For Creative Writing

Coma

I died on September 30, 2007.  Not as in “Nail my coffin’’ dead, but more like “my best friend got hit by a drunk driver and he wont wake up” dead.  Yeah.  I got the news on a band competition.  I wasn’t in it so leaving wasn’t too bad.  Mrs. Grindstaff got on the bus I was riding.  I was with James, Tori and Hunter at the time. 
“Is Krysta Arnold on this bus?” She’d asked pronouncing my name wrong.
“OHHHHH!!!” Roared the bus as if I were in trouble.
She told me my dad called her phone looking for me.  My phone had run out of minutes.  I grabbed the phone nervously and brought it to my ear. 
“Hello?”
“Hey…I have something to tell you” by this time I knew he wasn’t going to wish me good luck, it was bad.
“Okay…”
“Don’t get upset,” he was upset.
“Okay” I was upset.
“Juan’s in the hospital, he got hit.  James’ mom is going to pick you up and bring you back here and we’ll take you to go see him.”
I started to cry.  I cried hard until Mrs. Newman came to pick me up and take me home.  I don’t remember the drive home but I do remember watching the speedometer fall and climb along with the traffic.
I got home and my dad was smoking on the porch.  I thanked her for the ride home and started sobbing again.  My dad tried to comfort me but all I could think about was my dying best friend.  He didn’t wake up for a few weeks and spent his 18th birthday in and out of conciseness.  It took him even longer to get discharged home.
I spent random days with him trying to assure him it was all okay.  I never told him, however, my days in and out of conciseness.  I pushed out everyone to build a wall between myself and reality.  I saw a therapist who told me to stop whining and I lost myself in guilt.  I died that day, I was reawakened after I saw him, but fell into a wandering sleep without him.  He’s my best friend and I wouldn’t be here without him.