Read Online Coma Girl: part 2 by Stephanie Bond - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Bond
Tags: General Fiction
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your husband, who sells signs for a living!”
“Because I wanted to do something on my own.” From the squeak of the chair, I could tell my mother had stood up. Hands on hips, I visualized. Her footsteps moved toward the door. “My world doesn’t revolve around you, Robert.”
My dad’s footsteps followed her. “You have a gift for stating the obvious, Carrie.”
The door opened and closed, and I heard their angry footsteps fading.
Bye… don’t forget to write.
August 25, Thursday
“HI.”
It was one of those rare times I was napping during the day. My sleep patterns were off lately, and I wondered if it had something to do with the drug Dr. Jarvis had administered.
“Are you dead?”
A child is standing next to my bed. I don’t know any children, so I’m confused.
“Hey, lady, are you dead?”
It’s a girl and if I had to guess, she’s about six years old.
“You look dead. But if you’re dead, why aren’t you in a casket?”
The little girl knows something about death if she knows about caskets.
“What happened to your face? Did someone hit you?”
And she knows something about being hit if that’s where her mind went first.
She sighed. “When someone hits you, you’re not supposed to hit them back… but I would anyway.”
Good girl.
“There’s a mean boy at school I’d like to hit. His name is Jeremy Hood. He calls me names like fattie and fatso and fathead and fatbutt. But my name is Christina Ann Wells. And one day I’m going to whomp him good… I’m just waiting for the right time.”
I’d buy a ticket to that show.
“Do you like ice cream?”
Who doesn’t?
“I love ice cream,” she said wistfully. “I love chocolate and strawberry the best. My mama gets the striped kind.”
Striped? Oh, neapolitan.
“But I eat the chocolate and strawberry first. Vanilla is the one I eat last, and it’s okay. Just not as good as chocolate and strawberry.”
The girl had her priorities straight.
“I have new shoes,” she announced. “They’re shiny with a bow.”
Then she proceeded to stomp and jump around the room in her hard sole shoes which I suspected were patent leather.
“I can’t run in them, though.”
We start hobbling our girls young in the South.
“I like your turban.”
Ha—she thinks my head bandage is a turban.
“Are you magic?” she asked, her voice awestruck.
If only.
“Can you make my mama better? She’s sick in her belly. She can’t eat, not even ice cream.”
I hope it’s something minor.
“She gots the cancer.”
Oh, no.
“I need for her to get better because I can’t tie my shoes.”
Kids are nothing if not practical.
“Can you try to make her better, lady? I’ll be good… after I whomp Jeremy Hood.”
The door opened and a man’s voice boomed, “Christina! I told you not to leave the waiting room. Come here and quit bothering sick people.”
“She’s not sick and she’s not dead. She’s a magic lady,” the little girl explained, breathless. “I asked her to make mama better.”
“Then I’m sure she will,” the man said, his voice more gentle. “Come on, baby.”
The door closed and I felt some of the anger that had built up over the past month subside. And for the first time in years, I prayed.
That Christina would have some magic in her life.
August 26, Friday
“THANK YOU. You won’t regret it. I’ll touch base again next week.”
David Spooner stabbed a button on his phone, then hooted. “We did it, Sid. You, pretty lady, are booked as a guest on The Doctors !”
She exclaimed her delight, then from the smacking and moaning, I assumed they were either licking each other or kissing.
“This will be huge exposure,” she said. “Nationwide!”
“The producers said they’d gotten more mail about comas and Coma Girl than any single subject in the past year.”
“This is so exciting! I’ve always wanted to go to L.A.”
Ditto. Send me a
“Because I wanted to do something on my own.” From the squeak of the chair, I could tell my mother had stood up. Hands on hips, I visualized. Her footsteps moved toward the door. “My world doesn’t revolve around you, Robert.”
My dad’s footsteps followed her. “You have a gift for stating the obvious, Carrie.”
The door opened and closed, and I heard their angry footsteps fading.
Bye… don’t forget to write.
August 25, Thursday
“HI.”
It was one of those rare times I was napping during the day. My sleep patterns were off lately, and I wondered if it had something to do with the drug Dr. Jarvis had administered.
“Are you dead?”
A child is standing next to my bed. I don’t know any children, so I’m confused.
“Hey, lady, are you dead?”
It’s a girl and if I had to guess, she’s about six years old.
“You look dead. But if you’re dead, why aren’t you in a casket?”
The little girl knows something about death if she knows about caskets.
“What happened to your face? Did someone hit you?”
And she knows something about being hit if that’s where her mind went first.
She sighed. “When someone hits you, you’re not supposed to hit them back… but I would anyway.”
Good girl.
“There’s a mean boy at school I’d like to hit. His name is Jeremy Hood. He calls me names like fattie and fatso and fathead and fatbutt. But my name is Christina Ann Wells. And one day I’m going to whomp him good… I’m just waiting for the right time.”
I’d buy a ticket to that show.
“Do you like ice cream?”
Who doesn’t?
“I love ice cream,” she said wistfully. “I love chocolate and strawberry the best. My mama gets the striped kind.”
Striped? Oh, neapolitan.
“But I eat the chocolate and strawberry first. Vanilla is the one I eat last, and it’s okay. Just not as good as chocolate and strawberry.”
The girl had her priorities straight.
“I have new shoes,” she announced. “They’re shiny with a bow.”
Then she proceeded to stomp and jump around the room in her hard sole shoes which I suspected were patent leather.
“I can’t run in them, though.”
We start hobbling our girls young in the South.
“I like your turban.”
Ha—she thinks my head bandage is a turban.
“Are you magic?” she asked, her voice awestruck.
If only.
“Can you make my mama better? She’s sick in her belly. She can’t eat, not even ice cream.”
I hope it’s something minor.
“She gots the cancer.”
Oh, no.
“I need for her to get better because I can’t tie my shoes.”
Kids are nothing if not practical.
“Can you try to make her better, lady? I’ll be good… after I whomp Jeremy Hood.”
The door opened and a man’s voice boomed, “Christina! I told you not to leave the waiting room. Come here and quit bothering sick people.”
“She’s not sick and she’s not dead. She’s a magic lady,” the little girl explained, breathless. “I asked her to make mama better.”
“Then I’m sure she will,” the man said, his voice more gentle. “Come on, baby.”
The door closed and I felt some of the anger that had built up over the past month subside. And for the first time in years, I prayed.
That Christina would have some magic in her life.
August 26, Friday
“THANK YOU. You won’t regret it. I’ll touch base again next week.”
David Spooner stabbed a button on his phone, then hooted. “We did it, Sid. You, pretty lady, are booked as a guest on The Doctors !”
She exclaimed her delight, then from the smacking and moaning, I assumed they were either licking each other or kissing.
“This will be huge exposure,” she said. “Nationwide!”
“The producers said they’d gotten more mail about comas and Coma Girl than any single subject in the past year.”
“This is so exciting! I’ve always wanted to go to L.A.”
Ditto. Send me a
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