What Happened?

What Happened?

By Linda Robb

          What happened?

          I’ve never been one to be rude to anyone, so when the stranger put their head on my shoulder, I said nothing. Even when he began to drool on my shoulder. I don’t have the guts to move him so I block him out and watch Netflix until my phone dies. So now, I’ve been staring out the window, taking in my surroundings.

          Gazing beyond the pane of glass and taking in the empty fields was my only source of entertainment. I tend to lose myself in nature, especially since last year’s accident. 

          I still remember when I was stuck in the hospital. I felt helpless, lying on that hospital bed. I kept going in and out of consciousness: the beeping monitors faded away until it was morning, then afternoon, then evening. I barely made out the doctor’s mumbling, something about how I wouldn’t recover. But I’m just glad I’m alive today. Though at times it feels like I still hear the doctor’s voice in my head. 

          You learn to appreciate your surroundings after that. I have come to realize that people don’t stop to admire the beauty that surrounds us. But when you’re stuck on a bus with your phone dead and a stranger passed out on your shoulder, you’re forced to take in the beauty. You look everywhere and try to find even the smallest detail. Even a drop of blood coming from a flower five hundred feet away from you. 

          An hour later I was away from the sleeping stranger. My parents expect me at 5:15. I look at my watch: 5:10. I brace myself for their arrival. 

          5:20. Instead of Father’s black Cadillac, my sister’s midnight blue Mercedes appears. I let out a sigh of relief. 

          “Hey,” Riley greets me.

          “Hey,” I reply, putting my seatbelt on.

          “How was the bus? You know Father would’ve flown you here.”

          I roll my eyes. “I don’t need Father buying a plane ticket when the bus is fine. But it was okay. Some dude was drooling on my shoulder though.”

          “You’re too nice sometimes Betty,” she chuckles.

          We sit in silence for a while before I decide to ask, “What happened to Mother and Father picking me up?”

          “Something came up at the office. Mother had something to do with the church,” Riley replies.

          “Of course,” I mumble.

          “Hey, they do their best,” Riley defends them, like usual. We stop at a red light.

          “Whatever,” I roll my eyes.

          Riley sighs.The light turns green. I see a car speeding towards the intersection, we were out of the way before it sped through the light. I thought I heard a crash, but there was no one behind us. The crash sounds so faint, almost as if it was in my head. 

          “Where are Mother and Father?” Riley asks one of the maids after returning home while another maid took my bags. 

          “Dr. Bailey is still at the office and Mrs. Bailey is at the church still. Both have called and told us they’d be back late,” she responds.

          “Thanks Cathy,” Riley smiles at her.

          “Yes, thank you,” I mumble.

          Since Mother and Father wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, we sent everyone home since we could manage on our own.

          It was weird being back in my childhood bed. Every time I’ve been home it feels different, but this time FEELS different. It felt like I was looking at my childhood room through a different set of lenses. After tossing and turning for an hour, sleep finally came over me. Before sleep greets me, I hear the sound of tires shrieking and then a scream.

          Sleep was no better. An image of a car crashing into another plays repeatedly. Every time the cars collided, someone would scream.

          “Ms. Bailey, wake up, your parents are requesting breakfast,” Jade, my maid, says as she shakes me awake.

          “Morning sweetie,” Mother smiles as I take my seat next to Riley, who was placed next to Father at the head of the table and across from Mother. 

          Father was busy reading the Dallas Morning News while drinking his coffee. Mother was eating the fruit on her plate and Riley was on her phone. A typical morning.

          “Morning,” I mumble. 

          “How was the trip home yesterday?” she questions as Nora refills her coffee. 

          “Fine,” I say curtly, brushing away Nora’s help. I fix my own plate and pour my own coffee.

          “Your Father and I were wanting to have a talk about your plan for after college, since you graduate in the spring,” Mother says, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

          “I don’t have one,” I reply.

          “You’re gonna want to get your doctorate if you want to practice anywhere,” Father chimes.

          “I know. I have applied to some graduate programs. I’m waiting to hear back,” I tell him.

          “Oh, which schools?” Riley asks.

          “John Hopkins, University of Maryland, East Carolina University, and a few others,” I look at Father, who is busy reading the newspaper.

          You would think he’d add his input on where I should apply for my doctorate. He never misses a chance to brag about his alma mater, Harvard. His family struggled since they were part of the Great Migration and never had it easy. Father loves to mention how he was the first to attend college in his family, Harvard at that. 

          “Have you considered interning at the hospital? I can recommend you to some of my co-workers,” Father replies, turning the page.

          “No thanks, Father. I want to do it all on my own. I don’t want your help,” I tell him. 

          “It never hurts to have help,” Riley chimes in, which is unlike her. Usually when Father is grilling one of us, we know to stay out. 

          I turn to face my sister, but for a brief moment I thought I saw a big gash on her forehead, blood pouring out. For a second, she seems lifeless. I blink again and her color returns. She looks the same as any other day, though she did seem more tired than usual. I look away and go back to eating my breakfast.

          “You okay, Betty?” Riley asks. 

          I look at her again. She was there, looking at me. It felt like she was trying to tell me something silently without our parents catching on.

          “I-I’m fine,” I tell her before looking away.

          “Oh, Beth, are you going to church tomorrow?” Mother questions sipping her coffee. 

          “I don’t know, was planning on just seeing how I’d feel,” I respond. 

          “Some of the ladies were hoping to see you before you went back to San Antonio.” 

          “I leave next weekend, if I don’t see them tomorrow I’m sure I’ll see them at some point.”

          “If you say so,” Mother mumbles into her cup. 

          I pretend to ignore her. 

          Always the same conversation. Always wondering if I’m going to attend church. Always mentions the ladies asking about me. I could care less what they think.

          “What’re you reading about Father?” I ask him, though he seems more interested in a newspaper article. 

          “Oh, nothing interesting. Apparently yesterday was the one year anniversary of the death of two sisters,” Father replies. Chills creep up my spine at the word “death.” 

          “Really?” I was shocked. 

          I stare at my plate, a rush of sadness hits me. My hands catch my eye, they look burnt. As if I just put them over a well-lit fireplace. I look back at my father. 

          “Apparently they died in a car crash. They were T-boned, someone ran a red light right by SMU,” Father goes on. 

          “That’s sad,” Riley’s voice sounds hoarse, like she had just been screaming nonstop. 

          I feel compelled to look at my sister again. I nearly throw up at the sight of her. Blood was everywhere, her clothes were torn, a gush of blood was streaming from her cheek, she looks like she had just been run over. I gag. 

          “C-could I look at that art-ticle?” I ask him, trying to keep my discomfort within. 

          “Sure. I need to head to work anyway,” Father tosses the newspaper to me. 

          I pick it up and my face greets me. Well correction, a recent picture of me and Riley greets me. It was from the 2023 family shoot. We were both smiling, wearing a blue dress, both different shades and styles. We look happy. Like it wasn’t an article saying we died from a car crash. In fact it was dated November 26, 2023. But yesterday was November 26, 2024, wasn’t it? One of the entries caught my eye: Riley Bailey and Elizabeth Bailey’s funeral dates will be December 15, 2023. 

          “Th-this isn’t real. We were in an accident, but we didn’t die! I’m about to graduate. I’m about to finish my degree,” I yell out, terrified.

          “No, Beth. We died,” Riley tells me. 

          No way was this real. No way. I went to Ireland this past summer. I had the time of my life. I…I went to parties, talked to people. I’ve enjoyed…my youth. Right? 

          “We’re alive. We survived,” I whisper.

          “No. Betty we’re dead,” Riley repeats.

          Dead. Dead. Dead. No, no, no. I ran out of the room. I caught myself before I ran into a maid carrying a drink, but she walked right through me. A tingly sensation greets me from that encounter. 

          “NO!” I scream, dropping to my knees. 

          Tears fell from my eyes. I’m not dead. I’m not dead. I’m not dead. I’m going to graduate. I’m going to Med School. I’m going somewhere with my life. There’s no way my life stopped at 20. 

          The sound of a crash breaks me out of my thoughts. I look up and suddenly I’m in the middle of the road. A guy was crawling away before the cars blew up. 

          Scrambling to my feet, I run to the cars hoping to save someone. I didn’t even feel the warmth or burning sensation that fire emits as I approach the wreck. The Mercedes seems familiar, but I can’t pinpoint it. 

          I see a figure on the passenger side of the car and instinct takes over. I smash the window. I reach in and grab the body. I was weak and collapsed before I got far. I scream in frustration. I attempt to crawl away but the body feels deadweight. Giving up, I look at the body and then throw up.

          Staring back at me, eyes wide and half-burnt was my face. My eyes. My nose. My self. 

          I scream, but no sound ever leaves my lips.