, she couldn't sleep. The thought of her parents returning and everything else full recovery meant exciting her beyond belief. She knew she had specific questions she needed answered, having remembered a class she'd taken her last semester in high school. It had been a college preparation class in Psychology. There’d been an interesting chapter on dreams, and how they relate to what is going on in reality.

  She wondered what happened around her to allow her to dream such dreams, namely David, Rina, Phillip, and her baby. It all seemed too vivid to be for nothing. She had to have her questions answered, the sooner the better.

  Chapter 23

  "I'm twenty-eight, right?"

  "Yes," her mom answered.

  "I thought I was."

  "Honestly, it’s amazing," Dr. Hansen interjected. "Even with all I've thought, and believed about coma patients, I never would’ve hoped it would be possible for you to know your age."

  Her mom, dad and Dr. Hansen were sitting around her bed, patiently trying to answer her questions. She was overjoyed at seeing her parents again. Under Dr. Hansen’s gaze, though, she still imagined herself a science an experiment. She hadn't been trying to be a miracle, hadn't even realized she did something amazing. She just thought she lived her life. To her, it seemed a miracle to be sitting next to her parents, that they were alive. This thinking led to her next question.

  Instead of responding to Dr. Hansen’s comments, she said, "Thankfully, my parents didn't die, but what happened? How did I end up in a coma?”

  “Your car and another one hit each other going around sixty miles an hour,” her mom responded.

  “Whoa.” Sophie closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember the experience. She sensed a memory sitting on the edge of her consciousness, waiting to burst free, but nothing came.