Never Wake Up

I awoke this morning in a precarious situation. I was in the hospital and the second I opened my eyes, doctors swarmed me. I was besieged by white coats asking me intimate questions, I’m assuming to see if I was in a state of amnesia. My first conversation went something along the lines of:

“Hello. I am Dr. George Newman. What is your name,” he said it cautiously, like I was an imbecile, but I tried not to take offense.

“I am Marybeth Goldstein, but I go by Beth.”

“That you are! And how old are you Beth?”

“I am twenty three years old. Born May 17, 1992 to Elizabeth Friar-Goldstein and Dr. Richard Goldstein in New Haven, Connecticut.” This is when Newman got concerned.

“Umm… yes. Okay Beth I’m going to have another doctor speak with you for a moment if you’re comfortable with that.” I watched him murmuring with his colleagues in the corner of the room.

I nodded. This was when a woman that looked remarkably similar to Cindy Crawford waltzed in. This made me overly aware of my own appearance, which I could only assume was wretched.

“Hello Marybeth-”

“Oh I just go by Beth.”

“Oh my apologies,” she spoke emphatically, with a purpose. Almost like we were on stage in a play and she had to project her voice so the audience could hear, “Beth. I’m Dr. Maria Hernandez. I’m a psychologist and I am just going to talk to you for a moment. Now I don’t want to force your hand, I can only imagine how confused you are right now, so if there’s anything you need clarified or you don’t feel comfortable, feel free to interrupt me.”

I nodded again. There wasn’t much else I could do. Cindy’s doctorate doppelganger was certainly onto something. Why am I in the hospital? Why does the other doctor look so concerned? Why is a shrink talking to me right now? My first thought was that I drank too much. I remember when I was 15 I had an eerily similar experience. I was famous(or infamous depending on who you asked) for my heavy drinking antics. On new years eve of my sophomore year I drank enough vodka to sedate a horse and the next thing I recall was waking up in the hospital. The only difference is that everyone expected me to wake up then… 

“Well Beth… I would like to begin by asking the last thing you remember before you woke up just moments ago?”

I pondered my answer. “I think I was in central park. It was around 9 o’clock at night. My boyfriend, Joey, set up a picnic for us.”

“Mmhmm. And is there anything else you remember?”

“We ate sandwiches from Katz’s. It’s our favorite place.” I started wondering where Joey was. I mean I know he’d stay next to me no matter what if I was in the hospital. ‘Maybe he’s grabbing me a water or something’ I thought.

“Me too! You know I was actually going to go there for lunch? Can I grab you anything?”

“Umm a reuben sounds phenomenal right now.” I’m guessing she was trying to make me feel comfortable, and it worked, “Would you mind me asking where Joey is?”

She smiled, but it was weak. Dr. Maria has teeth that dentists would pay money to get a look at, so I suspected that her toothless smile was intentional. “Beth. What year is it?”

“It’s 2015.” 

“Beth. I don’t want to overwhelm you by any means, but you…”

“Just tell me what the hell’s going on. You don’t have to sugar coat it!” Just then a pair of familiar looking police officers appeared. “I know them.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Officer’s Leroy and Marty. Why do I-” And then it hit me like a freight train. 

It was a chilly Spring night. Joey set up a picnic for our three year anniversary. His olive skin and piercing brown eyes looked illuminated under the moonlight. 

“Marybeth Lee Goldstein,” He said.

“Joseph Alessandro Russo,” I said.

“How did I get so lucky as to have you. Day by day and night by night we were together- all else has long been forgotten by me. Don’t mind me improvising the great poet's words but there is something else I’d like to add.”

“Oh please. He’s dead he can’t hear you.” I smirked.

“Valid point,” He nodded and went on, “All else has been forgotten by me, as I look into those deep blue eyes they open mine so I can see- stop laughing. I know you’re the English major but trust me it gets better.”

“I’m not laughing,” I said in between giggles, “It’s beautiful. Truly. Please keep going.”

“Okay. Sorry I’m nervous,” he took a deep breath and continued, “You’re smile is the essence of charm. You’re mockery although cruel is funny and does no harm. You’re beauty is incomprehensible, but you’re brain is exceptional. Every time I see you sink into that deep thought, I can’t help but hope you’re thinking of me. Not that I am worthy of occupying your mind that creates art out of words that have been created through time. But time... What a slut time is. She screws everybody. So Marybeth, Here I rest. I lay my hands and beg of you. Be my slut forever more.”

“I mean it was a little sappy, but it had some potential. I don't totally get the end about me being your slut but it rhymed so that’s a plus.”

His smile was large and pure. I wanted to put it in a glass case and ensure that nothing ever warped it, “I mean a poli-sci major trying to do poetry… Imagine if Dr. Seuss took Reagan’s place at the falling of the Berlin wall: Mr. Gorbachev, Tear down this wall, or the ball will fall, and the Neanderthal with the hairy whiscizal will- I’m sorry I think I’m babbling. And now you’re smiling. Oh god, oh god, is this a no? We’ve been together three ye-”

And then I kissed him. “Oh of course I’ll marry you you idiot.” I whispered in his ear. “Love comes quietly, finally, drops about me, on me, in the old ways. What did I know thinking myself able to go alone all the way.” 

And then.

I came back to the present.

“Joey’s actually my fiancé,” I snorted, “Oh my gosh! How could I forget? Oh he-” Dr. Hernandez was trying to interrupt me but I kept ranting, “I want a white lacy gown! And we should get married in Central Park under the stars! I’ve always dreamed of a winter wedding with snow all around us.” And then I heard a thud.

The two officers came in and sat down next to my bedside. “Hello Marybeth,” said the shorter one with mousy features and a lean build, “You may not remember me, but”

“I actually do remember you Leroy,” I nodded in acknowledgement, “and  you too Marty!” I was so pleased to finally see familiar faces, and people not wearing white coats, that I couldn’t hide my enthusiasm. “I will be frank with you though. I can’t remember why I know you.”

Marty, a tall, pudgy, man that had much more prominent features set upon his face, one you never forget, cleared his throat, “Yes. Doctors would you all mind leaving us alone for just a moment?”

Dr. Maria Hernandez interjected, “I don’t know if this is the best idea. She’s been awake for only four hours. I don’t want her to get overwhelmed.”

This is when I felt the need to interject, “Overwhelmed by what? What in the hell is going on here?” I lost control of the volume of my voice. My brain was clouded by confusion and desperation. Desperation for an explanation.

Maria bowed her head as a sign of concession and I was left alone with Marty and Leroy.

Marty cleared his throat once again, “Now Marybeth,”

“Just Beth,”

“Oh sorry, Beth. I want to break this to you very gently, but also it must be ripped off quickly like a band aid. There is no other way to do it.” I nodded. Marty’s voice broke. A tear surfaced, “I want you to trust me, so let me explain something. Leroy and I have been visiting you everyday. This is a vase that my wife made for you. She’s very talented with pottery and painting. I on the other hand am much better at hammering things, so I built you this book shelf,” He pointed at a beautifully crafted, cherry wood, bookshelf, “With the help of Leroy of course. You’re story is one,” and with this the dam broke. “I’m sorry I just need a moment.” He went and sat in the corner.

Leroy took the reins, “Sorry about that. He’s quite an emotional guy.”

“Oh that’s quite alright,” I replied, “But what do you mean everyday? I’ve only been in here today. And my story? I’m a Jewish girl from a well-to-do family in New Haven. I was valedictorian of my class in High school, and I went to NYU. My whole life I’ve known I’ve wanted to be a writer, and my whole life this idea has been affirmed by the praise I received from journalists, authors, publishers. My most inspiring struggle thus far has been receiving a C+ on an English paper, and truth be told I was tripping on shrooms when I wrote that.”

“But Beth, oh dear Beth. What year is it?”

“It’s 2015!” Although my voice was cold and confident, I inferred there was a catch since people who do know the year are not greeted with tears.

“Beth. I do not… The year is 2021.” Leroy said. His eyes were glassy. He was trying to keep from crying.

“That. It can’t be. That- Is this a stupid prank? Joey come on out! You’re not Ashton Kutcher, even though that one drunk girl on the ferry thought you were.” I shouted.

“Beth, Joey is not here.” Marty came back to my bedside and held my hand tight, “Beth. The reason you know us, is because on that fateful night in the spring of 2015. That night when Joey proposed to you.”

He placed the ring on my finger. 

“I’ve always loved what a ring symbolized.” I said, “I mean it isn’t true. There is no vena amoris vein that connects this finger directly to my heart, but it’s a nice sentiment.”

“Boy, the Romans were stupid poets.”

“Hey bud!  You just agreed to marry a stupid poet, only moments ago! It’s beautiful,” I sighed, admiring the ring. It has a gold band, with microscopic diamonds surrounding a slightly less microscopic ruby, “modest, just like yours truly.”

“And I made sure it was gold because and I quote,  ‘silver jewelry is tacky.’”

“I have a feeling someone very smart said that.” 

I pulled out my iPod Nano and headphones to play the song La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf. We danced under the stars for one of those moments that you wished could last forever. One of those moments where your mind and body are moving at the same pace, and you can’t imagine that this world could have any misery. 

“Hello love birds,” Screamed a distant voice. “Hey boys, we got ourselves a picnic.” 

A gaggle of simpletons procured out of thin air and surrounded us. I felt an unfamiliar hand reach for my waist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Yelled Joey. I saw a punch, and then I felt a punch. I was on the ground.

“Joey!” I was screaming but no words came out. Something, or someone, was wrapped around my throat. “Joey! Joey!” I gasped and thrashed as tears ran down my face. I felt my skirt unzip. I heard a gunshot. My whole body flailed, "Joey! Joey!”

“Joey’s dead you bitch.” Said the man holding me down. I felt something beat me in the head. Cut me in the leg. My brain couldn't respond to all of the pain. The man continued to strangle me. 

“Beth!” Said Dr. Newman.

I woke up with white lights shining in my eyes. 

“It wasn’t anything physical.” Said a voice that was nearby.

“I think she remembered something. The look in her eyes. She wasn’t there for a while. And then she started yelling. And thrashing around like that.” Said another more poignant voice. 

“I mean I think it is easy to understand how someone in her condition could be struggling from PTSD.”

That’s when I remembered that I was in the hospital. I, Marybeth Lee Goldstein, was not having a torturous nightmare, but that this was my reality. I had been in a coma for five years. I had been beaten, raped, tortured, to within an inch of my life. My beloved Joey. Oh no, God, Why? My Joey, with the purest heart and the most loving mind. My Joey that never did wrong. My Joey aspired to make a positive change about the world.

“Excuse me?” I said. The room turned to look at me. “Where is my engagement ring?”

“Your mother has it. She’s at your apartment right now grabbing clothes.”

“My- my mother is here?”

As if we were reading off a script my mother walked in. She looked different. She was not the vibrant, feisty, coquettish woman that raised me to take the world by the balls. Her face had sunken. Her smile was brittle. Her hug was frail.

“Oh it’s true! Bethy! Oh thank you God for giving me my beautiful Beth!” The doctors filed out of the room as we shared a loving embrace.

“Mommy?”

“Oh yes my beloved.”

“Where’s Dad?” 

I knew what was to come the moment I saw the sparkle withdraw from her eyes. Her face went blank, “He passed along, two years ago now.”

I couldn’t help but sob. Sob for my longing for my father to hug me. My Joey to kiss me. 

“Oh don’t cry. Shh Shh. Hush now my miracle. It was his time. He was in pain and God took him peacefully. I woke him up for work one morning. But he didn’t wake. Oh he is at peace now. And I am at peace now that you are here with me.”

I continued to cry as my Mother lay in the hospital bed with me. 

“Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.” Read my mother as I dozed off.

“Mary Elizabeth Frye.”

“No matter how much morphine they pump you with, you will still know every poet known to man.”

“It is a blessing and a curse.” I winked at my mom. “Mom?”

“Yes darling.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay again. Like why is this happening? I am in so much agony. What those men did to me. To Joseph… Daddy’s dead? Daddy’s dead. And I never got to say goodbye,” My sobs were only ever silenced by intense wails of agony, “God, WHY? WHY!” I lay there helpless and hopeless until I fell into a tumultuous slumber. 

The next morning I awoke with my Mother still by my side. 

I think I am going to live  back in New Haven while I recover. There is so much that has happened in the last five years. Apparently Donald Trump was president. And phones can scan our faces now. And there’s a pandemic called Corona(Not Beer). And I have been absent for all of this.