Part 1

Olivia

The first thing I notice is the sunlight streaming through my window. My first thought is to look out the window into the sunlight. I expect to see people hurriedly walking; cars backed up for blocks, old homeless men sitting in the gutters, begging wealthy bankers for a bit of cash. I expect to see dirty mutts chasing dirty alley cats. I expect to see children jumping rope in the heat of the summer morning. I expect to see irate cops, patrolling the streets, chasing down the young thugs, just for kicks. I expect to see the sunlight bounce brilliantly off the skyscrapers. I expect see the owners of the bodegas arguing with the customers. I expect to see the tourists, with their ridiculous outfits and clueless expressions, snapping Polaroid's as if they were cruising through a South African safari and not New York City.

Instead, I open my eyes to the sickly green that is the ceiling of this horrid place. I see the pale blue that are the walls and hideous purple curtain that hide my face from my roommate. It's the same every morning. I awaken, but before I can open my eyes, I let myself imagine walking through the streets of my beloved city. Every morning, I actually open my eyes and see the scene I've just described. Momentarily, there will be a nurse entering the room. She'll look down at me as if she's trying to be sorry, but she'll be to busy plotting how to get my doctor's phone number. She'll check my vitals, cuss out my roommate, sit and have the cigarette she's suppose to smoke outside. Sometimes, she'll take a ten minutes nap. She'll then ask me how I feel. She knows I can't answer with the tube going down my throat, but she'll pretend that she heard me say "Fine, thanks!" even though I always mentally curse her. She grins and tells me "good" and walks out. After that my roommate sits and bitches about nothing and everything. It's extremely tiring to listen to. My doctor won't come in for another hour and a half, so I'm stuck listening to her.

Everyone kind of gets quiet around my doctor. He looks a bit like George Clooney. I guess they like him or something. Personally, I can't stand the bastard. He is so full of himself. He's got an ego bigger than his paycheck and he's very proud. I heard that's he's killed several patients, letting his pride get the best of him. I absolutely believe that and have been trying to get a different doctor, but like I said, I can't talk. I tried writing notes, but my right arm is paralyzed and my left hand shakes so badly that my penmanship in totally indecipherable. Plus, I think the nurse tosses the notes out. She's stuck with me and, if I were to get a different doctor, she wouldn't get to see him everyday. I don't get it; he's not much to look at. I mean, sure he does roughly resemble Clooney, but he not too much.

By the time my roommate gets to complaining about her fifth ex-husband, my doctor comes in. Dr. Feelgood. That's not his real name, obviously, but that's what he makes everyone call him. Yeah, I don't get that either. What he does to me doesn't feel good at all. He's very rough. He checks my vitals...twice. Then he'll grab my hands and start what I presume is supposed to be a massage. He then moves up to my wrists to my arms to my shoulders...by the time he gets to my ribcage, I'm completely numb and occasionally have lost consciousness. I know, why don't have physical therapist. I wonder the same thing every day, but since I can't communicate with anyone, I don't get answers. I'm never sure how long he says, and I only vaguely aware that he's existing the room. I guess I should mention that he gives me some kind of medication that leaves me out of it.

After what I assume is several hours, I wake up to the sound of my roommate's visitors. I hate Veronica, but I loathe her kids. She's got five children and the four younger ones are demons. Most days I wish my arms worked so that I could lean over smack them. The youngest is Ronnie. He's five and he's a whiner. The whole time he's there, he's complaining about something. Just like his mother. Then there's Jessica. She's seven and I think that she might be Dr. Feelgood's long lost child. She acts just like him. There are twins, Jacob and John. Biblical names for demonic brats. They're ten and discovered soccer. Now they take every possible opportunity to practice their kicking and head butting. I heard that they put one of the nurses in a leg brace-for four months. They are forever harassing somebody and it's only months now before they get hit the wrong person and get sent away to "Juvi Hall" as they so affectionately call it. Her oldest is Melissa. She's a real sweetheart. She doesn't come too often, but when she does, she'll come and sit by me and talk to me as if she really cares. As if she could hear me responding. She says that she's getting ready to go away to Harvard to study medicine and criminology. Can you say ambitious? She loves entertaining me with her stories of her latest advanced calculus test, which, of course she got an A on. Maybe she does this because no one else will listen to her. Whatever her motive, it's become the highlight of my day...on the days she comes.

Damn, here comes that nurse. What is her name? I can never remember. Today, I think she might have gotten dressed in the dark and she is wearing ode du toilet water...toilet water that's been used. She's got on an excessive amount of makeup on and...Oh, my, is...is that a hicky I see on her neck? Oh ho, what will her incarcerated husband think when he gets out this afternoon? I wanna be there to see those fireworks, since nothing else is happening around here. She comes in, winking and blowing kisses to Dr. Feelgood. She looks over at Veronica and sighs. She hates her as much as I do. She looks down at me and jumps back. What? Is there a bug on me?

"Dr. Feelgood!" she calls out. He walks in adjusting his...pants. She starts whispering to him and he looks over at me.

"Interesting..." he says. What? What's interesting? "Well, Ms...Uh, Detective Benson, you're finally awake. It's been a long six months..." SIX MONTHS?!

TBC

next: the phone call