A Brand New Day
From Irina DiSanti's journal
Friday, 15 Aug 2008
ICU, Columbia University Medical Center
Manhattan, New York
0335hrs, local time
The soft clack of a door falling shut woke me and I opened my eyes. I expected to see rotten brick and rusting pipes and the glare of a bare bulb overhead. I expected to smell cigarette smoke, vomit, and blood. I expected to hear the incessant drip from a leak, the rumble of the subway coming through the walls, and the muted garble of the MTA announcing the next train. I expected to feel concrete under my aching body, rough against my skin, and the torture of thirst … and other things. My constant companions for three days.
Gone.
Blessed quiet punctuated by the beeps and hum of machinery met my ears. Darkness soothed my eyes, granting relief from glare. Soft cotton covered my skin and a mattress cradled me in comfort.
Where am I?
A voice sounded over a PA, muffled by the intervening walls and I flinched, remembering the unseen subway station and waited for the dream to end. I waited to be woken with a kick, or a lit cigarette on my breast, or if I was lucky, a bucket of cold water dumped on my head.
Nothing came.
Opening my eyes again—when had I closed them?—I dared a deep breath and found it didn’t hurt so much. I breathed again and felt the bandage wrapped tight around my ribs and I froze—I could still feel him straddling my chest, pushing the air right out of me as the others held me down ... He’s not here. You’re not there. Where the hell am I?
My wrists were free. My ankles were unbound.
Get up! Get out! Move!
I rose. Or tried to.
Dear God—!
Pain, excruciating and strangely comforting in the midst of my current confusion, smote me down and took me out.
It was light when I woke again. The chatter of the blinds being raised brought me back with a jerk. Which jerk made my head split right open and spill my brains to the floor. Or at least that’s how it felt. I could barely breathe, saw nothing but black and purple and yellow behind my eyes. A high-pitched whine pierced in my ears and I realized it was me.
Hands touched me then and I tried to throw them off and my head split open wider to spill the rest of my guts out.
“Miss DiSanti. Please. Calm down. You’re safe. Calm down.” A woman’s voice, gentle but firm like her hands, made it past the thunder and lightning in my head. Her tone changed. “Get Dr. Luchese in here, stat.”
I went limp and tried to breathe past the pain, blinked vainly to see through the purple and yellow and black. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Be still. The pain receded slowly, the weight of it grinding me to dust like a pebble beneath a glacier. Dear God in Heaven, be still ….
The door opened and more voices joined the woman’s. Male.
They’re here.
Panic seized me and I exploded out of bed. Damned if I’d let my torturers claim me again. If escape killed me, so be it. I won free of the hands and the sheets, swung my legs over the side … My head gave out in agony and the rest of me followed.
I never felt the floor.
That was stupid, bambina…
“Dad?” I looked up and saw I was back in the kitchen, the dinner dishes cleared and my father indulging me in a game of chess. I say indulged, because I was a lousy player and he would try to hold off defeat as long as he could for my sake. Until I made a move too dumb-assed to ignore. His brown eyes were solemn as he looked at me over the pieces. I was fifteen and he was forty and his hair was going silver even though his face was still unlined. “What are you—? When did I …? What …?” I finished lamely, wondering where the pain had gone.
You didn’t call for back up, he said. You should have waited.
The kitchen disappeared in a blink and I was back in my car with my target in sight and my thumb on my cell phone’s call button. I barely remembered shoving it back in my pocket and getting out from behind the wheel …
Igrushka moya, ti moya suka.
I saw his fist coming for me, saw the flash of gold from his ring, felt the blow like a distant thing. Something happening to someone else. Something I wasn’t involved in. A trick of the mind that let me ignore his fist trying to come out my back, discount the fresh pain of something breaking inside my gut. His fist plowed into me again and everything went black.
Officer down. Officer down. Request immediate medical—
“Jerry?” I croaked. God, what was he doing here? “You … crying?”
Don’t talk, honey. We got you, we got you ...
His hand held mine and the world fell away and I fell with it.
I blinked and the world was back again. So was my body and it let me know it. Not pleased with my shenanigans. Nope, not one bit. A dull red throb gripped me from head to toe and I marveled at how much less the pain was. It was dark again too, a blessing for my eyes and as I had before, I tried without much success to make out the room I was in. The beep and hum of machines offered up a clue. Hospital? I must have moved or made a sound, for someone stirred in the dark with me.
“Irushka.”
“Mom?”
“Shh,” she said as she came into view, her face lit by the machines around me. Her hand was cool and caressed my cheek. Her voice was low and I wanted to kiss her for it. I doubted my head could have taken anything louder.
Worst hangover ever, magnified to the tune of ten bazillion.
“She’s awake,” I heard my mother say, her words liquid with tears. And that more than anything made me realize the trouble I was in. Mother never cried. Then my father hove into view and I saw in his face what my mother’s voice betrayed. Conscience stabbed me then and I said the first thing that came to me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so very very sorry …”
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