PART I

At first, I fought. The current swept my feet out from under me and I went flying downriver. I couldn't see anything. I clawed at the water but I couldn't find purchase.

I remember thinking that I would get out. I would surface.

Then I took in my first gulp of water. I tried to cough it out, but more flooded in. I panicked. My chest, lungs, stomach, everything rang with pain and I stopped fighting. But then the pain started to fade. The dark blue blurred and all I could see was a tiny light in the distance. I remember wondering if that weak little light was heaven. Dying no longer scared me. Smaller lights emerged in a slow dance all around me-it was beautiful. And it seemed to last a long time.

Then, the sky. The clouds. And again, that horrible pain. I vomited water. Somebody turned me on my side and I vomited more. That's all I remember.

I've been replaying that moment in my head every day for six months. Usually I replay it more than once a day. I also listen to the doctors through the walls. The highlight of my day is when they come to take my pulse, measure my vitals, and sometimes talk to each other. If I'm lucky.

From what I've heard, my brain is damaged from the lack of oxygen. I can't see anything. Whenever someone visits me, I try to talk to them but my voice doesn't work. None of my muscles do, either.

My mouth is filled with a constant metallic taste. My limbs are weak and unmoving and they ache. I'm developing hot, itchy bedsores on my ass. They hurt every time I breathe.

To pass the time, I've constructed an idea of my hospital room. I imagine that there is a window to my left overlooking the city skyline. My bed is a small cot. There's a band-aid colored blanket over my waist and an IV in my arm. To my right is a machine which beeps as it tracks my heartbeat.

Based on his voice, my doctor is a man. I imagine that he's a short man, balding slightly, with warts and dull, watery eyes.

I've imagined my nurses, too. The young male nurse is tall and skinny and unsure of himself. The older female nurse is plump, but strong and with a thick, confident face. I've heard no names. So I came up with some: the doctor is Dr. Trout, the young male nurse is Philip, the female nurse is Winona.

Dr. Trout walks in. I can tell it's him from his heavy, efficient footsteps. (Philip walks lightly and slowly; Winona walks with quick, short and light strides). He's alone. I can hear his ring clack on the hard plastic clipboard.

More footsteps. It must be Philip. I hear his nervous breathing and the sound of the door closing behind him.

"Mike?" he says to Dr. Trout.

"Philip." There's an odd, tense pause. "What?"

"What did you tell Cara?"

"That I was bowling, like usual."

"Friday night bowling, right?"

"Is something wrong?" Dr. Trout asks.

"She found your dusty bowling shoes in the closet. And she sent me a photo." There's silence. I listen eagerly but I can't even hear them breathing. Finally, Dr. Trout speaks.

"I thought it might end this way."

"What do we do?" says Philip.

Oh, no.

My fantasy dissolves like a cloud in the sky that I can't see anymore. It was a strange one. The idea that Dr. Trout and Philip would have an affair sounded good but I don't think it worked very well. It wasn't believable. Too Gray's Anatomy.

I spend a lot of time imagining situations or replaying memories. There's a few memories I like to repeat: my most recent one in that river, my first kiss, the day my eyebrow was split open. But memories get old fast. Recently, I've been depending on my imagination. I'm just trying to keep myself busy. I need to stay busy.

* * *

I don't sleep anymore. Thankfully, hospitals never really sleep either, but there certainly are quiet periods. This is one of them. If I had to guess, I'd say it's around six AM. The door opens. I hear it creak on its hinges, then whir smoothly shut. Two pairs of footsteps approach; one sits and the other remains standing.

"Jesus. He looks terrible."

It's my dad. He must be the one sitting, which means my mom must be standing. Mom takes my hand. "Drew, we've been talking with the doctors. It looks like they have some sort of procedure that might wake you up. Electro-something. It's risky. But... well." "We've got to try it," my dad says. "We've thought about it a lot, and we know this is what you'd want."

My parents stay for a while and talk to the doctors over my bed. I'm grateful for the company and listen to them discuss my future. It's agreed upon. The procedure is set for a week

from now. My parents are stringently and repeatedly warned that the procedure may have the opposite effect and simply fry me instead of waking me up.

"But the chances are good, right?" my mom asks.

"They are," Dr. Trout says. "But it's never a sure thing."

* * *

Winona wheels me into a different room, colder and bigger than the last. Other people walk in. Two cold things are attached to my left and right temples. There's a whirring. * * *

I wish someone would turn off that light. It's hurting my eyes. I raise a hand to block it out. My hand. With its fingers and fingernails and thin white knuckle hairs.

"Can you hear us?"

"Hey," I say. "Can someone scratch my head?" I grin and my voice gains strength. "It's been itchy for weeks."

The room rings with laughter. I pick up my head slightly, not without effort, and look around: Dr. Trout, Winona, Philip and my parents are all here. Looking at me. Hearing me. "How do you feel?"

"Awake."

PART II

When I moved into this dorm room, I had to actually convince my roommate that I needed the bottom bunk because of my accident. He didn't believe me. Even when I showed him my elbow-crutches. But after a month of weekly physical therapy appointments and my legs giving out occasionally, he seemed convinced.

Funnily enough, I didn't learn his name until two weeks after moving in: Drake. "Like the pirate," he said.

It's around twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Saturday. I missed this college laziness when I was in the coma. Drake snores above me. God, he's ridiculous. One of the first conversations we ever had, I was having trouble speaking. (I still do, honestly. I've been going to speech therapy for it, but I can't get rid of the slight slur in everything I say.) And in the middle of my sentence, Drake said, "Are you drunk? Why're you talking like that?"

I thought it was hilarious. Jenna didn't, though. Neither did any of my friends. My phone buzzes. With an unfortunate grunt, I grab it from the desk. It's Jenna. Her friend is throwing a party tonight. I met Jenna the day I moved in. She saw me trying to kick a box along the floor to my dorm and helped me. I asked her to be my girlfriend a month later. There's a loud snort and a gasp from above.

"Drake?" I say.

"Yeah."

"Wanna go to a party tonight?"

His head pops out from the side of his bed. "Where?"

"Jenna's friend's."

"Mh. Why not." He disappears back into bed. "You should really dump her, though, man."

"She says the same about you."

"Fair enough. Dump both of us."

As usual when I talk to Drake, I repress a laugh and move on.

* * *

There's not a lot of people here but Olivia's apartment is small so it feels like a huge party. Lucky for me, I'm a people deterrent. They see crutches and all of the sudden I have a big circle of empty space around me.

"Drew." Jenna reappears at my side and hands me a beer.

"I've already got one."

She plops down next to me on the couch. "Now you don't need to get up for a second." "Right," I say. "Thanks."

The music is loud. Someone's calling for a shot and being ignored. There's a group of really loud people playing a drinking game called Rage Cage on the kitchen table. Jenna snuggles up to me. I put my arm around her.

"Did you talk to your doctor yesterday?" she says over the music.

"You wanna have a conversation about my doctor?" I yell back.

"We don't have to."

"Well I didn't. But he would say the same thing everyone else is saying."

She frowns at me. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

"It's okay, Jenna."

On the other side of the room, Olivia cheers. I think she just won.

"We can try tomorrow," Jenna says. "If we go early in the morning, nobody else will be there."

"I'm not embarrassed," I say. "I don't care if people see me flopping around in the pool." "I know, I know." She drops it for a moment. We watch the party around us. Then she says, "But you gotta do those exercises in water."

I don't answer.

"Drew."

"I know."

"I know it's scary, but I'll be right there. Promise. And you know that being afraid is-" "Okay, I'll try tomorrow."

She looks delighted with herself. "When should I pick you up?"

I kiss her on the forehead. "I think I'm just going to go on my own. If that's okay. It's kind of a personal thing."

"Oh, okay." She crosses her legs. "But what if you need help or something?" "I'll bring Drake." It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. She looks out into the room. We both latch onto the corner, where Drake is sitting on a stool alone, drinking and watching the drinking game.

"I don't like him," she says.

"I know. I-I get it."

"I don't think he's funny at all. I think he's just mean."

I sigh. "He's a good guy. Just kind of... strange, I guess. I dunno." He's also the only person that doesn't seem to care that I almost drowned. He tends to forget, actually. The night rolls on. Jenna and I avoid the touchy subjects and have a good time. Pretty soon, some friends get too drunk to dance and join us on the couch. Mostly, I watch the party. Groups dissolve and form. People scream a lot.

I don't drink much. But Drake does. He only leaves his corner to get another beer and, once he returns, all he does is drink it and watch people. I can't tell if he's bored or entertained. As things begin to calm and people are going home or falling asleep, Drake breaks from his corner and comes up to me.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a little slurred, but he seems steady enough. He plops down between Jenna and I and doesn't notice Jenna glaring at him.

"Whatcha been thinking about?" I ask.

"You, man."

I snort. "Well, we have a lot in common, then." Jenna laughs loudly.

Drake glances at her. "What've you been thinking about?"

"Why?" she asks.

"Good point. Don't even know why I asked." He turns back to me. "Listen man, I gotta question for you." I shoot an apologetic look at Jenna. He kicks his feet up. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah. I had fun."

"Would you have had more fun if you could walk and talk normally?"

Jenna bristles. I grin at him. "I think so, yeah. I would've played Rage Cage."

"Right. Right." He rubs his face languidly. "I was watching them play the whole night. Noticed some things."

"Oh, please do tell us," Jenna puts in.

"Sure," Drake says without looking at her. "I noticed that the person with the ping-pong ball is always the person having the least amount of fun."

Olivia calls Jenna from across the room. She takes the opportunity to shoot a sharp look at me, then goes to her friend.

"What d'you think about that?" Drake says.

I sigh. "I guess that seems pretty ironic. Because the game is supposed to be fun." "Well it is fun," he says. "For the people watching-not the people playing. You know that joke about the great clown Pagliacci?"

I frown at him.

"You'll love it, you'll love it." He takes a swig and swallows. "Okay, so a man goes to a doctor. 'Doctor, I'm depressed,' the man says. 'I hate my life and I want to kill myself every waking moment.' The doctor lights up-he knows exactly what to tell the man. He says, 'Don't worry, I know what you need. The great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him! That'll do it' The man bursts into tears. 'But doctor,' he says, 'I am Pagliacci.' "

I laugh. "That's awful."

"But that's the real point of it-let someone else play the clown for as long as possible, and when it's your turn, just get fucked up and you'll feel it less."

"You mean the point of drinking games?"

"Of a lot of things."

I punch him weakly on the shoulder. "You got issues."

"No, c'mon, man. Listen to me." He looks weirdly serious. "I think you really made a mistake, man. You shouldn't have woken up."

Jenna is watching me from the other side of the room. Olivia is talking to her. She's nodding but obviously not listening.

"What?" I say to Drake.

"After the operation, you should've just kept your eyes closed and not said anything. They wouldn't have been able to tell. You had the life: don't need to move, don't need to work, all the food and water and everything you need shot straight into your system. We're all asleep out here, anyways. At least you were asleep in a bed."

"You would've stayed asleep?"

"Yeah." He stares at me.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm serious."

"Dude-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"There's nothing out there man." His eyes get big and wet. "There's nothing out there. Things don't make sense and anybody who believes otherwise is kidding themselves." "What about... I dunno. Your family? Friends? There's still things which can make you feel some sense of purpose."

His wet eyes seem to suddenly dry and he sits back on the couch.

"You're right, actually. There are things that make people feel happy and fulfilled. Like they have a purpose. Like life has meaning. They're all illusions, but that's okay-we need the illusions to live. Who cares, right? Have illusions."

"But?"

"I can't keep them." His voice is low and controlled. "Sometimes, I get them and have a happy couple months or something. But they're weak. They break. And then I'm back to the empty truth."

"Jesus, man."

"Yeah."

We sit in silence for a couple moments. Jenna watches us. Finally, Drake stands. "I gotta take a piss. I'll see you, man." He leaves not for the bathroom, but for the door. I lean back. The ceiling of Olivia's apartment has a large orange-brown stain on it. Water damage. The music is off now and only Olivia's drunkest or closest friends remain in the apartment. Someone sits next to me.

"Did he leave?" It's Jenna. I nod. "What did he say to you?" I look at her. Her brown hair is tucked behind her ears and her cheeks are tinted red from the beer.

"I love you."

"What?" she says.

"I love you, Jenna."

"I love you, too."

PART III

The most amazing thing of all is that things keep happening. It's morning now. It was morning before. It'll be morning again-on and on.

Jenna, by my side in bed, yawns and stretches awake.

"You're up," I say.

"Uck. Morning breath." She slips over me and off the bed. "I'm gonna be late to class. Love you."

"Love you, too."

The door clicks closed. There is silence in the room and I stare up at the wooden boards on the bottom of Drake's bed.

"Drake?" I say.

"Yeah."

"Where'd you go last night?"

I hear creaking above me. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not."

Very little sunlight comes through our blinds. The construction across the street is loud and I count the seconds that the drill runs before it stops. Three seconds. Four. Three. "I love Jenna," I say.

"Oh. Alright."

"I told her last night. She loves me, too."

"So you're in love."

Four seconds. Four again. Two. Three. "Yeah." Three seconds. One. Four. "I don't even know why I said it. I just-I dunno. Said it."

"Right."

"I didn't really understand what you were saying yesterday. Were you just drunk?" "Well I wasn't sober," he snorts. "But I did mean something."

"Can you explain it again?"

"It isn't really explainable in words."

"Then why'd you try?"

"I'm dumb. I do dumb shit."

"Okay but what is it if you can't explain it?"

"A knowledge, maybe. But who cares?"

"I care."

"Obviously. Okay, I'll give it to you in words. But just remember you're not really getting it, you're getting words."

"Okay."

I hear him take a deep breath. "Everything is nothing. Order is disguised chaos. And existence is meaningless. There."

"Sounds like nihilism."

"Nihilism is just more words. What I'm talking about doesn't actually have a name. But call it nihilism if you want. Doesn't matter."

I don't know what else to say. The bed frame sways slightly as he climbs down the ladder and grabs a towel. He glances over at me. I expect him to say something or smile or even frown. But he doesn't. And the door clicks behind him.

* * *

Before my accident, I had a habit of climbing this hill to watch the sunset when I was stressed or unhappy. I haven't been since. It's a bit of a hike. If Jenna or my doctors or anybody were here, they'd tell me not to try it. Because I'm not strong enough.

They'd be right. On my way up here, I had to stop and rest about ten times. But it doesn't matter. I made it eventually.

My breathing has slowed by now. I'm sitting on my usual bench overlooking the rolling California hills. The sun is setting over the mountain.

I understand what Drake was saying. I felt it as I was hiking up here, and now here it is. I slump back into the bench. Fuck. He's right, there aren't words that could describe it. And- There's a knock at the door. Familiar voices. The air is cold and smells of antiseptic. There's a beeping to my right and a metallic taste in my mouth. Ah, shit. The fantasy is dissolving. Too bad. That one was one of my favorites. And it lasted so long. "Hey, man." It's the real Drake. He sits by my bed.

Someone else sits, too. "Can he hear us?" It's Jenna.

"We're not sure."

"So should we... talk to him then?"

"It certainly couldn't hurt. I'll leave you two alone." Footsteps. The smooth whirring and the door is closed.

The buzz of the hospital fills my head and I find myself unable to think of anything else. Something wet falls from my cheek to my arm. Huh. I didn't know I could still do that. I listen to my newest visitors: Jenna, who I met my freshman year of college and immediately fell for. Drake, my old roommate. Drake who was confused by my ideas and proved to me that some things can't be explained in words. Jenna who never loved me back. Drake who never had an original thought or feeling in his life. They entirely ruined my most enjoyable fantasy. I'd almost forgotten where I really am.

Another tear rolls down my cheek and hits my arm. My visitors don't notice. My eyes sting and my bedsores ache. It wasn't actually Drake speaking when he said it, but it's right anyways: they're all as good as asleep out there. At least I'm asleep in a bed.

Maybe I'll wake up. Maybe I won't. But it doesn't matter. Either way, I'll find a new illusion, live it for a while, and when it breaks I'll be reminded. I won't be able to explain it. But it'll be there. Then some other illusion will come along and I'll forget again. The room is filled with Drake and Jenna's silent discomfort. And there is nothing.