Aftersight Read Free

with his touch and tried to relax again, but couldn't quite sink into it.
    It got very quiet and all four of us seemed to drowse a bit, lulled by the stuffy heat and white noise of flowing air. Headlights appeared in front of us, bright white lights as if high-beams from a dozen cars had been directed squarely through our front windshield.
    The last words ever to be uttered in that car came from Moose. He said, "What's this guy doin'?" And that was the end of it.

Chapter Two

    Becky
    New York City, New York
    April 5

    "Rebecca Reynalds?"
    I clutched Mom's hand. My legs felt very heavy. Standing seemed impossible. My eyes were raw and swollen, drained of fluid, as if incapable of squeezing out another tear.
    "Rebecca? Hi, I'm Dr. Singh." A slender, forty-something woman with cinnamon skin extended her hand as Dad helped me to my feet. Even after all the physical therapy, I couldn't get out of a chair with any more grace than a pregnant bear.
    I closed my hand around Dr. Singh's. She was too pretty to be a psychiatrist.
    Already I felt moisture leaking out the corner of my eyes. There, the façade of calm broken in less than fifteen seconds.
    "Did you want anything? Coffee? Soda? Water?" Her large walnut eyes coolly surveyed me, from my loosely gathered ponytails and unmade-up face, to my simple day dress and ballet flats. What did she see? A typical high school senior recovering from life-threatening injuries? Or a seventeen year old who dressed like she was eight, clinging to her mom and dad as if this was the first day at school?
    I felt the irresistible urge to bolt from the well-appointed waiting room. I imagined beefy men dressed entirely in white concealed behind Dr. Singh's office door. One was tapping the end of a loaded syringe, while the other fumbled with the straps of a gurney. If they weren't there now, they wouldn't be far away. Not after my secret was out.
    I tried to say, Nothing for me, thanks, but it came out like, "Nayah." I covered it by clearing my throat.
    Dr. Singh gazed into my eyes in the searching, nonjudgmental way that I would come to know well. "Hon, would you like to talk together first, just the two of us?" She cocked her head to the left and right, indicating Mom and Dad. They were the only thing keeping me standing.
    I shook my head and when I squeezed Mom's hand, I felt her wince.
    "Are you sure? Your parents can join us after."
    "I want Mom."
    "Sure. That's okay." Dr. Singh ushered us all inside her office, thankfully free of men in white. I glanced out Dr. Singh's large picture window at the stunning Upper Eastside Manhattan view before spotting the folder containing my medical records lying atop her desk. I could guess the contents:
    Patient: Reynalds, Rebecca. Referred by neurologist. Recently sustained head trauma as a result of car accident involving three fatalities. Patient in coma for three days. Wakes disoriented for short periods, incapable of articulating thoughts. After a few days able to ask questions. Co n fused as to where she is or how she got there. When parents brief her on circumstances, memory of events just prior to accident gradually returns. Patient remains in hospital for seventeen days recovering from fractures, lacer a tions, contusions. Discharged into parents' care. Commences physical therapy. Gradual return to school .
    Patient experiencing social isolation, heightened emotional anxiety, loss of appetite, and other symptoms consistent with major depressive disorder. Parents notice blank stares, intermi t tent pauses in middle of sentences. Mumbling. EEG and MRI come back negative for indications of epilepsy or other seizure activity. No sign of tumors or other visible lesions. Results of cogn i tive tests are normal.
    I settled onto the couch, nestled between Mom and Dad.
    Dr. Singh offered me a tissue and pushed the box within easy reach. She set a clipboard on her lap and began making notes. It felt like the walls were closing in, folding around me like