Two
Emma felt oddly hopeful.
She supposed the feeling was a bit misplaced. There was no guarantee she had this disease, this Sleepy Sickness her doctor called Encephalitis Lethargica. If the tests came back negative, she had nothing else. She would be trapped forever in this white room until Jake finally, if ever, convinced Mom to let her go.
She wanted to keep her hopes down just in case, but she couldn’t stop thinking of the possibilities. If she woke, what would the world be like? It had been at least five years since she fell asleep. Too many Halloweens and Christmases and Birthdays had passed for it to be any less. She would probably have to do physical therapy when—if she woke up. Matt often did basic stretches with her arms and legs on his visits, but muscle atrophy was a given regardless.
Emma thought it weird that she remembered these medical terms and not her age.
How old was I when I fell asleep?
Coma was the correct word, but Emma hated it. The term sounded cold and unforgiving. “Sleep” sounded much better. She thought back to the day she fell asleep on the couch downstairs and woke up in the formless white room. Jake had just turned eight; she remembered because they had a birthday party a few days earlier, decorated with Jake’s current obsession, Transformers. Balloons, cups, plates, napkins, and even wrapping paper were covered in those robots, and just about everything he got for his birthday was related to Transformers in some way. When he asked her to play with him after the party, she scoffed. I’m thirteen, Jake. I’m too old for kid toys.
She was thirteen when she fell asleep, when the world turned into nothing but background noise and an empty white room. So, if she had been asleep for at least five years, she was probably around eighteen now. That meant she had missed most of her teen years. She hadn’t been able to celebrate her sweet sixteen or graduate high school with her friends or go to Prom. She missed half her life, perhaps more.
I can’t think about that now. Speculation would get her nowhere.
She could hear Mom, pacing outside her bedroom. Jake was downstairs; Emma knew because Mom kept calling for him, asking when he thought the results would be in. He seemed to be washing the dishes. Emma could hear the clink of plates every once in a while. Just be patient, Jake kept replying, and Mom gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Emma understood her impatience. Still, her anxiety was palpable, and it made Emma feel antsy and restless. She wished she could chew on her fingernails or tap her fingers against something.
“They told me three days,” Mom said. “Three days, maximum, before the results came in. It’s already been two!”
Two days had passed since Matt had presented the idea of Encephalitis Lethargica. Two days since Emma felt her hope restored. For a moment, she thought she heard an increase on the heart monitor, a slight rising of her BPM, but Mom didn’t react. I must have imagined it. Her heart rate had been steady since she fell asleep; Matt would always comment on it. Sixty-five BPM again, huh? You never change, Emma. His voice always held a tinge of sadness when he said this. She wanted to ask why, but she could only listen.
For a moment, the white room wavered and faded out. Things had started to look more and more out-of-focus as the days went by, and it scared her.
“Mom.” Jake’s voice brought Emma back. He was upstairs now, closer to her room. “Just go sit down for a bit or something, okay? We’ll get the results soon. You have to be patient.”
“What about—?”
“I’ll watch Em for the time being. You need a break.”
Silence for a moment, and then, “Okay. Thanks, Jake.”
Mom’s footsteps receded downstairs. Emma wished Jake would talk to her more, maybe even come in and sit with her, but he never did. Maybe the tubes scared him. They’re just there to keep me fed and keep my lungs strong, Jake. It’s no big deal. If she said that to him, he would wrinkle his nose in that way he always did when he was annoyed. I’m not scared, Emma!
Jake was always a bit of a scaredy-cat. Emma would run into things headlong, and Jake would hang back, nervous and unsure. Then again, she did always get herself in trouble, like when she decided to inspect the hornet’s nest on the tree outside their house. That was her first trip to the hospital. So perhaps Jake’s caution was a good thing sometimes.
“Hey, Em.”
Shock sliced through her. Jake was close, right next to her bed. He had come into her room. The bed shifted, and she realized, even more surprised, that he had sat down next to her. A hand caressed her forehead. Emma wished she could open her eyes and smile.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Jake continued, “But know that this is it. All Mom’s hopes, all mine, are resting on this diagnosis. If you have this disease, they can treat it—or, they can treat the symptoms. That’s what Matt said. He also said it’s possible you could wake up. But if you don’t … if you don’t have this disease or the treatment doesn’t work, that’ll be the end. We’ll have to let you go. Mom knows it too, though she won’t admit it.” He pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I know you’re not happy like this, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of it even if you don’t wake up.” He stood. The bed creaked, and Emma missed the warmth of his presence immediately. “Though, after twenty-one years, I don’t know if you’d even want to wake up anymore.”
And everything in Emma stopped.
Twenty … one …?
The number burned itself into her mind, lit up in the emptiness until she couldn’t see anything else. If she had been asleep for twenty-one years, and she was thirteen when she fell asleep—Emma did the math.
She was thirty-four now.
She’d missed all of her teen years, her twenties. That was twenty-one years of her life gone, twenty-one years in which she should have loved, laughed, gone to college, made friends, made mistakes, gotten drunk, aced tests, lost her virginity, maybe even had kids. It was gone.
How has it been that long?
She tried to remember the year it was when she fell asleep. If she could remember her birth year—Oh, 1982. Yeah, because Jake was six years younger than her, and he was born in ’88. Add thirteen, and that got her 1995. So that was the year she fell asleep, and that meant it was now the year 2016. She’d missed the shift into a new century, multiple presidential elections, and huge improvements and progress made by the human race. She’d missed all her school years too, imbued only with the basics and a general idea of how the world worked. Jake was right; she wasn’t sure she wanted to wake up anymore.
The hope in her chest wavered, unsure now. She couldn’t drive, had no job experience or sense of direction, and no idea what to do with her life. She fell asleep so young; she hadn’t considered the future. The hope in her mind had always been a shaky thing, just on the verge of shattering. Dad always used to say she was too much of a realist.
Then again, that was if she even did wake. The results hadn’t come back yet. She could hear Mom pacing downstairs despite Jake’s admonishment, waiting for the hospital to call. Emma felt as if the results of those tests would change the way the universe expanded.
Downstairs, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
Mom’s voice floated up the stairs, distant and strained. Emma only had one side of the conversation, and the snippets were all unsubstantial. Minutes passed. Emma waited for an eternity. Jake was still in her bedroom—she could hear him over by the door, clearing his throat every once in a while. Then footsteps on the stairs heralded Mom’s arrival.
“Well?” Jake demanded. “Was that the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“It is.”
Jake heisted. “What? What is?”
“She has the disease, Jake. Encephalitis Lethargica.” Mom was talking too fast, her voice breathy. “They’ve only seen sporadic cases in the past few decades, but they said she tested positive. She … she has it.”
“So, they can treat it? She’s going to wake up?”
Mom crossed the room. Emma heard her steps, so different from Jake’s, so light and careful. Her voice was shaking and broken; it shattered across her words as she spoke. “Yes. She is coming home.”