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The Coma |
| Written by Kenny Price | |
| Sunday, 02 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      The Coma By Kenny Price I have lived in my Manhattan apartment with my girlfriend for almost three years now. It is in the Upper East Side. I never would have expected something like this ever to happen to me… I grew up in Wellesley, Massachusetts just outside of Boston. Nine years ago I graduated from Bentley College at the top of my class, with a degree in management, and later went on to get my M.B.A from the Harvard School of Business. My father wanted me to join him in Boston and work for my family’s real estate company, but ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of working on Wall Street, not for my father. I met my girlfriend a while back. Tiffany is a gorgeous brunette, tall and slender, with a bit of an attitude problem. We are planning to get married, but my job takes up a lot of my time, and she has been busy working for a modeling agency. Tiffany travels a lot. Sometimes she may need to go to Paris for a few days for a photo shoot, and other times she may need to partake in fashion shows all over the world, that could last for weeks at a time. She is willing to quit her job so we can get married. I on the other hand, believe that my job comes before anything else, and I am not willing to put my career in jeopardy. Today was just like any other morning. My alarm woke me up at 5:30, and I immediately checked my blackberry for any new messages. My father left me a message saying that he wanted to talk, and “catch up” on things, but I didn’t bother to call him back. He should know that I do not have enough time to talk to him during the work week. I proceeded to put on my suit, and gather everything I needed to take to work. My girlfriend had come home late the night before, so I did not bother to wake her up. I went outside and was welcomed by the brisk fall weather. I began to walk to the parking garage across from my building, like I do every day, to pick up my bright orange, 2005 Lamborghini Gallardo. It is an expensive car that attracts a lot of attention, but I feel like I deserve it with all of the work that I do, and I like showing off my success. I picked up my car, and drove to Starbucks to order my usual morning pick-me-up, a venti soy latte. I cannot get through the day without one. I drove about twenty more blocks to the parking garage that was close to Wall Street, and was ready to park in the same spot as I do every day. But today was not like every other day. I approached the entrance to the garage, and out jumped three men dressed in all red, wielding aluminum baseball bats. I stopped my car, and nonchalantly rolled down my windows, trying to keep calm, and appear unafraid. The man in the middle was short, but muscular. He looked at me and said politely in broken English, “Sir, we are going to need to take your car.” At first I was nervous and did not know what I should do. I have never been involved in a situation like this. Should I really just hand over my $350,000 car to men I do not even know? I mean, they can’t hurt me without getting into trouble. Then, a wave of confidence rushed over me. I put my foot to the pedal, and yelled foolishly, “You scumbags will never take my car!” Time seemed as if it had slowed down, and everything felt surreal. Two of the men viciously swung their bats at my windshield. Glass flew in all directions like fireworks. The other man took out a small pistol and deftly shot my two rear tires. I was immobilized. My hand naturally reached for the door, and I decided to try and make a run for it. But, as soon as I lifted the door open, one of the man’s fists came in contact with my exposed eye socket. Blood began to pour out of my eye, and trickle down my face as I collapsed to the ground. The three men yelled at each other in an obscure foreign language, and moments later they continued to attack me as I was defenseless. I felt the bats hit my sides, and immediately crack my ribs. One of the men struck me in the chest with such force; I thought that my heart had exploded. Beaten and battered, I continued to lie on the floor of the parking garage. At this point I am not even sure if I am dead or alive. I was unable to move, and my eyes seemed to be sealed shut. Then I blacked out… As of now, I am in a coma, at St. Peter’s Memorial Hospital, in Manhattan. People come in to visit me on occasion, mostly from work, and Tiffany is in here everyday. I can see them, and I can hear them, but I am unable to communicate with them. I am lying motionless on a small bed, kept alive by a respirator. I’m not sure, but I am guessing that I have been in this state for about three weeks. At first, I started to worry about my job. There was so much work that I was not getting done. Would I even be allowed back? I also wondered how the accident would affect my physical appearance, and what had happened to my beautiful car. But, as time passed I have begun to think about the other aspects of my life, besides myself, and my job. I thought about how I would never get to marry the love of my life Tiffany, and if I got out of this coma, I would do whatever it takes to marry her, even if it meant that I had to quit my job. I also realized that I have been a bad son over these last few years. I’ve ignored my dad’s phone calls, and I have not bothered to visit him in the last two years. Now, he flies here from Boston once a week to visit me in the hospital. Once everything is back to normal I will make a pact, to be a better son to the man who raised me. I will not be as selfish as I used to be, and I will care for the people who care about me. By my estimate I have been in this coma for six weeks now. If only I could just wake up, then I would begin my new life. Here comes Tiffany, the girl I will soon marry, accompanied by the physician, Dr. Thompson. Strangely, Tiffany is crying hysterically. On the other hand, Dr. Thompson remains calm. Tiffany slowly walked toward my bed. Her face is stained with tears, and smudged mascara. She leans over and lightly kisses me on the forehead. I wonder why she is so distraught. She leaves the room without even giving me a second glance, leaving Dr. Thompson and me alone. Suddenly, Dr. Thompson began to approach my bed. He stood over my body, staring at me with a look of defeat. He momentarily looks at the machines that keep me alive, and then reaches out for the plug. I tried to stop him, but there was nothing I could do, I was unable to move. “NOOO!” I yelled, but he was not capable of hearing me. He pulled the plug, and in a matter of seconds my life evaporated before my very eyes. Copyright 2008 Kenny Price |
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