A Forgotten Tomorrow (8 page)

It’s pitch black.

I can’t open my eyes, nor can I move. My body feels paralysed and the sound of people chattering in the distance is starting to make my skin crawl. I can’t see them. Where am I? What is that beeping sound and why is my mouth so sore? Can anyone hear me?

I try to force my eyes open and after much effort I can see, but with fuzzy vision. I’m in a white room, surrounded by an
odd-looking
curtain and stainless steel cabinets.
There is an overwhelming smell of surgical alcohol too. I start to gag. My hands are strapped to a gurney so I can’t sit up.

“Help!” I scream as loud as I possibly can without gagging and vomiting all over the blue gown that I’m wearing. “Get me outta this room!”

Two female nurses dressed in light blue surgical scrubs run into my room quickly. One of them is young, in her mid-twenties maybe. The other looks like she is fifty at best. They don’t say much at first, but they are calm and attentive.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, still gagging and mildly panicking.

“Calm down, calm down. You’re at County Hospital,” the older nurse says.

“What? Why?”

“You overdosed.”

“On what?” I cough, gag. “I want to sit up. I can’t move my arms.”

“Try to relax.” She tries to reassure me.

I’m panicking, but at least they untie my hands. “What’s this?” I ask the young nurse, pointing to the bandage wrapped around my head.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Savannah.”

“Well, Savannah, did you get into a fight or something?”

“You could say that,” I mumble, trying to speak through the pain that’s burning down my throat.

“We had to give you some stitches. You had some pretty bad cuts on your forehead.”

I feel nauseous and try to force it back, but I can’t help it. I throw up all over the gurney and on the younger nurse who’s next to me.

“Feel better?” she asks, trying to stay calm. If I were her I’d be out of here by now, taking a shower.

I nod my head in silence. I do feel better, but I also feel kind of bad that I puked on the woman.

“I’ll bring you a clean gown,” she says. And with that, they both leave the room.

They forgot to close my curtain. They left it wide open for everyone to peek in, and I can’t handle that. I have to close it.

My only intention as I reach the curtain is to close it, but what I see when I get closer makes me nervous. The nurse’s station is probably about ten feet from my room, making it easy to eavesdrop on the current conversations – and to notice that there is a man with a badge talking with the two
nurses who were just in my room. He’d better not be here for me. I can’t stay here and I definitely cannot go to jail.

“No it’s not cocaine, it’s meth we found in her system,” the older nurse says to the policeman. A moment passes before she continues, “We need to ask her about her family first, since she’s under age.”

I panic, quickly getting back on the gurney. I can’t leave right now, I don’t have any clothes, and if that man wants to take me away I’ll be in even more trouble than I am now. And what’s that about my family? There is no way I am going back to Mama – I never want to see her again. I’d rather rot. I feel crazy. I’m scared, really scared and I don’t know what to do.

Minutes later, the young nurse enters the room, interrupting my irrational plan to escape. She is carrying a sweat suit in her hands, and she places it on my lap.

“This is from the share box downstairs. I figured you might want some proper clothing to change into.”

“Where’s my stuff?” I ask.

“We had to throw it away,” she responds, looking directly into my eyes. “Before you change, I need to ask you a couple questions though.”

I don’t like the sound of that, and neither does my stomach. I feel sick.

“What?” I hesitantly ask.

“It’s not a lot, just a few questions that we need to ask before we let you go.”

“I can leave?”

“Shortly. But we can’t let you leave alone. Do you have anyone you can call – family? Relatives?”

I’m nervous, but I can’t cry or scream – all I can do is laugh. It’s not a normal
laugh either. I probably sound crazy to this woman. Oh well. “I don’t have any family,” I finally say.

“None?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm,” she starts, “Well, we can’t let you walk out of here without your guardian, and if you don’t have anyone, there is an officer out there who will be taking you with him.”

“What?” I ask, louder than I intended. “Why?”

“Considering why you are here, we can’t just let you go without a treatment plan.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” I yell. Tears are beginning to fill my eyes. “I don’t have a damn family!”

“Where are you from, Savannah?”

“Under a rock.”

“Under a rock?” she asks. “Where is your mother?”

“I don’t have one! Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry to upset you, but we need to have some more information. Either you tell me, or talk to that nice officer outside your room.”

They’re flowing now, my tears. My stomach is turning and my anxiety level is increasing every moment. I can’t stop my hands from shaking, or my entire body for that matter. Rocking will help. I need to rock myself back and forth. This isn’t happening.

“I – I don’t know,” I cry. “I don’t wanna talk to him, I just want to leave. Why can’t I just leave?”

“I’m sorry sweetie, but you need some help.” She tries to comfort me, but I don’t let her. I don’t want her near me. She’s looking at me all funny too – they are all judging
me, laughing on the inside, I just know it.

I rock myself, tears falling, odd noises escaping from my mouth. It’s a cry, a loud and uncontrollable cry that has been waiting for the right time to surface. I feel more alone than I ever have. I feel vulnerable and forgotten. I don’t have a family, I don’t have anyone. I did have Elijah, but he was the only person in my life I could count on. So how the hell am I going to get out of here if I don’t have anyone to call? I don’t want to go with that man.

“You have some time, okay Savannah?” the nurse continues. “Get dressed and sit here for a little bit, maybe something will come to mind. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

She touches my arm, trying to comfort me. I don’t respond. I sit in this same spot, rocking.

Minutes pass before I can even think about anything, or calm down. All I can do after she leaves is cry. I feel a little calmer
now, but I’m still scared because I can’t figure out how I’m going to get out of here. Who can I call?

I think harder and harder, trying to find a solution. I’ve been on these streets for over a year, with little to no contact with the normal, outside world. I can’t call my old case worker because I’d be sent back to yet another hell-hole, with another crazy foster parent. No way.

Finally – I’ve got it. As much as I don’t want to, maybe I can call Jonah. After the way I acted towards him he might not want anything to do with me, but I can try. He probably would help me get out of here, if he’s truly all about helping kids like me. Honestly, if he does pick me up though, I don’t plan on staying. I don’t think so anyway. I will use him to break out of this damn hospital, and once I’m in the clear – I’m running.

That’s it. I will call Jonah.

The pale white wall of this hospital room is about as comforting as Jonah’s office. I hate sitting here waiting. I’d rather just leave – but I can’t. There are a dozen or more doctors and nurses outside, carrying on with their daily routine. As well as that stupid policeman who is still standing at the nurse’s station, waiting to see what’s going to happen with me.

I finally speak to the younger nurse and tell her about Jonah and the City Community Center. He’s the only one I could think of to get me out of here – the only other person I have really talked to,
except for Elijah, during my time in this forsaken city. It works, though. She calls him and he agrees to come by to talk with me. Great.

I don’t know what’s taking him so long. It’s been at least a couple of hours since she called him. It’s not like the Center is that far away from here. He could walk it in five or ten minutes if he wanted to.

I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing him, either. I mean, I look like I just got run over by a truck, and by now I’m sure this entire hospital has heard about me – the overdosed junky prostitute. That’s not who I am. Who’s to say that I overdosed anyway? Thanks to that insane client, I was already a mess before I got here. It could have simply been the after-effects of him beating me. Whatever.

Here comes Jonah. He hasn’t entered my room, but I can see his face through the small opening of the curtain. He’s at the
nurses station talking to someone. I don’t know who, all I can see is a finger pointing in my direction. That same compassionate look is still on his face. Does anyone else think that that’s weird, I wonder? Who walks around smiling and looking like that every day? I’ve never known anyone else to, but then again, who am I? No one.

Jonah opens the curtain at last, peeking in before entering. “Savannah?”

“Uh-huh,” I respond. He knows I’m in here. That nurse just told him. So why didn’t he just walk in? Again, I swear he’s nuts. But if he can get me out of here, I don’t care if he has schizophrenia.

“Glad to see you again, although not in these circumstances,” he says, as he pulls up a stool next to the gurney. “I was sure you’d forgotten about me. I guess some things happen for a reason, and I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Can you just get me out of here?”

“Well, we need to talk about a few things first. I can probably get the police officer and nurses outside to let you come with me, but we need a plan of action.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. A plan of action? Why would we need that? Just get me out of this room! It’s making me crazy.

“In order to take you with me, you will have to agree to take any assistance I can give you – whatever that may be. And I will have to let the authorities know.” He stops talking for a minute, waiting for my response, but I have nothing to say.

I guess things aren’t going to be that easy – me just walking out of here and getting back to my life, I mean. I don’t know if I want to stay with Jonah. Either way I’m a lost cause, up the creek without a paddle. I’m lost to this world of chaos, stuck in this city of harm. Who is Jonah anyway? Not God, that’s for sure.

“How old are you again? Sixteen, you said?”

“Yup.”

“I see. Well, that’s why we would need to have this agreement with the proper authorities.”

“Why?”

“Technically you are still a minor, but because you have been out here alone for more than a year, we can probably make a court appearance and have you cleared as an adult – after you receive proper treatment.”

“What kinda treatment?”

“First? Rehab.”

“Hell no! I’m not going to rehab. I’m not crazy! You think I’m crazy!” I begin to yell. Tears begin to fall from my eyes. I wish they would stop and I wish my hands would stop shaking.

“I don’t think you are crazy, Savannah. Rehab is for people who need help,” he
replies rather calmly. “After rehab, which lasts for three months, we can then begin to talk about the next step.”

“Three months?” I cry.

“Yes. But really, in terms of the life you have ahead of you, three months isn’t that long.”

“What happens after that? I don’t know if I can do this.”

“After rehab I would find you a placement, where you will have the opportunity to get a job in the community, and finish school if you’d like. It’s your decision. But rehab is required.”

Is he joking? I don’t need rehab. I can stop using any time I please. He has to be full of it, all this stuff he’s promising. I’d be better off with that damn police officer out there. I’m a minor; how much time would I get? A month? A month in jail would be a lot easier than three months in rehab and
everything else Jonah is talking about. I’m not cut out for a normal life. I’m comfortable right now with my life. How the hell can I start over, just like that? It’s too much.

I can hear Jonah’s voice, but I’m not listening to a word he is saying. My imagination takes me to the distant future, twenty years from this very day. It’s an odd feeling, staring at myself when I’m
thirty-five
or thirty-six years old. That woman doesn’t look like me either, but I know that she is. She hasn’t aged well; she looks about fifty. The skin on her throat is dangling like a chicken’s, and her skin is very dark and rough in appearance. Judging by her sunken eyes she’s a junkie too – probably a heroin addict.

She’s wearing a short denim mini skirt and a low cut tank top – not very appealing at all. Her legs are scrawny. She is too thin all around – I can see her ribs from a distance, even. That woman’s hair is thinning way too quickly for her age; it’s probably falling out due to drug abuse.

Even then, twenty years from now, Benz Street looks the same at night. The ladies of work, the prostitutes, are still prancing around the sidewalks looking for their next trick. This woman – me in twenty years’ time – appears to be working too much. I surely hope she has been safe, protecting herself from the various diseases that can be caught in an instant, working the streets.

I know I would always protect myself. I wouldn’t be so stupid, and surely I would never shoot up heroin! I hate needles. So that vision cannot be true. Why would I even imagine such a thing?

I would never.

Within moments, even with Jonah’s constant chattering, my mind goes to another distant place, but one that’s very unfamiliar.

It’s twenty years later again, but now I’m at a school playground. Tons of kids are running around, chasing one another and
sliding down large, plastic slides. They are younger children, grade school probably, and as cute as can be.

I’m standing next to the entrance doors of the school, with a whistle around my neck. Am I a teacher? And wow, I’m beautiful. That can’t possibly be me. She surely looks like me though, except she’s older and is wearing a gorgeous dress, with chucky heels. The dress is gently swaying in the wind. I don’t ever remember the sky being such a perfect shade of blue.

Her hair is long and straight, and incredibly shiny. She could probably star in one of those Pantene commercials. Anyway, her smile is amazing too. She seems genuinely happy.

After staring at her for a moment, I have this warm sensation inside. I would have never thought I could look like her, or someone like her.

Could that really be me in twenty years? There’s no way. The junkie seems to be more of who I am now. But can I change? I doubt it, not like that.

I only come back to reality because Jonah claps his hands in front of my face. I have no idea what he has been talking about, and my blank stare proves it.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah I guess.”

“Where’d ya go?”

“Nowhere – just spaced out for a minute,” I respond.

“So, what do you think?”

About what? I don’t even know what you were saying, and I don’t know if I want to leave with you. I can’t answer that right now; that’s a huge deal.

Can I move on, beyond this crazy city? I’m not sure I have what it takes. Maybe I was meant to live this life of struggling. Not everyone is dealt a fair hand, with a life of luxury and kindness to enjoy. Some people are born into a world of harm, drugs, corruption, prostitution and murder. Sad, but true. It’s the only world that has ever welcomed me with open arms, whether I was born into it or not. Like I said, I’m one of the forgotten ones. So, do I have a chance at a better life? Who knows.

“I need a few minutes to sort some things out,” I say to Jonah. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m taking time to think. I need to be sure that I’m making the right decision.

I’ve been shown two visions of a possible future. You’d think that it would be a
no-brainer
; that I should go with Jonah and follow the path that leads to me becoming that beautiful, confident, fulfilled woman. But it’s not that simple. I’m not sure that I deserve to be that woman. I’m not sure that
I can live up to what it would take to be her. So maybe I do belong on the street, always hiding from the likes of Big Jon, always wary of the next trick if it’s a face I haven’t seen before. Maybe that’s all I’m worth, all I should ever look forward to. It would be an easier road, for sure, if on the surface it doesn’t seem so rosy.

I’m not sure which road I will take though, but once I make this decision, one thing is for sure – that’s it. It will affect the rest of my life. For better, or for worse. And I’m starting to think that making decisions might be another thing I’m no good at.