“If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand, babe.”
He complies and my heart soars.
“Welcome back from Oz, Wizard.”
The next hour is a blur of visitations, tests, and an increase in response from Wizard. He continues to respond to commands. We’ve learned it’s like trying to wake from a million year sleep on his end and the slow waking is normal. It’s an unspoken agreement with the Pres that I’ll be posted in his room until he’s back.
I smack my lips as I struggle to lift my heavy lids. It must’ve been some bender, because I can’t remember shit from the night before. I go to stretch my arms and something pulls. I feel around and find a tube. What the hell? I tug at it and force my eyes open.
“No, don’t pull on it, Gage.”
The familiar voice gives me pause.
“You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for the past month.”
“Nevy?” I croak.
“Yes.”
The joy in her voice tells me they were worried.
“Just relax. The doctor will be here any moment.”
I open my eyes and wince. The light is a painful blast to my retinas. I close them again. When Nevada leans over me, her long hair tickles my face. She smells floral and feminine. Why is she so touch feely? It’s not like her. She smoothes the hair back from my forehead. It’s oddly comforting.
“Mr. Carmody, welcome back to the world of the living. I’m Dr. Robertson. We’re going to dim the lights and see what we have here.”
Nevada steps away and I miss her immediately. How long have I been asleep that I’m so desperate for familiarity?
The doctor lifts my lids and shines a pin light in my eyes.
I cringe. It’s painful, but tolerable.
“Good. You’re here with us again. You’ve been in a coma for about a month, and over the past week or so, you’ve been waking little by little. I’m going to slowly lift the bed.”
I smack my lips.
“Ms. Nevada, you can offer him a drink now. I want you to sip very slowly. Don’t take too much. Your throat will be sore. We removed the tube two days ago, but you might feel it.”
I feel a straw pressed to my lips and I part them to take a tiny sip. The cool drink is heaven to my desert dry mouth. My throat is raw and scratched, as he predicted.
“Can you try to open your eyes for me?”
I slowly lift my lids, relieved when the light doesn’t feel like a laser. The images are blurry. I can make out a round face with glasses and a white lab coat.
“You may have trouble focusing, but that’s normal. Perhaps, you’d appreciate something prettier to look at.”
Nevada leans closer. Her smile is so bright, I can make it out despite the blurring.
“I’m so glad you’re really awake this time. There’s so much I need to say.”
Her words make me frown.
“I don’t want to bombard you with visitors, but I will leave you two alone for a few moments while I go order some tests,” the doctor says.
Nevada touches my face gently. “It’s so good to see you awake.”
“Must be bad,” I croak.