FEVER DREAM

            The girl floats, surrounded by black space, her body white from sunlight without atmosphere. She is not ashamed in her nakedness, only detached and tranquil in an airless atmosphere. She knows she is ill and doesn’t care. It is too comfortable to rest warmly in the lack of gravity as she drifts past the moon, a dim, dimpled orb to her right. She wants to stay here forever, wrapped in safety and softness.

Chapter One

            I woke sweaty and hot, my nightgown plastered to my body, tendrils of hair stuck to my cheeks and forehead. The room was dark except for a dim light on the wall next to the bed. My lips were dry and cracked, and when I licked them, the cracks burned as my saliva penetrated. I didn’t know how long I’d been out of it, but sensed it had been a really long time.

            I let my head fall to the right and saw Mom dozing in a green vinyl armchair. Her mouth was open as she snored, a tiny whooshing followed by a soft snort. Her short, light brown hair stood out from her head like a hedgehog on steroids. I chuckled, a pale imitation of a laugh, and her head bobbed forward, her blue eyes snapping open.

            She flung herself out of the chair and began to stroke my forehead. “Paige, honey. How are you feeling?”

            I swallowed and croaked, “Okay.”

            Tears flowed as she leaned over to hug me. As her arms went around me, scattered visions flitted through my mind: a casket being lowered into a hole, my family weeping, a darkness like nothing I’d ever experienced. Mom stood up and the visions vanished as soon as she wasn’t touching me anymore.

            She smiled through her tears. “We’ve been so worried! You’ve been unconscious for nine days.”

            Feeling like a cliché, I asked, “Where am I?”

“Community Hospital. We brought you to the ER a week ago Wednesday.”

“Can I have some water?” I whispered through a throat as dry as the Sahara. Mom smiled and ran from the room. In less than a minute she was back, with a nurse carrying a tray with a plastic pitcher and tumbler on it. The nurse set the pitcher down and filled the glass as Mom pushed a button to raise the bed.

The bed whirred upward as I glanced around the room. Vertical blinds covered the window. A bag of clear fluid hung from a pole next to my bed, and a tube ran from the bag into a vein in my arm.

I shuddered. I hate needles!

The nurse handed me the glass and I drank. The cool water flowed down my throat like ice cream in August, tasting even better.

            I held out the glass and croaked, “More.”

            Mom tucked another pillow behind my back as the nurse said, “Let that glass settle. The doctor said you shouldn’t have too much at once.”

            I flopped back against the pillows and breathed deeply. I was aware of the air entering my lungs. I’d never paid attention to breathing before. I inhaled again. And again. Warmth flowed through me. Bits of memory came back. The bone-deep cold. Teeth rattling. Curling into my bed under a pile of blankets like I could be safe and warm if I burrowed into them deep enough. The nothing. I didn’t remember the emergency room or anything that happened after I got into bed. The last nine days were a complete blank.

            The nurse left, and Mom sat on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry,” she said in a low voice. “Your dad and I, one or the other, have been here in shifts ever since you got sick.”

            I moved restlessly as flickering visions played behind my closed eyes. “Sorry.”

            She let go of my hand. The visions faded, as she said, “Oh, honey, I’m not complaining. I’m just so glad you’re all right. It was touch and go for a while.”

            I felt more alert, curious about my journey from home to hospital to outer space. “So what happened?” I asked.

            “Some antibiotic-resistant bug. Your dad’s been here every morning and evening, checking on you.”

            “Molly?” I whispered.

            Mom patted my hand. “We kept her home. We didn’t want her to be exposed to whatever you had. And she was worried enough without seeing you in this condition.”

My little sister must have known something was really wrong, though. She worries—a lot. I sometimes think she was born to be the family worrier so that the rest of us don’t have to.

            In the dim light, Mom looked worn and shadowed. Her eyes had bags under them and her cheeks seemed hollow. “Why don’t you go home?” I suggested. “Say hi to Dad and Molly.”

Mom blinked away more tears. “My place is here.”

I tried to grin at her. God knows what it must have looked like because she reached for a metal basin, like I was going to upchuck. “Go on,” I whispered, waving away the U-shaped container. “I feel fine.”

            Mom gave me the look she has when she’s caught me fibbing but set the basin down, leaned over and held me tight. I could feel her heart pounding. This time I felt only her relief. No weird visions. She sat up and looked into my eyes, as if she were trying to memorize my soul. “I’m so thankful you’re going to be okay.

            I closed my eyes. “I just want to sleep. Not very interesting for you. Go.”

            Her lips touched my forehead. “Good night, Paige. Daddy and I will be back in the morning.”

            She let her hand slide out of mine. I yawned and managed to look at her. “See you later, alligator.” It was the best I could come up with, considering that I’d just come out of a coma.

            Then she was gone and I slipped back into a dream world, where everything was perfect.