A Glass of Water

Emily Gonzalez

Neto

Tucker

12/6/16

A Glass of Water

Eyes opened, light flooded into my eyes. The doors slammed into the wall, my eyes fluttering open with it. A foggy image of reality fell around me. I heard mumblings, they sounded like my mother, and the doctor. I reached my hand to wipe away at my puffy eyes. Even as I blinked, nothing seemed to stay in focus. I waddled a little while getting up, and the sounds of speech bounced through my ear, bouncing across the inside of my skull, falling down to my throat. My eyes heated up, I choked back my food. I breathed hard, hoping the others didn’t notice, then sat back.

My mom reached for my hand. I smiled. I still couldn’t see every line of her face, but I could feel the warmth in her hand. The doctor was still speaking. I managed to catch a few words, even if they were all just falling to my stomach. More treatments, a surgery. He said it wouldn’t be long before we got out of here. It cheered me up, very little. I could finally stop stealing away all of our money, my future, my life back at home. I could go home, to a warm bed with plush bears and pillows. I could get back to school work, something I’d never thought I’d say positively.

My heart beat a little faster. I noticed that the feeling wasn’t going away, I still felt as if two text books were being pushed against each of my ears, the bed was floating in the ocean, and clouds were over my eyes. I started to yawn, but almost gagged. I clenched my stomach. They looked at me, so I tried to say I was okay. I was trying to wrap my tongue around the words, but just signaled it with my hands. They went back to talking.

That’s when I noticed the glass of water next to me, from the night before. There was food, sure, but I didn’t want to put that in my stomach, it already had enough knots in it, I didn’t need more. The glass was out of reach, but if I got it the other day, I could get it now. I lifted my arm up, but my mom talked to me again. She pointed at the food, but I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I could tell my mom was stern, pointing at the food. I sighed and grabbed a fork, and my mom sighed before going back to talking about prices and insurance and the whatnot, something I wasn’t old enough to understand, or at least that’s what she told me when I asked about it. I kept on looking back at the glass. I put a roll in my mouth, which felt more like a sponge that took in all my built-up saliva. I sniffed and wiped away the tears my eyes kept on making.

Even if all I could focus on was a glass of water, it was something. My focus kept on going from my mom, to the doctor, to the background, to the window that led to the world I hadn’t seen in days, weeks now? How long had it been? Why, why couldn’t I remember...why wasn’t I speaking? Had something gone wrong, what was going on? I reached for breath. Heart beats pushed at my ears so hard my eyes were watering, there was bread at the back of my throat. I gasped for air.

My dry lips stung. I lifted my arm to grab the glass. No one saw. I pushed myself over, noticing my wobble, my eyes refocusing. I did it again, again, until I was sure the bread would spill out of my mouth any minute. I reached up to the glass. I put my hand around it. I put all my energy to move every finger, every bone, until they fit around. Wait, why was I overthinking this? It was just a glass? I took in a deep breath, letting a few tears fall. I took advantage that they still hadn’t seen. I pushed my palm against the glass, then pulled back. That’s when all my attention went into the glass. My fingers...they weren’t working. In a split second, I had lost control. The glass slipped, I felt the cold run through my fingers like silk. My heart stopped when I couldn’t feel it anymore, when gravity took its toll. The shattered glass punctured my inner ears, bursting my brain. The mosaic of a mess painted the floor. My tears weren’t distinguishable from the water.

That’s when they turned back. I jumped back. I held my head in my hands, warming them with wet tears. I couldn’t look at them. My mom moved closer, trying to comfort me, I pushed her back. The doctor called for someone to clean the mess. He tried to comfort me too, but I pushed him back too. I held my head in my hands again, trying to find comfort in the home that was my mind, my, my mind. The mind that couldn’t even lift a glass. Would I ever be able to lift one again?

When time died down my shock, when the glass was gone, and when the room was silent, I finally answered them. I pushed at my chest, trying to get the air to talk, “I-I w-was thirsty.”

They said they could have given it to me. I looked down at the ground, realizing that they thought I was upset at breaking the glass. They got me another glass. They were giving all their attention to me. Pins pierced the back of my neck as I looked up at them. Eyes watering, my back tingling, with a foggy mind and clouded eyes, and stomach that wouldn’t hold. I smiled. I even laughed.

“Don’t worry, it was just a glass of water…”

Works Cited

"Medulloblastoma." St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 Dec.                       2016.

"Cerebellum." Cerebellum Function, Anatomy & Definition | Body Maps. Healthline, 5 Mar. 2015. Web. 07 Dec. 2016.

Foundation, Brain Science. "Coping With Personality and Behavioral Changes." Coping With Personality & Behavioral Changes. Brain Science Foundation, 2003. Web. 07 Dec. 2016.