One Day

I have always believed that there is one trial in life we all must pass. When I was younger, I was in love for six years, the most devastating, committed, desperate form of love. I was certain all the events centered around that one love were my test of strength, would display my passion and endurance. But years passed, words were said and events occurred that rendered everything useless.
Driving to work. Any other day. My small classroom empty, but soon to be filled with 15 little preschoolers each thrilled to see me. I had decided to become a preschool teacher in high school, when my boyfriend told me that I could never disappoint a child; I only had to give them their juice, and they would be happy. Seems a silly reason, I know, but I always had an overwhelming fear of disappointing everyone when I only wanted to make everyone happy. And now all I am is a mess. Everything is a mess.
Twisted metal, screeching tires, the world spinning, and shattered glass. The force of the impact. The exploding airbag. The calm of shock, and the residual panic that would follow. Everything in those 60 seconds blurred together, twisted like the shells of our cars, indistinguishable from a consequential chain of events. Was it your fault? Was it mine? Will I be here when you wake up? Will you ever wake up?
I last saw you unconscious in a white hospital bed (and I know how you hate hospitals), fragile, your transparent skin still riddled with the scrapes and bruises of the crash. I don't know where your family is. I hardly know where I am. And I don't even know who you are anymore. Right now, I really wish I knew. I'm so sorry this happened. I don't know what I'd ever do if you didn't wake up, how I'd continue every day when fate has so obviously twisted to find me. Why am I always tortured?
The doctor steps out with a clipboard. I dread the grim look set into his face. He looks around, but it's only me. I want to tell him I don't know where your family is. I want to tell him I love you. But he just shakes his head and turns away, walks back through the swinging doors. Swish, swish. Years have passed me by like a dream. Five years since I gave up on dreams. And I don't even know you.
A worried family rushes in. An older woman in tears with her husband's strong arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder. A confused and stressed out looking 18 year old girl. They don't sit down. They whisper amongst themselves and glance around the waiting room. I look away, not wanting to stare, not wanting to intrude further into a family moment.
The doctor comes back out, clipboard-less, and walks slowly and surely toward the huddled unit, the shaking, unstable mass. I can't face that absolute certainty. I can't watch those fear-filled eyes. I grab my bag and hurry for the door, even without a car, even with no one and no place to go. I cannot be here for this. I was never there for you, and now I am alone.
One day, we all have to find our way home.