Chapter 9

“Milo? Milo? Can you hear me?”

The speaker sounded as though he were trapped inside a vacuum. Mila struggled to open her eyes. The lids felt abnormally heavy. She tried again, catching a glimpse of abnormally bright lights that faded out again as she did. Something was wrong. She was much too tired to figure it out, though. All she wanted to do was sleep forever, to stay in this warm cocoon of oblivion. It was a hell of a lot more pleasant here than it had been in the real world.

At the moment, Mila’s brain was generating a happy, cozy scenario; one born out of memories of her laundry days with Marqi and an imaginative dialogue insertion between her and ShayAnne that made them friends again. Mila’s mouth shaped itself toward a smile, but never quite made it. She was dreaming still, tranquilly fitted into her dream world.

Marqi took the lead. Mila’s mind was forging her into an angel of peace and wisdom. “It will be okay,” she was saying, and somehow Mila believed her.

They sat on the bed together and folded laundry, the television blaring in the background.

“You know,” said the dream Marqi, “there’s something you have to do.”

“There is?” Mila asked uncertainly, stopping mid-fold.

“Yes,” Marqi said seriously. She laid a pair of wildly striped orange and pink socks in her suitcase and looked up at Mila. “You have to look at your birth certificate. Really look at it.”

“What do you mean?” Mila said, her heart racing.

“You know,” Marqi said ominously.

Mila shook her head defiantly. “No, I don’t. I don’t know.”

“You do know,” the other girl went on. “You know, but you wish you didn’t. Just look at your birth certificate. It will tell you everything you need to know. There’s a secret waiting for you in this world. It’s up to you to find it.”

“But...but...ShayAnne,” Mila said mournfully.

Marqi patted the flat-chested girl’s hand sadly. “I’m afraid that friendship may have suffered too much damage to repair it so quickly. You’ll have to wait until the time is right.”

“When will that be?”

Marqi shrugged. “Oh, not for a while yet. You’re still in pretty bad shape.”

“I am?”

“Oh, yes,” the other girl said. “Goodness! Didn’t you know? You were hit by a car. Or maybe it was a truck. In any case, you’re banged up something awful.”

“Oh, dear,” Mila said, worrying her lip.

“It’s okay, really. This is actually just the break you need.”

“It... is?” her voice faltered in confusion.

“Of course!” Marqi said. “First you get some rest. A nice long rest is just what you need. They won’t be able to find you here; they’ve got you listed under the wrong name.”

“How do you know that?”

The saucy girl snickered. “You heard the doctor calling you? Your mother isn’t looking for a boy named Milo.”

“So... I’m safe?”

“For now.”

There was a long pause during which Mila watched Marqi fold four more pairs of socks and stuff them into her backpack.

“So, um... what should I do?”

“Nothing,” the brunette shrugged. She gave Mila a bright smile and said, “Just relax. Rest up. These doctors will take good care of you. And when you wake up, they’re going to help you get your life together.”

“How are they going to do that?” Mila wanted to know.

“Trust me,” Marqi said. “You’re in good hands now. Just have faith. You’ll see; everything’s going to work out just the way it should.”

Mila stared past Marqi and through the open window to the motel room. The light outside was dazzlingly bright. She felt as though the sun might burn her being so blinding, but somehow it wasn’t hot. In fact, as she stared, everything else around her melted away, and she found that all she could see was white. She felt an odd tingling in arm, and this time her struggle was met with success.

“There you are,” the vacuum voice said as Mila’s eyes opened. “I knew you’d come around. Do you know where you are?”

Mila shook her head.

“You’re at St. Vincent’s hospital. You were banged up pretty badly in that accident,” the portly man in the white coat said. “Not to worry, though. We’re going to patch you right up. You’ve suffered substantial injuries, though, and we need your consent to operate. If it weren’t for that, I’d have kept you on the sedatives. Do you understand?”

Mila nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she did understand.

“Do you know your name?”

Again she nodded.

“Good. If the nurse helps you, do you think you could sign the consent form?”

Third time’s the charm, Mila nodded. The nurse at her side pressed a pen into her lethargic hand and held a paper beneath it. Mila’s eyes zoned in and out as she endeavored to see the lines.

“Here,” the nurse said, pointing to the signature spot. Mila scrawled an unreadable name across the line and dropped the pen. Her eyes were closing again, a tribute to the overwhelming desire to sleep.

“That’s just fine,” the doctor said. “We’ll fix you right up. You just go back to your dreams.”

Thanks, Mila thought, I intend to.