Aftermath Of Life

The stark palm of reality smacked Megan across the face as she stood staring into the mirror, like so many times before.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, truly who is the ugliest of them all?

“Come on, Megs. We’re running out of time; you gotta at least help with the decisions,” called Vicky from behind her best friend.

Megan didn’t take her eyes off the mirror to answer. “Look, maybe tonight isn’t such a good idea after all.”

Vicky dropped the makeup bag she was frantically looking through, trying in vain to find the color she knew was perfect for Megan’s eyes. Walking over to her, Vicky appeared in the reflection and stood behind Megan and gently rubbed her arms as comforting as her running two-hour-late mind would allow.

“Come on, Megs, we talked about this,” as Vicky recalled, they had talked a lot about it, “you promised me, you were going to try.”

“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not ready.”

Vicky tightened her grip on Megan’s arms, feeling her desperate to step away from the mirror. Vicky was aware of what Megan saw when she looked into the mirror; she was looking at the same reflection. All Vicky could see, though, was her friend scared.

“Look at us,” Megan said, “we look like Beauty and the Beast.”

“Stop that.” 

Vicky made it very clear to Megan the first day she got out of the hospital after the accident. Vicky was determined to stand by her friend through everything; however, the one thing she would not allow was Megan tearing herself down. Not known to them at that point, there would be plenty of others around to do that for her.

The pair of them had been friends for years, almost their entire life, having met in kindergarten. By the time they were ten years old, it had become a virtually unbreakable ritual of rotational sleepovers at each other’s house every weekend.

Even holidays were shared as they were determined to never be apart for more than a week, that their parents just accepted the relationship and always bought an extra ticket. Deep down, neither of the parents cared. They each loved the other girl as if she was their own.

* * *

The call had come during the final period. Little concern for what Mrs. Ferguson was teaching, Vicky stepped out of the classroom, seeing the caller ID show Megan’s mom.

“Hi, Carol. Is everything okay?”

“Hi, Vicky. Um… It’s Megan.”

Carol was crying through her attempts to get the words out, but that didn’t resonate with Vicky. Before the following line came out of Carol’s mouth, Vicky had already circled the full spectrum of what could have happened. Had Matthew dumped her? She did say she was skipping the last period to go hang out with him. Did she get caught shoplifting? She did really want that handbag they saw. Was it worse? Oh God, was she dead?

“Megan’s been in an accident. She’s in the hospital right now.”

“Oh, Jesus. My God, is she okay? What happened? I have to go see her.”

Silence followed for a brief moment before Carol spoke again.

“Sweetheart, she’s in a coma.”

Vicky didn’t really care much for what Carol had just said; she was already running down the school halls, leaving her belongings in class. Focused on reaching the hospital as quick as she could, she didn’t realize that Carol was calling to her down the line as the phone, gripped in her hand, was as irreverent as it had ever been.

* * *

The hospital was cold. Vicky hadn’t had to visit them much. Being a girly girl meant she never found herself injured. The one occasion she could remember entering the hospital was when she came to see her newborn little brother. Even though that was nearly seven years ago, today felt different.

The receptionist directed her to the correct ward. After some crafty lying on her part to the head nurse, Vicky was led to the room where Megan lay.

Unable to avoid the irrationality of the concept, Vicky threw the door open in a flourish. The idea being a nagging point in her head that maybe the sudden burst would thrust Megan out of her coma.

The act was not successful, but as far as Vicky cared — perhaps no one had ever tried that before.

Carol let out a gasp at the young girl’s entrance but the relief quickly set in once she embraced her. 

Now, in the comfort of Carol’s arms and able to see the motionless figure of Megan, it was Vicky’s turn to cry.

Vicky walked over to the bedside and looked down at her friend, lying still as if sleeping beauty just cursed by the evil witch.

“What happened?” Vicky asked.

“She was in a car crash.”

 A car crash? She thought. When Megan said she was hoping to meet up with Matthew, Vicky just assumed that meant down at the nearby Starbucks or maybe in the city park. It wasn’t like Matthew to take his dad’s car during the day, so they usually stayed close to school.

Shit. Matthew.

“Carol…did Matthew…did he?”

Try as she might, Vicky couldn’t get the words out. She wasn’t sure whether she couldn’t ask the question of whether she just didn’t want to hear the answer.

Carol’s silence and dipped head gave Vicky all the information she needed.

Months later —after her recovery was progressing— Megan was convinced by her support counselor to share the details with her loved ones. Vicky was first to hear the tale, and she sat holding Megan’s hand as she recited it again to her mom.

 She and Matthew had decided to spend the remainder of the school day down by the beach. He had taken his dad’s car —without permission— and picked her up a little after lunch. On their way down, they were messing around, playing, just acting like every other teenage couple would. Unbeknownst to her, Matthew had bought her a gift, a teddy from her favorite collection. He was reaching for it in the back seat when he ran the stop sign. Right in the center of the junction, the Jeep was hit side-on by a local contractor’s van. The bang was the last thing Megan remembers before waking up in the hospital. Due to the angle, Matthew was in reaching for the teddy, he died at the moment of impact. By the time the paramedics arrived, the Jeep was on its roof, but they managed to get Megan out rather quickly. The doctors told her she was conscious when taken from the Jeep but fell into a coma while being transported.

* * *

All of the incidents leading up to now were years in the memory. Emotionally, Megan had moved on as best she could. It took time for her to get over the loss of Matthew; however, with the support of family and friends, she did start to heal. 

The problem she found herself with was, no matter how hard she worked on healing herself inside, nothing would heal what was left outside. Megan took weeks after leaving the hospital before she would even look at herself in the mirror. The accident had left her face as unrecognizable to her as it would appear to a complete stranger. The difference there, though, the stranger wouldn’t be unable to stop looking; Megan couldn’t bear the sight.

The doctors really did all they could to provide as much reconstruction to her that was possible. In many cases, her body didn’t look like it had gone through any trauma. Her face, however, couldn’t be returned to its original.

“You see this girl looking back at you,” Vicky said while pointing towards the mirror. “This girl is here, this girl is alive, and this girl is the most beautiful girl I know.”

“C’mon. Vicky, look at me. I’m a monster.”

“No, you are not. Stop looking at yourself skin deep. If I take this stem and cut a hole in my cheek, am I any less me than I am right now.”

“No. But that…”

“No, exactly. We’re going to be with friends, you’re going to be with me. No one is looking at you as hard as you are looking at yourself.”

Vicky could see that Megan was trying to hold in tears. One drop began sliding down her cheek, its path consisting of the groves and scars making up her face.

“Now listen to me, Megan Hendrick. You are coming tonight. Not only are you coming, but you are going to have a good time. You deserve this more than everybody.”

Megan brushed the teardrop from her cheek and turned away from the mirror. Vicky stepped back, waiting for whatever Megan was going to do. 

Megan stared around the room for a moment before stepping over to the clothes-strewn bed. “Okay, what about the blue one.”