Back to Life

Anthony

“Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?” a voice called out before shaking me gently. My eyes fluttered open before snapping shut again. The lights were too bright, and a searing pain shot through my right leg. Reflexively, I clutched it and quickly released it. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

“Y-” I paused to clear my throat. “Yes…I can hear you,” I rasped.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” I complied and was face-to-face with a cherub-faced nurse. “There are those pretty gray eyes,” she sang as she shined her flashlight pen in each eye.

“Where am I?”

“You’re at West Saint Memorial Hospital.”

“Why? What happened to me?” I asked, starting to panic.

“You were in a pretty nasty accident, Sir. You were t-boned by an 18-wheeler and ejected from the vehicle. It’s a wonder you survived.” I reached for my leg again but thought twice, not wanting to relive the agonizing pain. “How much pain are you in on a scale of 1-10?”

“Ten squared.”

“Oh, no, sugar. Don’t worry. I have something that’ll turn that frown upside down.” A moment later, I held a clicker in my hand. “This is your morphine drip. Don’t get trigger-happy with it, if you know what I mean. It’ll be harder to wean you off when it’s time to discharge you. Use it responsibly and as needed.” I tested the waters with one click, then two. I closed my eyes and sighed when the pain began to dull. “Is that better?”

I nodded sluggishly. “Much better.”

“Good. Let me get you some water. You sound like you’ve been swallowing sand.”

The chatty nurse poured water from a pink plastic pitcher into its matching cup and handed it to me. I gulped the cooling liquid down and demanded more. “Can you tell me about my injuries?” I asked, accepting another cup.

“Of course. When you arrived, your jaw was broken, and your face was lacerated from the windshield glass in several places. We set your jaw, and one of our surgeons, who specializes in plastic surgery, expertly sewed your face back together.” My fingers flew to my face. “Don’t worry. The scars make you seem more dangerous and rugged. I traced a finger along my jaw, where a scar ran from below my ear to my chin. My fingers smoothed a six-inch scar from my lip to my cheek. The others were minor and weren’t worth mentioning.

“What about my leg?”

The nurse sighed. “You’ve had a few surgeries to repair the extensive damage.”

“Extensive damage?”

“More likely than not, you’ll rely on assistive devices to ambulate.”

“A wheelchair?” I asked in shock.

“Or a walker or cane,” she rushed out when the beeps of the heart monitor picked up speed. “You have permanent muscle and nerve damage. I wish we could give you a better outlook, but you’ve been confined to a bed for a year, so we’re shooting in the dark here.”

“I’m sorry. What did you say? I’ve been in bed for how long?”

“You’ve been in a coma for a year.”

I closed my eyes and attempted to pray away my oncoming headache. Flashes of the past made their presence known.

Past

Knocking at the conference room door interrupted my anxious pacing. “Come in,” I called out. A woman’s head popped in through the narrow opening.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.”

“Are you looking to have a stranger’s baby?” I asked bluntly. She nodded. “Then I guess you’re in the right place. Please come in so we can start the interview.” I sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table and steeped my fingers together as she shuffled in. At first glance, she appeared young—maybe too young, but she appeared healthy with child-bearing hips, as some would say, that punctuated the end of her hourglass figure. She chose a seat. Unsurprisingly, it was the furthest from me. Some described me as intimidating, but those who knew me best would say otherwise. “Closer.”

“What?”

“Please sit closer. Unless you prefer shouting,” I said, pushing back the black leather office chair nearest me. I focused on the file I had splayed before me and bit my bottom lip to avoid smirking. She was shaking like a leaf. “Are you always this nervous?” I asked when I flipped a page.

“Only when I’m having a baby for a stranger.”

I grinned. “Bonus points for you. You have a sense of humor.”

I’d spent the next hour and a half grilling the young woman, learning every intimate detail of her past, present, and future. I was surprised at how forthcoming she was. “We’re nearly done. I have one more question for you. Why?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why become a surrogate? You’re young, single, with no family and an average job. Why do you want to do this?”

“I mean…I want to make someone happy. Give them the gift of life,” she explained, smiling meekly

Lies. No one is that self-sacrificing.

“Since you’re giving the gift of life, then payment isn’t required. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Her mouth popped open in utter disbelief. “I-I-I-”

“Relax. I’m joking.”

“I’m sorry. You’re difficult to read. I don’t know when you’re joking or serious.”

I nodded. “Don’t worry. You’ll be compensated well. If our terms are agreeable, I’ll need you to sign on the dotted line,” I said, sliding the contract to her. She moved slowly to pick up the ink pen. I noticed she had a knack for making the simplest movement unnaturally graceful. Picking up a pen should not be so enchanting.

“I have a question,” she announced after thoroughly scanning the documents. “You’re by yourself?”

“Pardon?”

“You didn’t mention a wife or girlfriend. Do you plan on being a single father?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Why?”

Present

“I have to get out of here!” I shouted, throwing the blanket off me.

“Sir, you have to stay in bed!” the nurse exclaimed, attempting to wrestle me back in bed.

“My daughter. I-I have to get to my daughter.”

“You have a daughter? That’s great news. You came in as John Doe because your identification was lost in the crash. What is your name?”

“Anthony…Anthony Powell.”

“That’s good, Mr. Powell. Can I call your daughter?”

“No…she’s a newborn. I-I was on my way back to Texas from a last-minute business trip, and then everything went black. My surrogate was a few weeks from giving birth. I need to call her. Where is my cell phone?”

“Lost in the crash with your other belongings.”

I ignored the throbbing pain in my leg and snatched the bedside phone into my lap. My fingers sped over the plastic numbers as I dialed Simone. I knew her phone number by heart. I’d called it enough with my daily check-ins and random pregnancy-related questions.

The number you’ve dialed is not in service. Please hang up and try your call again.

“Fuck!” I yelled after trying the number three more times. My next call was to Jonathan.

“This is Jonathan Baker.”

“Jonathan!”

“Anthony? Is that you?” Jonathan gasped.

“Yes.”

“What the hell happened to you? You disappeared off the face of the Earth. I’ve been looking for you!”

“I was in a car accident and woke up today from a year-long coma.”

“My God. Are you okay?”

“No. My face and leg are fucked up, and I missed my daughter’s birth.”

“Your daughter’s birth? Anthony…what the hell are you talking about? What daughter?” I screwed my eyes closed as nausea overwhelmed me. “What daughter, Anthony?” Jonathan demanded.

“I-I didn’t tell you, but…I did it.”

“What did you do?”

“Nearly two years ago, I hired a surrogate.”

The line fell silent. “You have got to be—of all the irresponsible things you could’ve done! First, you hire a surrogate, keeping your best friend, who happens to be a lawyer, out of the loop. Then you go on an emergency last-minute business trip without telling me where you’re going or how long you’ll be gone. Your employer has been giving me the run around for a year, and their legal department is colder than the Arctic Circle. I’ve filed missing person’s reports, called hospitals—”

“I appreciate that, Jonathan. I do, but I need you to find my child.”

Jonathan exhaled loudly from the other end. “What is the mother’s name?”

“Simone Livingston.”

I spent the next few minutes providing Jonathan with as many details about Simone as I could recall from memory.

“I’ll take care of it. Where are you?”

“I’m at West Saint Memorial Hospital.”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“I’ll make a few calls, and then I’ll be on my way to get you.”

I could hear the disappointment in his voice. I fucked up badly.

“Jon?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, Ant… I know.”