I'm writing a novel! Would you read the rest?

I woke up in a hospital, with an IV in my arm. I turned my head away from the blank ceiling to look around. But my neck surprised me with a pain shooting from my brain to my stomach, and I groaned. There was a woman sitting in a chair and she jumped up and started crying.

She said in a tiny little sobbing voice: “Toby, Toby! Oh, Toby! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“What’s wrong with Toby? Who’s Toby?”

I must have said something wrong, because she looked confused for a minute then burst into tears. Toby must have died. Poor Toby, whoever he was, I guess he didn’t make it.

The woman, who had a halo of frizzled hair and glasses veiling her red, wrinkle-framed eyes, came back in with what I guessed correctly to be a doctor, then another, and then a third, a woman.

The first doctor flashed a light into my eyes, asked where there was soreness if any, I told him my eye hurt, but would probably stop if he turned the light off. He was not amused.

“What happened to Toby?” I asked to break the awkward silence.

“What’s your name, son?” He asked me.

I had to think about it.

My mind was blank. I didn’t have a name. I was a nameless person with little cuts and aches, and bruises all over, and I didn’t have a name. Suddenly I realized that I must be Toby.

“I am Toby?” It came out of my mouth like a question, and I guess it was. My voice sounded like someone else talking, a wimpy voice, little, afraid and far away.

The woman stepped forward. “Yes, Toby. What’s your last name? Do you remember what happened?” Guy doctor number one glared her down, I guess he was supposed to be in charge of the questions.

“I don’t know.” And I didn’t. I was hoping that images of oncoming headlights, or sounds of squealing tires would flash through my mind, but there was nothing. Just a big, blank white sheet.

“Do you know me?” the woman with the little voice asked timidly, making her voice even more little. This was obviously an important question, and I didn’t want to disappoint her, but all I could say was the truth. Heck, I couldn’t even say the truth; I just nodded “no.”

Again, Frizzled Hair Lady started sobbing; loud sobs for someone with such a little voice. She covered her face and left the room. The guy doctors looked at the girl doctor, who rolled her eyes and sat down on a chair next to my bed as the Guy Doctors One and Two walked out. I guess she was either the bravest, or was the one who did all the dirty work.

“That woman is your mother.” Girl Doctor didn’t beat around the bush. “You were found on the side of the road with a fracture in your skull, broken nose, four broken ribs and one bruised rib, a split lip, two black eyes. Your right tibia and fibula were cleanly fractured, and should heal well if you take care of it, multiple small cuts and bruises, and no wallet, phone, nor identification.” She ended there.

“Was I hit by a car?”

“No car. They believe you were severally beaten, almost to death. Do you remember a car?” for some reason she seemed kind of excited.

“No, I don’t remember anything. But a car seemed logical.”

“Well,” Girl Doctor seemed suddenly bored. “lets send you in for more CAT scans. Do you need anything?”

“I’m really thirsty, and I hurt all over.”

Girl Doctor seemed sorry she asked, but she just nodded and walked out. A few minutes later, a nurse in princess-Jasmine colored scrubs came in and put something in my IV, handed me a cup with a straw in it and walked out. I passed out pretty quick.

------------- --------------- -------------- -----------

When I woke Frizzled Mom Lady was there. I felt really sorry for her, she was so emotional, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I pretended to be asleep till I thought of something.

I pretended to wake up slow, and then I drank the warm water from the straw. “So when are they sending me in for the CAT scan?” I asked in an attempt at casual conversation.

“They took you through while you were asleep, honey.” My mom said.

Well, I had planned five minutes of conversation around the topic of when I was supposed to go in for the CAT scan, and now that was out the window, so I searched my brain for something else to say.

“So, how long was I out?” For all I knew it could have been days since that aqua-colored nurse came in.

Frizzled mom burst into tears again, and sobbed out “Two weeks and three days.” Poor lady! She really cared for me. But I was surprised to find that I had been out that long. After she stopped crying, she went and brought me back some red jello and mashed potatoes and gravy. It was really hard to swallow, but it felt good in my stomach. After that, I and my . . . mom . . . talked about what a jerk Guy Doctor One was, how hospitals smelled weird and that my “dad” was picking me up to go “home” within the next couple days. She had a funny laugh, kind of a “heeheehee” laugh, almost a Mrs. Clause laugh.

Then a nurse came in and put more medication in my IV, but this nurse was pink instead of aqua. I fell asleep like I was floating in water. And floating in the water with me was the last name I read off my wristband---Mendenhall.

------------ ------------- -------------- --------------

After I could stay awake for more than three hours, and maneuver a pair of crutches, we went “home.”

It was an older house, in an old neighborhood, with big trees and narrow streets crowded with parked vehicles. It was a friendly looking neighborhood, with street-hockey games consisting of only 4’ and under teams. People waving at you as they shovel their driveways and scrape their windshields. There was a group of women standing on front porches, probably talking about weddings and babies and funerals, who seemed very interested in my presence.

My first day back, I saw myself in a mirror and scared myself, took a mini-tour of the house, met my little sister Emily, and found out I had an older brother. Emily was five, and had no qualms about telling me what I had forgotten. She told me about the dog, and my grandfather’s funeral. (Apparently I didn’t much care for him, when I found out he died, all I said was “Finally!”) Sometimes my mom would try to hush Emily, or at least tone down her honesty a little bit, but my dad would say “let her be” and walked over to the sink and whispered in my mom’s ear. After which, Emily was never hushed when talking to me.

For the first couple weeks, I mostly slept, but when I was awake I hung on every word that spilled from sweet Emily’s golden mouth. At her request I removed several band posters that she considered “skeh-wee” to encourage her presence in my bedroom. She taught me all sorts of things. She didn’t really talk about anything in particular. Her monologues usually consisted of her toys having epic battles, and dramatic break-ups. Loofa, the sock-monkey was always the bad guy.

Some things I learned from her surprised me. Before I went to the hospital, I had been fighting with my parents and said “bad wuhds.” These